Where is Christy?

I would love to write more.

I would love to write well thought out posts that capture my life right now. I want to be able to look back and remember this time in my life.

However, Will would much rather play in the toilet.

In fact, in the ten seconds I took to sit and write this, Will has climbed on top of the window sill and licked dust off of it. Just keeping it real.

One day I will be able to sit for more than ten seconds. One day.

Will's Baby Dedication

Will's Baby Dedication was yesterday. It was a very special day for my family and for the most part it went off without a hitch. Will went to our pastor without complaint...he did look at the congregation suspiciously.

And there was the speaker incident...Layton was fascinated by them.

Layton also got a little restless. Laura Grace stood like a statue. A very stoic one. She took my request to be quiet and still VERY seriously.

But, for the most part it was wonderful. All three children were on their best behaviour. During this prayer, Will got a little disturbed that our pastor laid hands on him. He said, "NO!" and flung them off his head. Layton was giving my father in law (who was taking pictures) thumbs up.

Finally, at the very end, Will began hanging upside down and laughing. He had realized that while he is the center of attention he might as well cut up.

The Honeymoon

It happens to everyone. You get back from your honeymoon full of excitement and that giddy, all -consuming love for your husband. You think that marriage is so easy! What was everyone else talking about?!? What hard work?! What in the world could be hard about living with the love of your life? It is about that time that you sit down on the toilet and fall in because the seat was left up. Or, you walk into the kitchen you just painstakingly scrubbed to see his muddy, grassy footprints across the lineoleum.

Welcome to reality.

It happens again when you have a baby. You spend nine blissful months cradling that tiny life in your womb. You dream of names, of baby grins and that wonderful, beautiful baby smell. You picture rocking and singing, long walks with the stroller on fall days, and laughter...lots and lots of baby laughter. Then, about four weeks post partum you are sitting in the rocking chair, covered in spit up and breastmilk, holding a screaming baby, and realizing that owe your poor parents an apology!

I have realized that any major change in your life can be compared to marriage and having babies. Like homeschooling for instance. You spend months planning curriculum. You daydream about building log cabins and taking nature walks. You think about Thanksgiving units complete with Pilgrim costumes... The all inclusive you by the way means...um...me.

And, like all honeymoon periods, the honeymoon ends and reality comes crashing in. Reality in the form of an insect eating baby, an almost seven year old throwing her pencil and screaming that she hates school, and your four year old dumping apple juice all over his train table and offering the explanation that "A is for apple juice".

Hello, reality.

Thankfully, like the ending of a honeymoon and the glow that only pain medication and nurses that wait on you hand and foot can bring, comes work that can be frustrating but at the same time so rewarding you wake up each day thankful for it. The marriage with the muddy footprints is still the most precious relationship in your life. That crying, screaming baby does eventually laugh and may sit still in a stroller long enough for a quick jog on a fall day. That is where I am at now. I am at that tenuous phase where the honeymoon has ended and I am realizing what I am getting myself into. I am not sure how to handle that pencil throwing almost seven year old or the baby bent on self-destruction. But, I have learned to keep the four year old busy at my side and to give lots of kisses to all three of them. I figure that is enough to build on.

I was one of those...

While pregnant with Laura Grace, I scoffed at the mere idea that my house would be taken over by a child. Not ours, I assured Clay. I would go into homes that had toys strewn from one end to the other and I would inwardly roll my eyes. My children would be motivated by the same inner neat freak force that controlled me and they would never make such a mess. I even went so far as to tell Clay that all these parents had to do was tell their kids that toys belong in the playroom-they should not be seen by guests or even the parents for that matter...

I was very young.

Then, Laura Grace came exploding into our lives with every inch of her being quivering with the sheer joy of being alive. And, consequently, making messes that nearly made my hair turn white. I followed her around for two years attempting to cultivate a neat freak. I had little to no success. I fully blame Clay who would come home, see the pots and pans strewn from the kitchen to her bedroom and laugh. Then, Layton was born and in the post partum throes of those first few months, I let it happen.

A toy bin appeared in the living room.

Suddenly, our carefully decorated and oh so scrubbed home became a toy bin containing time bomb. It happened little by little, but soon, before I could comprehend anything beyond breastfeeding and potty training, the toy bin became full. The full toy bin turned into toys stacked around it. Then, they toys became not so stacked. Finally, one day I had to face it. My living room was a playroom.

I was dumbfounded. I stood in my foyer, holding a six month old Layton, and wondered what had happened to my neat, orderly life. Then, because they are my children, Layton's diaper exploded and Laura Grace ran by with finger paint smeared all over her. It was somewhere in that moment that I surrendered to the fact that I was one of those parents. I had joined the league of the normals. My house would never look like a magazine again.

For several years I accepted this. I would work hard to keep the toys picked up, to train Laura Grace in helping me, and trying not to beat my head against the wall as Layton pretended not to see the toys I was asking him to pick up. Then, because I love me some babies, Will was born. My house fell into the realm of toy/clothes/art projects gone awry/muddy dog running through the house/no clean underwear again chaos. It took nine months for me to reclaim my routine of cleaning and training so that my house is at least presentable when my inlaws drop by unannounced. Not that this happens of course. Ahem.

But, suddenly, I find myself at a crossroads. Homeschooling has introduced a whole new dilemma to my neat freak standards. I love my dining room and its cleanliness. I love that it contains a table, a sideboard, and highchair. There are no toys or books in sight. Or, rather, there wasn't. Until homeschooling. Now books and school supplies sit in stacks on my table and in cardboard boxes. They are neat stacks and organized boxes, but still boxes and stacks. I find myself contemplating what is most important-having a "pretty" dining room or a functional school room that everyone one will see, including the mailman because you can see it from our front door and I don't know if I want the mail man to see our timelines and calendars and... I don't know if I want to lose the dining room to school.

If you are still with me in this post of ridiculous amounts of grammar errors and run on sentences, what would you think if you came into a home and saw the evidence of school everywhere? Would you be able to eat and feel welcome in a home with art projects and alphabet letters staring down at you?

I know the shallowness of this dilemma. As dilemmas go, it is really very minor and not even much of a dilemma. But at four o'clock in the morning, as Will crawls around laughing wildly and as I browse through the Container Store's website, it seems crucial that I get this solved. By the way, the Container Store is having a sale...

Midnight Happenings

Clay has been out of town all week and Will has been sick with a lovely combination of hand, foot, and mouth, an ear infection, and teething. That has meant six consecutive nights of waking every hour.

It hasn't been pretty.

To give you a picture of my life/thoughts in the middle of the night...

1:00 a.m.: Will wakes up crying. I stumble blearily over to his crib, only to run into the rocking chair, door frame, and somehow end up in the bathroom. I turn on the light and stare at myself for a few seconds before I comprehend that I am in the wrong room. I go back into my bedroom, get Will out of the crib and mercifully manage to find the rocking chair without killing myself.

2:00 a.m. Will is crying again. I jump up and walk around the room, still searching for the crib. I find it by stubbing my toe on it. I pick up Will, discover he has a high fever, and turn on the light. Will, hyped up on sheer delerium, grins at me and begins to babble wildly. We have a very serious discussion about Tylenol vs. Motrin and diaper rashes. I find myself asking him bizarre questions and expecting him to answer. We settle back into the rocking chair and I rock him until his fever cools. As I am rocking him I think about how three children is a perfect number.

3:30 a.m. More crying. This time muscle memory takes over and I find the crib while still asleep. I don't fully wake up until I am sitting in the rocking chair and Will bites me. He immediately apologizes by wiping the contents of his nose on my neck. I kiss his hot little forehead, feel the wieght of his full diaper in my hand, and attempt to muster the energy to give him a bath. I then realize that the dampness of his back is not sweat from a breaking fever-it is a leaking diaper. I kiss his head again and think about how it doesn't seem right to have an odd number of children but that I would need to invest in a caffeine i.v. I give Will one last cuddle and stand to go run him a bath. Will looks up at me and gives me a gummy grin. I smile and then he throws up. All over me. We both get a bath. Odd numbers are appealing again.

4:45 a.m. Fever has finally broken. I put Will back in bed, stumble to my bed and fall asleep. Five minutes later I hear Will laugh and he starts calling for "ba-ba" (bottle). I make him a bottle, he drinks two ounces, and then falls asleep. I lay him back down and go back to bed. I realize that the sun will be rising in about ten minutes and since my children are all solar powered it is fruitless to try and sleep any longer. I make coffee and work on my Bible Study. Sure enough, Layton comes out of his room bright eyed and bushy tailed right as I am closing my Bible.

A Meek and Quiet Spirit

I was going to put this on my homeschool blog, but realized that it belonged here.

I have a problem with raising my voice.

Not yelling, of course. Raising my voice. Angrily.

I used to excuse this as normal and sometimes necessary behavior. For instance, when my three year old cut herself some bangs or my two year old lets in the muddy dogs onto my white carpet...surely that warrants a good yell? What I refused to realize is the damage it does not only to my credibility as a mom, but to the relationships with my children.

And, you fathers, provoke not your children to wrath: but bring them up in the nurture and admonition of the Lord. Eph. 6:4

When I "raise my voice" it does nothing but create fear or anger in my children. Laura Grace, is very strong willed and gets angry. Layton is very mild mannered so he gets scared. Will raises his fist and yells right along with me. Not pretty.

I should be nurturing and administering discipline out of love, not out of anger or frustration. I should see every chance to correct my children as an opportunity to teach them and to help their characters grow! When I lose it and start yelling at them, I am doing none of those things. I am merely losing it. How can I expect my children to respect me if I have no self control?

A few weeks ago I read Homeschooling With A Meek And Quiet Spirit. It was life changing. Not only did it further convict me of my actions, but it encouraged me! Even if you are not planning on homeschooling, it applies to anyone who cares for children.

A word of caution... I don't agree with everything the author says. Scripturally, she is dead on. There is nothing said that is necessarily wrong, I just have different perspectives. She is very conservative (think Duggars) and has a wonderful family. However, while I respect and admire that staunch conservatism, it is a tad legalistic to me. I read some of her thoughts and took them as that-her thoughts and opinions. This in no way took away from her valuable message.

Now am I a non-yelling, meek spirited mom? Um...no. I am working on it! I am fully relying on God to help me in this. He created me to be a passionate, outspoken person but He also gave me the ability to control my tongue and use my zeal in a good way-not in the screaming lunatic because my kids are fighting again way.

Birthday Parties Galore!

This weekend was a party weekend. That sounds bad, but by parties I mean birthday parties. Something happens when your child turns three. Suddenly, their social calendar is full of more birthday parties than it seems possible. Summer is the worst. Well, I don't know if I should say WORST... I love that my children have friends and that their friends have awesome birthdays. However, the all day Saturday shuttling from party to party can get tiring. Not for my children of course. My children get quite delirious from the ice cream and cake consumption. They come home starry eyed with visions of their future birthday's dancing in their heads. No, it is the parents that just feel like they can not do another party. I was very excited when Laura Grace reached the age of dropping her off at parties!! We do have rules about this. I have to know the parents very well and know what children will be attending...but that is another post.

I am digressing terribly.

The above picture was Laura Grace at a pool party. She also had a slumber party (she stayed up all night) and a "fashion" party this weekend. She was exhausted yesterday and after play practice (did I mention she is in the Wizard of Oz this fall?) she ate dinner and went to bed!
Friday night, Layton and I went to his best buddy, Joseph's, house. Joseph's mommy, Jenny, is one of my good friends and his other friend's mommies are also my good friends... ya'll get the picture. We had a great time visiting and while I took a picture of us, I didn't get one of the party. Why is that?!

And this party boy? What has he done all weekend?

Ran fever, chewed on pieces of furniture, and got himself numerous goose eggs on his forehead.

My Baby Boy

Metamorphosis

Did anyone read the grotesque story of a boy that turns into a beetle? It is a "classic" piece of literature that I was forced to read in highschool. I have fortunately blocked out the title of the passage...and the author....

Wait. No, I didn't.

It just came to me.

The Metamorphosis by Frank Kafka.

If you haven't read it...don't. It is a big existentialist nightmare.

Anyway.

Today we discussed how caterpillars turn into butterflies. We have a butterfly garden complete with five caterpillars that have just turned themselves into chrysalids. Apparently, that is the plural of chrysalis. I had to google it.

So, we are reading our science book about the stages of metamorphosis and I am explaining this big word to Layton and Laura Grace. We discuss how small and helpless caterpillars are-they crawl around in their ugly little bodies doing nothing but searching for food. Then, by God's grace, they change into beautiful butterflies that are free to fly around. I then brought the whole spiritual analogy behind it into play and was really getting into how God's love is so amazing. It was a beautiful moment. Both kids were so excited and even had eyes full of wonder. Then they spoke.

"YAY!!! God is going to turn me into a butterfly!!" (Layton).

"But, wait! I think caterpillars are beautiful! I want to be a caterpillar!" (Laura Grace).

I was so deflated. But, only momentarily. I pulled out some scripture and managed to salvage the situation. Somewhat.

Still, Layton asked me a little later if he could metamorphosis into a cloud.

At least he grasped the vocab word of the day.

I am insane

Ladies (and a few gentlemen), I have officially purchased my homeschool curriculum.

There is no going back.

Whenever I make a huge announcement like this I hear the Star Wars and Star Trek music. Yes, both of them at the same time. Yes, I have issues.

Anyway.


I can't say that homeschooling is going perfectly. Because, it is actually very imperfect.

For example...

I wrote Layton's name on a piece of construction paper and gave him glue and Cheerios with the instructions to glue Cheerios on the outline of his name. I then turn my attention to Laura Grace and begin teaching her math. Meanwhile, Layton happily paints the table with glue and drops the Cheerios one by one on the floor so Will can eat them.

Another example...

I am giving our Bible lesson to the kids while Will crawls around the dining room. By the end of the lesson Layton is convinced he shouldn't get hair cuts (we discussed Samson and obeying God) Will has fallen and hit his head, and Laura Grace is hanging upside down in her chair asking for a snack.

And, finally, the crowning glory of why I am crazy to homeschool.

While teaching my children about the Oregon Trail...

Will ate a roly poly.

Oh, the horror.

Poison control laughed as loud as my children in the background.

Despite all the chaos of a nine month old bent on self destruction, a four year old who thinks he should be doing everything his sister does, and a six year old who is well...herself.... I am loving it. Absolutely loving it.