Jenn-tastic

Monday, October 26, 2009

It's not about me, The Perfect Mother

I did not write the following, but many times I feel like both writers. When I read it on Sonlight's forums (the homeschool curriculm we used in the past) I just needed to share it with you.

I also wanted to thank all of you who cheer for me and my kids... we need that loud resounding chourus of love and encouragement! - Jenn

Q: “ Wow, I Could Never Handle Five Children! ”

I hear this all of the time and you know what?

I can’t either!

There I admitted it. I have no idea where three kids are or what they are doing at any given time. I can keep my eye/mind on two at a time … tops. My throat hurts at the end of every day from constantly correcting, talking to, talking over, reading to, explaining why, etc. to five people. Never … not once … during the day is my entire house quiet. Someone is *always* talking. It drives me crazy.

Craft projects are just ridiculous. I fondly remember sitting with my two little girls. They would sit calmly while I passed out supplies. Why not? It only took a few minutes. Now I have monkeys bouncing off the walls.

Children’s theater? Homeschool field trips? The state fair? I laugh at the absurd idea of going … if only to keep myself from crying.

I love all of my children dearly. I wouldn’t trade them for anything. However, sometimes I miss those quiet, calm days when we had fewer children. I remember days of dresses from Gymboree with matching socks, shoes and hair bows. I remember international vacations. It was so much easier with two; now it is just a logistical nightmare.

In a thread recently, I said that I would be an awesome mom to fewer kids. Someone said that wasn’t true. But it is true. I know it is, because I was … and now I’m not. I’m a good enough mom for five kids, but not to each individual child. And I’m a huge ball of stress all of the time.
— Bugaloo

A: People can—and will—say the darndest things.

Out loud, even.

(Jenn : I changed the names of her kids. I'm guessing Daughter A is the oldest. Then 4 brothers - B, C, D, and the littlest, E.)

I was at the YMCA yesterday, signing son D and son E out of childcare just after my 45 minute biking marathon with daughter A. It’s a wonderful Mother-Daughter bonding time; if you’ve got the means to work out with your daughter, I highly, highly recommend it. The conversations we’ve had in those 45 minutes have been some of the ones I know I will cherish thirty years from now. The big boys are in Karate at that time, the little guys are in childcare and it’s just A and me, racking up miles on those stationary bikes while everyone around us wonders what in the world we’re finding so stinking hilarious.

But I digress.

As I said, I was at the Y. E had already been handed over the counter and was grinding his face into my collarbone with every ounce of his being. D was being led—in protest, mind you—away from the playdough table and towards the little green exit gate. I wrote my name on the register with a flourish, and turned my attention to signing dramatically so that D knew it was time to head home.

“You’ve got, what? Three boys? Holy cow,” said the worker, a woman about my age.

“You missed one,” I offered helpfully, taking a step to the side. Sure enough, Son C was hidden just behind me in the tight reception area.

“Four boys? I couldn’t do that. No way. They would drive me nuts.”

I smiled broadly and nodded. This woman, after all, goes to my church. And you know … she really ought to know better.

“I like raising boys,” I said. “These guys are awesome. I can’t imagine how boring life would be without every single one of them.”

You think that’s it, don’t you? You’re saying to yourself—”This is a post about how people are always bashing on little boys.” Well, it could be. But no. This woman just didn’t know how to quit when she was ahead. Just then, daughter A came through the door carrying our workout gear in an oversized blue duffel.

“Oh my gosh, I totally forgot! You have, like, five kids. All those boys and a girl.”

Great math skills, I thought. You must be so proud.

My sunshiney thoughts had turned decidedly sour. Because at this point, let’s face it: the woman has already basically told my sons that they are a burden to their mother. Now she’s going to harp on our family size. This keeps getting better!

The woman then shook her head and delivered the jewel:

“I couldn’t have that many kids. There’s no way. I just couldn’t be the mother I want to be with that many of them.”

And you know what? I told her she was absolutely right.

“I can’t either!” I admitted. “And I’m so thankful!”

Now before you look at me like I’ve grown ten heads (which is precisely the look she delivered, by the way) let me tell you why I feel the way I do.

I am not the mother I wanted to be with these children. Can’t be. It’s not possible. There’s only one of me … and five of them. Do the math. I can not be all things to every child.

The world says I am failing. I have chosen quantity over quality. I can’t possibly be a good enough mother. Needs will not be met. There are just too many kids.

Praise God, I say.

Because I have come to realize that the things I want to do and be for my children are not necessarily the best for them.

I want to kiss every boo-boo. Fawn over every picture. Brush every head of hair. Trim every finger nail. Hold the back of each bike seat as the training wheels come off. Stop the hurts before they come. Be the ear for every heartache. Bake every afternoon snack. Cheer at every game. Warn of every danger. Read every book. Watch every impromptu performance. Be a part of every game. Lead every troop. Sing every song. I want to right the wrongs. Hold off the enemies.

I want to be their world.

With one child, I could do that. No problem. With two, I think I could manage pretty nicely. But with three, five, seven? No way.

Instead, what my kids get is something different. Maybe not better—the Lord’s plans are different for each family, and I respect that. But at the very least, what my children have is equal. It’s not some lesser thing. It’s not worthy of pity. It’s just different.

It’s not about me, The Perfect Mother, this growing up thing. No matter how much I always dreamed it would be, it just isn’t. It’s about God and the family He provided to meet every need.

Do boo-boos get kissed? Of course! But a portion of the time, it is a big brother who kisses the baby’s head after he’s tried to fit underneath the coffee table for the fifth time in an hour. Do cookies get baked? Yes. I admit, though, that A is turning into quite the chef thanks to being blessed with the opportunity to experiment in the kitchen without my hovering. And do you know who taught D to balance on his big boy bike when he shed the training wheels? It was B, running behind him and shouting, “Brother! Brother! You’re doing it!” in a voice so full of pride and utter joy that I get a catch in my throat just remembering. I cried from the curb, my hands busy plaiting A’s hair to fit under her helmet. It was a gorgeous moment, burned into my mind, my heart, my soul.

“Brother! Brother! You’re doing it!”

Are there sweeter words?

My children have a cheering section, not a number one fan. They have a chorus of voices that sing their praises and hands that reach out to help no matter the hour of the day. Will they walk through adulthood with this same closeness? There are no guarantees, of course. My own mother is the youngest of seven children, and I wouldn’t call their family particularly close-knit. There is no formula, no one perfect thing that will bind these little personalities into a warm quilt that they will want to stay wrapped in throughout their lives.

But there is love. Abounding love. More love than I, the mother who has been entrusted with them, could ever offer on my own.

I am not the mother I wanted to be. I do not make it to every event. I am sometimes preoccupied with a diaper or a math problem when a milestone flies past me at the speed of light. My children will not remember me in the foreground, chairing every committee, meeting every need and wiping every nose.

But I am the mother God wants me to be. I am in the background, usually. One voice among many in the sea of encouragement. Cheering. Praising. And witnessing the miracle that is our family.

— Mary Grace

Tuesday, October 20, 2009

chubby bunny

When was the last time you tried to shove 4,6,8, possibly 10 marshmallows in your mouth AND said chubby bunny?

The DeHarts and Petersen's gave it a try last weekend.

Enjoy Mrs. Heidi's video...

***This was our second attempt. Every one had a drink, caught their breath and then tried to stretch their cheeks out for another go. 3 smart children decided not to do it again.

Wednesday, October 7, 2009

soblem prolving

*My camera is still out of commission, so you'll have to imagine with me.

1. Katy and Jacob's old backpacks have been renamed - napsacks.

2. Emily and Becca are desperate to fill them with essentials (raman noodles, canned food, water bottles, baby dolls, etc.... essentials).

3. With their new found confidence in writing and an entrepreneurial spirit... they are ready to go.

Go where? To do what? Soblem Prolving.

Sometimes in all the excitement of a new adventure, it's hard to get all the word right :)

The girls decided to be "reporters" - Becca would write your problem down in her notebook and Emily would come up with a solution for you ( one that they might be able to remedy for you right away ).

For example, I needed a diaper. Becca wrote it down. Emily went to get it. You know, soblem prolving.

When Daddy got home, the girls overwhelmed him with all their enthusiasm. Thankfully, Daddy's problem was easy. He needed to go to the bathroom. Becca wrote down bathroom and Emily suggested he go use it.

Now the girls were ready to take this little business to the streets. That's right, 2 six year olds with their napsacks, paper and pencil in hand, were ready to go door to door - asking if anyone had a problem they could solve.

Their faces, their work choices, the intensity and seriousness of this business....Priceless.

Daddy talked with them about what they were doing and how that is different from what a reporter does. These girls were being consultants (harder to say than reporter).

Consultants ready to go "solbem prolving".

In the end, we allowed them (with their heavy napsacks in tow) to walk down the street about 6 houses by themselves - in the street. Oh Happy Day.

Waiting expectantly for the girls' return, their napsacks sit by their bed. I plan on having different problems for them to solve today.

Monday, September 14, 2009

of pipes and men

As we put our house on the market, we went ahead and did a sellers inspection, just to see if there were any "issues". We didn't want to be blindsided in the middle of closing.

Funny thing happened, we got blindsided anyway...

* foundation issues (12 new issues/piers to be exact)
* a broken (and now newly replaced) dishwasher
* a leaking toilet
* buckling subfloors in both living areas
* and a mysterious leak... unnoticed by the pest control guy, an inspector, plumber #1, plumber #2, foundation guys, an electrician. We finally got a friend who wouldn't give up.

Can you imagine our delight as the inspector said the guest bathroom sink had a leak, which might require the whole cabinet to be torn out, only to find out it didn't? It was the toilet, leaking sewage under the house. And the A/C with too much condensation going on around the freon lines.

No wait, not the freon lines. It looks like the water is creeping along the underside of the subfloor from the direction of the kitchen. Could it be the dishwasher we just replaced? No, looks a little more from the direction of the washer...but why is this puddle still here? Why is the subfloor covered in water droplets?

It turned out to be the drainage pipe from the kitchen (sink, dishwasher and washing machine). The brackets that held the 40 yr old cast iron pipes broke. And so did the pipe, when it hit the ground.

Everytime I ran my appliances or the sink, water was pouring out under the cozy room. Pouring out on the ground. Darren tells me this is called a libation.

So why is the sub floor all wet? Because all that liquid was evaporating and condensing beneath the subfloor...who was eagerly sucking it up and warping. Which makes the vinyl floor all wavy and bubbly (not in a good way) in the cozy room and the big room.

Subfloors take longer to dry out than any of the other work we've had done. People have even told me that the subfloor may dry out and shrink back to it's normal size.

So now I wait. I wait for the subfloor to dry. I wait to see if the vinyl will lay back down. I wait because Jesus told me to start packing. He said it was time to move. So now I wait for Him.

In the meantime, I am cutting and taping with Amanda, laughing with Claire, training my dog to "leave it", helping Jacob with homework, loving my Darren, eating Katy's homemade blueberry buckle and chicken stock (not together) and holding Emily and Becca at bedtime. This small house just keeps us closer together.

PS - The broken, backwards, oversized, ancient backdoor is being replaced on Thursday. That's really the only thing we thought we were going to have to fix. Maybe that's all our buyer is waiting for, too.

Friday, August 28, 2009

They had a great first week!

This is our first day of school from Daddy's phone. Good job, daddy.

Our first week went well. Everyone had breakfast, clean clothes, supplies, snacks and they all wants to go back. There were a few hiccups, but overall, we did a great job.

Katy finally made it... middle school. She got into band (her first elective choice) AND theater arts (her second elective choice). She is super excited. You can read about the horn daddy got her on his blog.

Yesterday she was able to open her locker on the first try, everytime :) Small victories help to outweigh some of the other drama.
"Mom, did you get the compostion books today? I need those compostion books tomorrow. It's for a grade. I've never gotten a zero before." tears.
"Katy, it's the first week of school. I'm not going to the store tonight, but I will this weekend and you'll have them on Monday."
"MMMMOOOOOMMMMM..... They said I need to have them by Monday and tomorrow (Friday) is the last day before Monday." more tears.
I'm not sure she really believes that the teachers mean that the last day you can bring them is Monday, when they said BY Monday, they obviously means Friday, since she won't be at school on Saturday or Sunday.

Jacob on the other hand brought home extra pages from some activity they did in class today because he thought the sisters would like to do them. I asked if everyone had gotten extra ones, he said, "No, I just asked Mr. Boyer for them and he said yes." He is also pleased to let me know that he is not one of the troublemakers. I am pleased to hear it.

Mr. Boyer gives the kids class cash for different jobs they have. Jacob has informed us that as soon as he gets $30 he's going to buy his desk so he doesn't have to pay rent to Mr. Boyer anymore. "I'm not going to waste my money on any of those cheap toys. I'm going to save it until I can buy my desk and then I can buy someone else's desk for $30. Then they will have to pay me rent." He can't quite explain all the rules to us, but it sounds like real world math and Jacob is really excited.

Emily and Becca are in the same class, Mrs. Means. "But she's not mean, she's nice. Which is good, because if her name was Mrs. Nice, she'd be mean." My biggest drama with them is picking out clothes to wear. Imagine Becca picks outfit A. Then Emily wants picks outfit B. But I say, no that doesn't match. So Emily picks outfit C. Now Becca trades pants A for pants B. But Emily wanted shirt A to start with and finds pants D.

Since I've left the room to finish breakfast, it's startling to see what they show up wearing in the kitchen and I have to send them back. Eventually they both have "acceptable" outfits on, sortof. Now we have to deal with hair clips, headbands, ponies, etc. I can do this... I think I can, I think I can.

I even did a little school with Amanda this week. She traced her ABCs, cut and glued and we read books. That took just a small amount of time, but she likes letters (especially A... she has 3 in her name, so her current signature is A A A) and scissors. I did unpack the play kitchen, food and little table and chairs out of the garage for them. Plastic pizza or cake, anyone?

ClaireBelles is a copycat and a climber. So as long as she's with us, I can catch her... She wants up on the bench beside us and then she's up on the table. Same in the cozy room, they are playing with the little table, it looks like she's sitting in a chair and then she's standing on the table.

Plus she lays on the floor when Layla is out... well, if you are going to lay flat on your back right next to the dog, I guess you aren't to worried about her licking you all over (or else you might only be one years old and don't know you have any other options). I think she's having a pretty good week, too.

We'll see what next week holds.