Freedom and Liberation: Goodbye Facebook, Hello New Year

The title pretty much sums up my blog post, and perhaps it is all I need to write, but I'll expand a bit.

Over the last year or so I've become frustrated with my relationship with Facebook.  I hate how my fear of missing out is really the only thing that keeps me posting and reading.  I also hate how I start thinking only in status updates, or only take pictures of my kids with the soul purpose of posting them on Facebook.  I don't take pictures anymore with the idea of preserving family memories and placing these pictures in an album for my children to look upon after they've aged and grown, but rather to see all the "likes" and comments.  And it only got worse after I got my iPhone and could access FB at all times.  Instead of reading an interesting article that would cause me to think and grow while I waited at the doctor's office, I'd scroll through the last few updates. Instead of journaling before bed, like I did in my youth, I scrolled again, and then fell asleep.

I would actually feel a sense of victory when I would have a gathering with friends and no one would take a picture to post it on FB.  But then I'd feel a bit cheated that not one of my 500 friends would get to know how fun my life was and that I had been to the beach with my friends, goodness.

Then there was the parts of me that I didn't like, that were coming out...the judging side of me. I would make judgements in my mind about people based on a random posts here and there. As if someone can be summed up by their daily status updates.  I'm sure that if I were having a face-to-face conversation with this or that person we would be having an authentic interaction and would be truly hearing each others' points of view and I'd end the visit feeling like I had truly heard someone instead of throwing them in the pile of ridiculous thinkers.

Then I sunk to a new low, I posted something of my son's that was merely a brag, that was it...my only motivation.  I was proud and I wanted everyone to be impressed.  I wanted to read the comments of, "Wow, he's talented!  That's amazing."  Why did I need to hear this?  I needed to purge.  Still, what if I missed something?  This line of thinking always kept me stuck.

Then a friend who I hadn't seen in a while came for a visit. I found myself struggling to have a conversation.  See, all those starter questions we already knew the answers to, so how were we supposed to start and reconnect?  I finally stated, "B's been playing basketball." 

"Yeah, I saw that on Facebook."  Conversation killer.  That was it!

Over the next few days I shared my new conviction with a few friends, "I think I'm going to fast from Facebook."  Each January our church promotes the idea of fasting during the first week of the New Year.  I've never participated.  I always feel a bit lame for not fasting from food, and I would literally fall over if I did not feed my body.  So I always give myself permission to not ever participate in this church fasting extravaganza.  Others have fasted from movies, Netflix, FB, chocolate, coffee....etc...anything that they feel consumes too much of their time or cravings.  Should I fast from Facebook?

Each time I shared my new conviction to quit the social network, I grew in my confidence that this was the right decision. Plus, each person I shared it with actually agreed with me and thought it might be a great idea for them too.  One friend was so bold as to completely delete her account!

The other thing that spurred me on was my friendship with Heidi.  Heidi and I have been friends since college and our friendship has continued to grow and evolve.  We don't live close, but when we do get together we never run out of things to discuss and share.  And she's never been on FB.  What!?  You mean I might not miss out if I too was off that blasted thing?  My true friendships might survive!?

I must be craving a simpler time when people actually called each other.  I have even sent a few old-fashioned emails in the last few days, and they were grand.  I loved them.  They were personal, like a letter.

Today was my sister's birthday.  There was the temptation to post on her wall a glorious message that all could read and testify to our love for each other.  But I didn't.  I called.  We chatted.  It was about us and no one else.  It was good.

Seriously, at least for the first two days of my Facebook Fast I have felt liberated and free, daring and edgy.  I love it.  Happy New Year!

Transitions

I think I just went through a pretty major transition without really taking the time to notice and wonder in it.  And so, I'm paying for that now, just a bit.  I'm reflecting and processing a full year-and-a-half later.  There even might be a little bit of grieving involved.

Don't worry, I'm still completely outnumbered. That will never change.  You should have seen me in Winco last week.  I was the irritated mother of three boys who thought the grocery cart was a jungle gym or a platform for the X Games.  With teeth clinched I pushed the cart of food, "Really?  I thought these dreaded grocery days were behind us!" 

But, things have change, dramatically.  I've always known I would return to work after my brief "vacation" of the early-parenting-years.  In fact, I think I'm a better person when I am working.  The long days of naps and diapers and waiting anxiously for daddy's return didn't exactly feed my soul.  I need an outlet, so I poured myself into my writing. I also poured myself into my friends and into relationships.  I instigated and planned women's retreats for our church.  I was always inviting groups over to our house: bbq's and wine parties.  I found myself on countless committees.  It was actually a bit out of control, but I was getting a lot of friend time through all of this. 

Then I said yes to going back to work, part-time: teaching preschool, located at my older sons' school.  My youngest went to work with me.  No need for childcare.  The new creative outlet came a bit more abruptly than I had planned as I found myself finishing out the school year for the previous teacher, so I didn't have much time to process what this change would mean.  I knew I needed to achieve a balance, and so I let go of all my former commitments, but what really happened was a disappearance of my former-friend-life.  Yes, I was busy and meeting new people and families.  (And I have to say I love all these new relationships my job has brought me into.)  But I didn't fully notice the old friendships fading until after it happened.

It was at my book group a few weeks ago, that my mind wrapped itself fully around this revelation.   This is the one commitment from my former life that I refuse to give up: book group.  I need it.  This group is a lifeline to me.  They are a group of women that spiritually and intellectually challenge me.  They fashion me. They feed my need for thought, reflection, and friendship.  Together we go to places all around the world:  the Pacific Crest Trail,  Nigeria, frontier Wyoming, a women's prison, Russia...and as we travel through reading we expand our views and thoughts and experiences.  We are a support for each other in our current stories.  One of the women in the group marveled that so many of us met when we were all having our first babies and now most of us are all working again, our kids are in school, our daily routines have changed.  C asked me the other day, "What age do you want to chose to be when you are in heaven?"  I told him, "36. I  love what I am right now."  (Don't freak out, we don't get hung up on theology in this house.  By letting C control this conversation I stumbled upon a wonderful revelation.)

C said, "I haven't lived long enough to know yet what age I would pick."

Me, "That is very true."  Maybe when its all said and done I'll pick 70, or 65, or 99.  I have a lot more transitions and life stages to go, but for now I am very happy with the one I'm in.  I'm only a tad bit nostalgic for the days when making it to a friend's kitchen table to sip coffee and eat a muffin felt gloriously victorious: our kids screaming and fighting on the floor amongst the Sippy cups and plastic chew toys.

Perhaps there is no way to actually be cognizant of transitions when you are in them.  That could be the whole point of the word reflection, but I strive to be a person of noticings, and so I wish I'd noticed a bit more while I was in the whirlwind of changing from the early-years to the elementary years, that's all.  I do know I did it, and I do know it is over.

I think I'm almost done grieving some of the things I've lost from the former life, mainly relationships that have faded and evolved.  What I seem to be left with are some really deep connections that I see lasting a lifetime (relationships that go beyond diapers and potty-training), and a career that is extremely fulfilling and life-giving to me.  I also have three little men who are becoming more and more independent: which has always been my parenting goal.  And I am getting more time again with the man I started this all with, my husband.  One day there will be another huge transition and we will find ourselves back to where we started: just the two of us.  I could get almost giddy about this, but I won't because right now I'm 36 and the mother of three active, crazy, loving, smart, interesting boys who leave me exhausted and fulfilled all at the same time.  When I was 18, I was so unaware of the layers that life would bring.  Now I'm getting a small glimpse of what living means, and I continue to love the gift of life.  I am thankful.

Best Summer Ever

Let's not forget how good the summer of 2013 was!  I hope when my husband and I are old we remember this blissful period of play.  There were several reasons this summer tops our list, but the main is the age of our kids!  They are getting so independent and they have learned the art of playing together well. 

This was the first summer we went to the family cabin, and I wasn't fearful that one of my children might drown.  Two of the three children are swimming well, and the 3rd is smart enough (and fearful enough) to always want his life jacket on.  I could truly relax. I could sit on the deck and look out onto the lake, as my oldest maneuvered his way into the rowboat for a morning of solitary fishing.  I laughed at my middle confidently working the kayak out into the middle of the lake and then getting mentally suck and needing me to come out and talk him through it and back to shore.

There were moments this summer when I was all alone, quiet in the house because all three boys were out and about: in the woods, playing basketball in the shop, racing the sprinklers through the garden, or giving themselves hippie mud treatments.

This was also the first summer my husband didn't work an extra, odd job, or work on a house project!  This was also glorious.  Summer was ours to fill.  We filled it with mid-week camping trips.  Did you know you can have an entire campground to yourself if you go on a Wednesday?  We went on spontaneous beach excursions!  Being a native Oregonian, I forget that the Oregon beach is actually warm and sunny and should be visited more often in August.  It is way cheaper than Hawaii and just as nice.

The last sign that we did summer well, is that we are all really ready for the next season and for school.  I mean, we all wish we had just a little more time, but deep down I know seasons are only good when they don't last forever and when you get a chance to miss them and wish them back.  A schedule will be good.  It is time for their brains to reengage and be pushed to the next level.  They are missing their school friends, and excited for new teachers.  There is something to be loved about September: the yellow school buses, school yard noise, cooler mornings, and fresh apple/pear crisp.  We are ready for fall.

Its all good.

Middle Childhood: Loving It

Apparently ages 6-11 is considered middle childhood, and I must say I am a fan.  I still have one tiny toe left in the preschool years with A who is 4, but he's a fun four...or maybe I'm finally a fun mom of a four-year-old...so things are fairly up at this household.

Actually, I think I've done a good job of being present in each stage and loving and appreciating what family means in each developmental moment.  However, I do feel like I emerged from a cave a few years ago when no one still needed naps, diapers, meltdowns etc.

Yesterday was one of those perfect middle childhood days.  We all woke happy.  We piled into the minivan and took my oldest to piano.  My younger two played with the piano teacher's grandkids in the backyard while I sipped coffee and visited with their mother.  Then we were off for the berry field.  The sun was out, so were all the mountains.  My boys can now recognize the Three Sisters, Jefferson, and Mt. Hood.  They always check on Mary's Peak, and they ask questions as we drive like, "Which way is Kansas?"  I point and ask, "Is that East or West?"  They answer, "East!"  Then they discuss how long it will take to drive to New York, how long to fly, how long on a train etc.  I love this growing awareness of the world around them.  I take them on back roads from one little rural town to the next.  I point out whose farm we are passing, and then a cheer goes up when I say, "There are grandpa's fields!" I point out Willard's farm.  Silent awe.  (Willard is the coolest guy they know because he's 99 and was a farmer and worked hard his whole life.  I love that that equals cool to my boys.)

We then head into the Pharmacy for birthday gifts.  B had brought his wallet which is full of his earnings over the last few months:  ten dollars.  We don't pay real good at our house. :)

After picking out a birthday present, he looked for something special for himself.  At first he was sure he wanted the retractable pirate sword and practiced some convincing death scenes in the toy section.  I continued my shopping as the boys looked over possible purchases.  Then B rounds the corner with the look of pure love in his eyes: he's cuddling a small stuffed kitten, "This is what I want!"  I couldn't have been happier. I  love that there is still a little boy in him that wants a stuffed toy.  All the sweetness in him came spilling out in that moment, and I loved him for it.

"I think that is a perfect choice!"

We headed home and he pondered what would become his new friend's name.  He settled on Douglas.

Later that night we headed to a summer party at a local farm:  movie night on the lawn complete with cotton candy and popcorn.  The kids ran barefoot with their friends through the tall grasses that surrounded our outdoor theatre.  Dusk came, and we all settled into our sleeping bags and lawn chairs.  Wreck-It Ralph played.  B laughed at all the jokes.

These are the memories I want my children to carry with them of this period called Middle Childhood.  I know these are the ones I will never forget.

Motherhood and Grace

The longer that I'm a mother the more I realize that I need grace, grace from my kids and from others...and from God.  I'm far from perfect.  I blunder along for sure.  I need encouragement and community.  I need honesty with close friends and lots and lots of laughter.

This mothering job seems too much at times, as I realize the lasting imprint I leave on my three sons.  What will they remember of me?  Will grace wash away those flub-up-moments?

I think Nancy B. Kenney's latest anthology is titled appropriately, Miracles and Moments of Grace. Inspiring Stories from Moms.

With Mother's Day approaching it could be that perfect gift to another mother.  The book is filled with short stories that really do bring encouragement, that you are not alone, not the only one feeling or thinking that about motherhood.  It is not just perspectives from new moms, but covers a wide spectrum of motherhood.  Some of the stories are quite heavy dealing with miscarriages and life-altering accidents, and then others are quite light and laughable.....my chapter entitled, "The Dirty Days of Summer," is more humorous, but still deals with me learning how to hold my own plans loosely as I journey through motherhood.

It is a group of lessons I'm proud to be included in.

Why Is Three So Hard?

Why is three so hard?  My memory is not kind either, because unfortunately I’ve forgotten how tricky the other two boys were at this age.  In the moment, I feel like A is my nemesis, my nightmare.  He’s the one proving to the world that I am an unfit parent, mother.  Hans tells me B and C were both rough at this age.  I seem to have forgotten.  I’m sure A is the hardest.

My nightly reading is a book titled, Knowing Your Three-Year-Old.  I find comfort and encouragement from this read.  My favorite line goes something like this, “The three-year-old sees his mother as his enemy at age three-and-a-half.  This is a good age for the mother to enroll her child in preschool, to give her and her child a few hours off from each other.”  Unfortunately it is hard to take this book’s advice since I am my son’s preschool teacher.  Oh dear.  We are doomed.

I have put all my faith, hope, and love into the fact that his 4th birthday keeps getting closer and closer.  February, come quickly. 

I try and remind myself that he is cute, sweet, plays well by himself, is smart, creative, and ingenious…focus on these things.  But it is hard when he seems so volatile.  I pleaded with his oldest brother to play with him and build a furniture fort with our little demon on a day when A was especially difficult.  A was so excited, so giddy.  He adores B.  “Yeah, let’s build a fort B!”  But something wasn’t quite right with the fort.  A’s toes stuck out and were exposed to the harsh weather elements of our living room.  Rage ensued.  Couch cushions scattered.  B looked for an escape.   

“B, you don’t have to play with him.”  Relief.

A was devastated, “But I wanted to build a fort.”

“Yeah, but when you get angry like that it is scary to play with you.”  Tears.  Favorite blanket, chair snuggle…calm.

At preschool last week we were at a total impasse.  A refused to sit and eat his snack with the other children.  He crumpled his pathetic body into the corner of the classroom.  It had been a rough morning up to that point and it felt like my limit of tolerance.  I was ready to call Grandma and send him home.  I knelt down beside him, “Can you use your words and tell me what is wrong?”

“But I wanted to share my fruit snacks.”  I wanted to cry.  This stubborn tantrum came from a really good place.  Here I thought he was just being obstinate, but instead he was devastated.  I had no idea that the fruit snacks he asked me to buy him were supposed to be passed out and share with his friends.  Sweet boy.  “Let’s go get them.  I think they are in your cubby.”  Up he bounded, joy in his step…making sure each classmate got a handful of his special treats.

I have to remind myself to look at what is motivating the meltdown.  Usually it is sadness, frustration, or disappointment…not pure anger…just miscommunication.

And then the memories begin to come back.  B, at a young age had to sort out his feelings over his new baby brother, C.  Oh the meltdowns!  Whenever it was time to nurse this new intrusion, B, would wail and moan as he tossed and turned all over the living room carpet.  C had certain expectations and desires at age three too.  He threw a royal fit during his swim lessons when his instructor handed him the pink floating noodle.  Wow, what a scene.  I was at a total loss.

And guess what…C and B are very nice little boys.  I always get compliments after play dates and birthday parties.  No complaints from their teachers.  They are kind and thoughtful; they communicate their wants and desires, and can balance their emotions with the world around them.   

Still, I forget this, I forget how far they’ve come.  It is always good to take time to remember.  However, in this particular era, A is very frustrating, and I’m still looking forward to four…along with everyone else.

(I wrote this after a week of intense power struggles with A.  This last week has been blissful.  He's been sweet and good at communicating.  We've had special one-on-one times, like making his famous cookie pie and playing games together.  But when I wrote this I was in a very frustrated state.)

Whoop! There It Is! Summer.

Update: Anticipate

Over the New Year I decided to embrace a word for the year instead of making goals or resolutions.  I felt like God handed me, lovingly, the word anticipate.  I felt like I was moving away from old commitments and into new ones, just wasn't sure what the new ones were yet.  I love being aware of the movements of God in my life and living in trust as my life takes new turns.  I learned long ago not to force change, but to anticipate, hope, plan, and trust change.

So, guess what!?  I am embracing a new teaching challenge: preschool.  Never would I have predicted this career choice.  I started out in secondary education, loved my stint at the college level, but now I'm actually very excited and eager to begin this new venue for my passion of teaching.

I'm finding myself taking on some new volunteer work also.  I'm trying to get some planning and movement in the way of long-range plans for my sons' school playground.

But don't worry, I'm passing off many of my old commitments: church women's retreat, mom's Circus Teabreak's group, standing back a bit more from Sunday school leadership (although still taking my turn at teaching), found a new mom to take on the school newsletter, dropping Site Council for next year...probably not coaching my son's soccer team (Daddy says he wants too.).  So, don't worry, I actually think I'm striking a more healthy balance and focusing on fewer things and doing those few things well:  teacher, mother, wife, daughter, and friend. 

But, this transition period has been busy, and that is why there has been less writing lately on my blog.  Just thought my faithful readers would like to know.

Easter Conversation, Not Typical: God -Sighting 7,890

Our Easter conversation was not your typical family discussion. We discussed sperm. I was the instigator, I'm sure. I shared some random fact from some random article I read about sperm donors and how sperm is a major export for the US. There were statistics on how one guy had donated so much sperm he'd paid his way through college and graduate school and how donors get paid more for higher degrees etc. Then I mentioned how one family sued a sperm bank because their child ended up having cystic fibrosis. The horror on my sisters face grew. Why? She couldn't fathom. Because they wanted perfect children. Of course, not everyone who chooses this route does, but that was the population this article was highlighting. Then we launched into adoption and how wrong it is that white children are more expensive to adopt than children who are obviously not white. With each story my sister's passion grew.

What is the point of children? Yes, we all want "perfect" children. But, I think the point of parenting is learning to release control and realizing that there are things you do as a parent that help your children grow and bloom, but then there is free will, the roll of science, and numerous other factors that are out of our control that we have to learn to surrender and accept.

My sister's horror is one rooted in a deep love for a little boy who, frankly, most of us would initially say we would never want. But there is such beauty in my sister and in her family because this is exactly the child that they do want and that they do embrace and who they wouldn't change. My sister Laura has modeled grief, anger, acceptance, and joy.

Is society really better if we "weed" out all the imperfect? (I can think of another society who tried this...not a good thing. Besides, then we are allowing others to define perfection or "right.")

When I was pregnant with my three little boys, the fear that one of them might have autism was great. My sister's son had been born this way. We both tend to see this as a genetic issue, so I was scared. When each of them met a major milestone, like making eye contact, relating to others, etc. I was so relieved. Sure, I didn't really want a child with autism. I really didn't want a child with any genetic disorder. This is a hard subject and one that we should wrestle with continually.

My sister has not been damaged from have an autistic child. And just so you know, he is very severe, on the spectrum. The biggest benefit of Tyler? He has given to his family...there are now two sisters who embrace and live fully into the fact that bad things do happen and still God is good. That one doesn't have to be perfect to love and to feel love back. That joy comes from the unexpected. That the imperfect childhood is actually the best gift a parent can be forced to hand their children. The richness that Tyler's sisters have received from having a brother with a disability is obvious to me. The maturity and empathy that they both possess outpaces their peers. They embody contentment well. To me contentment, not complacency, is a spiritual discipline, a fruit of God's spirit and one of my biggest God-sightings to date.

Perfect Spring Break

We really ended up having a perfect spring break. (I was pessimistic about this.) It was perfect because we rested and enjoyed each other. It was perfect because I think we chose the right activities and are now ready for school to start up again. I'm ready to get the next 2 and 1/2 months done...summer here we come!

We usually try and go somewhere. When my youngest was born, we did not. My husband is a school teacher so we all get the week off together. But the year A was born we wisely chose to just lay low, or so I thought this was the wise chose. But, spring break in Oregon is often freezing and wet. It was. We were a bit bummed out, and at the end of that Spring Break 2009 we realized that we thrive on a bit of travel during our vacations.

It has been three years since that spring break of no travel, and we found ourselves (this last one) not going anywhere of real significance. However, we had someone we were anticipating and this made all the difference. We counted the days. The boys kept asking how many more, how much longer...does Grammy come tomorrow? And finally she did. Our vacations came to us and it was good. It still rained. It was still freezing. Oregon still did its thing. But we had someone special and so it was good. We had some local outings: went swimming, out to eat, saw The Lorax, and the everyone except A and I went to a Timber's game. My husband worked on a few house projects and our youngest treated us to a trip to the ER. (Legos should not be placed in nostrils.)

Each morning we took our time. We ate well prepared breakfasts and lounged in our pj's, coffee mugs in hands.

My husband game me a hug this morning and said, "You know what, this Spring Break was perfect. I know we didn't go anywhere, but it was exactly what I needed."

The Mind of a 5-Year-Old Boy

(My middle son wrote this story on Saturday, enjoy! He dictated it to me.)

Indiana Jones and the Battle War-The End of the History

Chapter 1: The Leader of the Bad guys

The missile ship was calling. The storms interrupted; the ship was about to explode. When the earth was shacking, their planet and baby was exploding and so they put him in a rocket and sent him to the sad desert. Then their planet turned back, black. Then their baby was...Indian Jones.

Chapter 2: When He was Born

On his birthday he was one. When this other kid was born, the other one was evil. And that evil kid was 2. His name was Colossus. So the satellites were breaking. When the ground was shaking-the dinosaurs were attacking.

Chapter 3: The Dead of the Sand Storm

They were building really big pyramids. The pyramids' bricks fell down. And so there was really, really, quick, quick, quicksand. And the volcanoes were about to explode. So the earth was safe, but the sand part was not very safe...DINOSAURS!

Chapter 4: When the Dinosaurs Happened

One of the 1st dinosaurs was the very small raptor, Minoraptor. And the 2nd one was Veloceraptor. The Taranadon was next. The next one with the 3 horns with the Triceratops, the next one was the duckbill dinosaur. Next, Braciosoraurs. And the next, a plant eater, Stegosaurus. Then the T-Rex!

Chapter 5: All the Dinosaurs

When all the dinosaurs were there, one a spaceship crashed on the sand. Then there was another one. The 1st one was Indiana Jones and the 2nd one was Colossus. These 2 kids landed, on a strange, sandy, world. there were some camels.

So, then they started to get new weapons in the sandy land.

Chapter 6: When They Turned

When they found a basket was on 2 robots. One was blue and one was black. So, Indiana Jones went on the blue robot. Colossus went on the redish, blackish robot. Then it took them to 2 tunnels. One said, "Are you a bad baby or a good baby?"

Indiana Jones said, "Good."

Colossus said, "Bad."

Chapter 7: The Mummy of the Death

Indiana Jones went into the blue tunnel, good. And Colossus went into the blackish, red because he was evil. When they found these people who were going to adopt them. So the robots took them to their new leaders, but the bad tunnel did not have a leader because they were the leaders.

So they found their tombs and then their birthday was today.

So, they Egypt Solar System, so the Dead Mummy arrived when the bad baby was born, but they put the bad baby into a machine and turned him into a man.

Indiana Jones got his weapon, his lasso, then they fought to the end of the war.

Chapter 8: Attack of the War:

The start lines were finished. The lights were on and they were battling with their weapons. The bad man head a surprise for Indiana Jones and he let him mummy out. Indiana Jones kicked the mummy with a double split kick. SO that was the end of Colossus.

Poop Fudge

Through the fog of early morning, I spied two large, round eyes and a sweet voice said, “Mama, I’m poopy.” If you’ve been following my parenting escapades long, you know that I do not call myself an expert in potty training. Where’s the magic button that I can push that reboots my three-year-olds to automatically transition from diapers to underwear? I know these buttons exist because it appears that many other mothers have located these devise on their children. (Not all of us, mind you, I do know that I am not alone.) It seems like the world of mothering can be categorized into two groups: those that beam with potty training ease and those that do not.

Normally I enjoy a morning cuddle, but not when my youngest announces that he is poopy. I lifted my comatose body from its warm covers and was immediately filled with horror−and immediately wide awake. A’s pants were poopy, yes, but also his feet! His feet! The trek to my bedroom from his is a long one that includes steep terrain and white carpet. (White carpet, another worthy column.)

I quickly rushed this dangling mess to the bathtub while he cheerily chatted about his morning adventures in poop. The horror grew. What did the house look like? I decided to assess the damage: little brown footprints recounted his journey all the way up the stairs and into the boys’ bathroom. Nightmare. The entire floor of A’s bathroom was covered from toilet to doorway with a fudge-like substance that, unfortunately, did not smell or act like fudge. It was a mirage that I could not deny.

How would I get the older boys to school? This was not a quick clean up, but would require hazmat vigilance. I called my father and begged him to take the older boys for me. I didn’t have to ask twice once I explained the situation. We all went into emergency mode.

After an entire tub of Lysol wipes, several stop-and-gags, and 40 minutes of hand-and-knee-deep-cleaning the bathroom was disinfected. Time for an intervention. After a short, but firm discussion in regards to the nasty nature of poo and that mommy is A’s helper, I felt satisfied that this experience was one we could all learn from.

The next three days were a beautiful thing. A asked for help all day long when it came to the use of the potty. I felt we had turned a key potty-training-corner. He kept telling me, “Poop is messy.” Yes, yes it is. I was starting to think that life’s hard lessons could be learned from, and that if we captured this at a young age our teenage years would be smooth sailing. (Fantasy: perhaps when I become the mother of three teenage boys I can align myself with the mothers whose children do well in school and seem to cause no parenting woes. I’d rather have that than easy potty trainers, right?)

I only shared my success with a few mothers; I am actually getting a bit wiser in my parenting− just a bit. The positive effects of the Floor Fudge Extravaganza only took us from Wednesday to Saturday. Then it was back to business as usual, not floor art, but plenty of messy pants−plenty.

I try and talk myself out of my panic attacks. I know it’ll all come together. I know he won’t still be doing this in a year. I know it has to end. He is my last boy, my last baby, but don’t tell him that. The other night I put him in a pull-up and he looked at me with disgust, “I don’t like those. They make me feel little.” No joke, these were his words and feelings. “Well, maybe if you didn’t have accidents, then mommy would let you wear big-boy-pants all the time.” My passive-aggressive son seemed to comply and let mommy dress him in these safety precautions. But this morning when he came running down the stair, jumping into my happy arms, I could feel that he had put underwear on beneath his pajamas and no longer resided in a pull-up. “Did you put on underwear?” (Knowing my youngest, he did this last night after I was sure he was warm and cozy in his bed.)

“Yes, I am a big boy.” He beamed and was quite pleased. I think I might as well surrender now, the teenage years just might prove to be even trickier for this parent than the toddler years have been.

Nap Time

We are in transition. To nap or not to nap. The pattern has been two days of napping followed by two days of no napping. The no-napping-days are pretty stressful by dinner time...fussy guy and fussy mama.

Often, I find my little guy like this:

The Face of the Unwrap

I could never quite capture their looks as they unwrapped their presents, and then I realized I did it perfectly. How about you?

Top Ten Toys to Not Get!

I've been writing this post for weeks, each time I sneak a toy into the garbage or give-away-closet. Nothing is worse than an annoying toy that's only purpose it to hurt bare feet as you maneuver your way across the floor. And there is nothing more glorious than a toy that gets played with over and over again...and is not a video game!

I read in our local paper that the best toys are the ones that are 90% kid and only 10% toy. The examples would be a plain doll: 90% kids/10% toy or a Tickle-Me-Elmo: 90% toy and 10% kid.

So here are items to avoid:

1. Bakuguns: at first they seemed fabulous, but for my kids they were not long-lasting. They lasted the afternoon, but that was about it. I know there is a game to play with them, but I nor the kids put the energy into playing by the rules.

2. Trick Tracks: the funny thing about this, is that I posted on this about three years ago, raving about how great they were. I have a box full of them and most of them are broken and no one plays with them.

3. Coloring books: so I've discovered that my boys, and maybe all boys, prefer white drawing paper or puzzle/maze books, but not coloring books. I have a drawer of these classic coloring books that I should use for fire starter.

4. Small action figures found at McDonalds: throw all of these away or just don't buy them! I guess they are good for a road trip and some mindless entertainments in the van.

5. A super cool, child's accordion: I bought this before my oldest was born and had visions of kids playing tunes on it for hours. I think, in the last 6 years, it has been played for no more that 5 seconds at a time, but I still keep it because it looks cool and I never step on it.

6. Mini-skate boards: I think my kids are too young, not sure. But my oldest was sure he wanted some and a mini-state ramp. I never step on this either because it never leaves the toy shelves.

7. Tinker Toys: I really thought these would be great, but there are just too many pieces and the tubs do not come with enough to allow for any to get lost. Once you loose a few, you can't really make anything very exciting. I'm ready to haul these off, but I keep them around hoping my youngest might discover them on lonely days when his older brothers are in school.

8. Lincoln Logs: Also something my oldest did play with right around age two, but I ended up doing must of the building and once they were old enough to build with them, they lost all interest. You can pretty much only build square structures and there isn't enough room for imagination.

9. Transformers: I hate these things. They are too hard for my boys to transform, so I spend a lot of time doing it and then they eventually break. The idea of them is cool, but I think it is better to let them watch a 30 min. episode and then play-act the story than actually buy them a plastic version.

10. Dodge Ball set with Velcro vest and balls: You'd think this would be a great gift, but it isn't. The balls are too light to really be thrown any distance and even my husband and I had trouble getting them to stick onto the vests. Just let your kids throw pillows at each other as they run across the living room, way more fun.


The Top Ten List of Toys to Get is coming.....

Wolf Ears

We were the last family to get a microwave, the last family to get a colored TV, the last family to get a VCR, and the last family to get a cordless phone and answering machine. Notice the trend? I’m repeating the cycle of being technologically deprived with my own children. They do not own any gaming systems, portable or otherwise, and neither of their parents owns an iPhone.

At church, the other day, I sat behind a mom roughly my age with young children. Our families have many parallels, but then she stood to sing and out of her coat pocket fell her iPhone. I smiled to myself wondering when I would get one, someday, I guess. It’s a little inevitable.

But for now, I am appearing very archaic and old-fashioned. I got made fun of at a school board meeting when I pulled out my paper calendar to write down an important date. My husband pointed out that my lack of electronics is equal to having a parent with a fanny pack. I think he might be right.

One major reason we aren’t keeping us is money. We live on a pretty strict budget. However, I know other people who live on tight budgets who do have these gadgets. So, that is not entirely it. I’m sure if it was more of a priority we’d have them.

My parents did an excellent job of modeling want and need, maybe to the extreme. My sister and I often laugh at these childhood memories. When we took vacations, we skipped meals. Visiting the Mayflower and Plymouth Rock is still as vivid to me now as it was in 1988. Why? Because I was hungry, starving. We had breakfast and had been hitting the significant East Coast historical sites at a vicious pace. It was about 2 o’clock and we were all hungry, although not complaining. Then I saw it, the ice cream cart. I knew my father’s weakness for ice cream and knew this was our big chance. He caved and later admitted that his stomach was growling too.

When my sister and I ran track, my mother would give us five dollars to split after our meets for food. Even in the early 90’s five dollars didn’t go very far. But we were clever girls and were able to get what we needed by using a little savvy and strategy.

Hans and I recently took the boys to Great Wolf Lodge. (Our children are hardly deprived and neither were my sister and I.) I often tell the boys, “Well, we could spend our money on that, but then we would not be able to do….” And when we do chose to do something extra I say, “We are doing this because we planned and saved for it.

It was a good mini-vacation. We enjoyed the water park. We did not enjoy the consumerism that surrounded us. This place was designed to get you to spend money. Just the way the halls and stores within the lodge were designed tempted children to say, “Please, mom, please. Can I have those wolf ears?” At the evening story time I noticed that my boys were the only children not wearing the signature wolf-ear-headbands. They seemed just as happy. They also seemed to be the only children not being photographed during the story hour. The mom beside me spent the whole story time editing one shot she took of her wolf clad child with her phone, zooming in and out, cropping, and then posting the shot to FB as soon as her picture was perfect for social viewing.

My oldest is playing basketball and loving it. Last night were his team pictures. I was the only parent who had not purchased a photo package. I did feel a bit embarrassed as I asked, after the professional was through with the team, if I could get a team shot with the camera I had brought from home. Everyone cooperated. I even got a solo shot of Bren holding his treasured basketball. He beamed and smiled.

On our drive home I started to regret my choice, “Honey, was that embarrassing for you? Were you OK that I brought my own camera and took a picture of you?”
He nodded and smiled, “No that was just fine. You know, sometimes if you buy certain things then you can’t buy other things like toilet paper.”

I’m sure there will come a time when I can’t get away with all this frugality, but I think the lesson is being learned and a healthy foundation is being laid within my boys. And when the time is right, one of these Christmases, they’ll be an Xbox under the Christmas tree and iPhone in my hands to document the much anticipated moment.

Needing New Family Photo: Vote!

I was told that my kids look nothing like the main photo on this blog, and that should be correct since it was almost a year ago that we had the picture above taken.

So, here is the soon-to-be-new-blog-photo. I thought I'd let the old one stay so you can compare and contrast, but starting Tuesday...no more old photo to view.

But perhaps the second shot is more appropriate...you get to vote!

A Rage Like No Other

I guess I’m still in need of refinement. My youngest tested my ability to keep my cool this morning by throwing a ginormous fit that lasted a full 35 minutes. I felt a bit helpless because he threw this fit while I was driving away from the bank. It was obvious that something had not gone his way, but we were all amiss as to what.
I am continually impressed with this third child and find myself saying, “Well, you’d better go far in life mister,” due to his perseverance and determination, also known as being stubborn and strong-willed.

A's two older brothers were in the van with me watching the rage and trying their best to distract A, cajole A, and threaten A into obedience. I heard B speak calmly, “Use your words A. Tell us what you want.” I smiled at B’s attempt to parent. Wonder where he’s heard that line before? But instead of being rewarded by a calm explanation there was more screaming, more kicking.

C tried another approach, “Stop it A. You are being naughty. Mom, he’s trying to get out of his seat. He’s trying to get out of the van. A, stop, this is not safe!” The yell and scare tactic, another one I often pull out of my parenting tool belt.

I tried also, really, I did. I was becoming a very distracted driver and so my oldest suggested that I pull over immediately before we all ended up in a car accident.

By this point A had freed his upper body from the 5-point-harness and was screaming, “I want out! I want out!” I guess he was taking B’s advice and using his words.

A was trying to unlock the moving van’s door with his left foot, as he successfully lowered the window with his left pinky finger. I did win this small battle by pushing the child-lock-window-button and by keeping the van in motion which has a child-safety-feature: while the van is moving, no side doors can be opened. Go Honda Odyssey engineers.

I pulled over. I’ve been working with this very interesting final installment of Schneiter’s procreation now for exactly 2 and ½ years, and I’ve discovered that the soft approach works best. I got out of the van and opened his door. I stroked his sweet face, only a mother would find this angry face sweet. I said things like, “Honey, you need to stay in your car seat. You need to stay in the van. You need to stop. You need to be safe. What do you want? Use your words. Do you want mommy to buckle you back in or do you want to do it?”

“A do it!” This was followed by even more intense and loud raging, the kind I’ve never seen or heard before. I was afraid the other people in the parking lot were going to report me because surely a child screaming that loudly was being mistreated by their mother, no one would stop to think that it was I that was being mistreated by my son. At this point I wanted to wither up and cry. But then there was a slight pause.

“OK, now, we are leaving and going home, thank you.”

It was merely the eye of the storm. The brief break was just a reprieve before the hurricane’s onslaught. I found myself trying to tune it out, focus on the road. My oldest offered to help me drive by pointing out all the stop signs and merging traffic. We promised and reassured each other that A would give up, eventually. Surely he wouldn’t last the entire trip home. The town we were in was a good 35 minute drive from our house.

C and B plugged their ears with their fingers and took their little minds to another, peaceful place. I was jealous of their Zen skills as little feet and legs wildly kicked the back of my seat. I kept waiting for a police officer to pull me over and ask me if I was a fit parent and a fit driver…if I needed to sign up for some parenting classes, maybe I did. Maybe I should. I have been parenting now for almost seven years, and I was at a loss. None of my usual tactics were working.

A did not stop screaming until we pulled into our driveway and he knew the ride was over. I let him out of his car seat. He crawled onto my lap, a puddle of tears and exhaustion, “Sorry mommy, sorry.” It was nice for him to say sorry, but by this point in time I was the one who wanted to create a scene. My scene would be a pity party. I wanted to melt into the driver’s seat and cry, “Oh A, why? Why were you so angry? Why were you so unreasonable?”

And then I turned a bad mommy moment into a constructive one because two out of the three children had been brilliant, “Boys,” I turned to my older sons, “I am really proud of you for putting up with all that craziness. You were very patient.”

B smiled, “I just tried to relax my body.”

I’ve decided to give myself a golden star in the good mommy column. Wouldn’t you?

I'm Just Not Done With Summer

Yes, I know, countless moms across the blogging world are posting shots of their little ones going off to school, but not me! I'm just not done with summer. Our summer was so late in coming. We went camping in the middle of July and got rained on, for example. And now the boys are back to school and we are supposed to have a week of 90 degree heat! I just didn't get in enough river swims. So, the picture of B's first day of school will be coming.

But, for now, I am posting pictures that show I'm in school denial:

Multi-task Warnings

Sometimes trying to do too much all at once only creates more work. Here are my morning happenings:

-Snuggled with C this morning, A tried to make coffee....on the kitchen floor

-Made a double batch of zucchini bread and talked to my sister on the phone at the same time: this means my kids watched too much PBS Kids

-Moved sprinklers around my yard: my youngest took this time to decorate the backdoor with my lipstick

-Cut and tied ribbon to my grape arbor, pretty sure the birds were mocking me: youngest poured coffee and milk into the waiting zucchini bread batter, 3 loaves were baked...the 4th had to be thrown out. Although I did consider baking it and seeing if I had created a new type of coffee flavored zucchini bread

-Writing this blog entry means my boys are upstairs jumping on their beds and making even more of a mess in a room that is a Lego war zone