So appparently....

THIS unending freakin' weather....

has the ability to cause other isolated disturbances:

Pair that with these freakin' copious creatures...

...with their ability to confine mothers and children indoors...

..and you'll get two very stir-crazy, petulant people

Trust me when I tell you -- that the above photo is a generously kind portrayal of real nuts that inhabit Lewis Land.

 

Have mercy!

It snowed at our house last night!

Remember a month or so ago when THIS VIDEO went viral?  A mother videoed the aftermath of an entire bag of flour spread around every nook and cranny of her home by her adorable little boys who were still playing in it - all in a matter of  minutes while the mother was in the bathroom.  I think every mother was either horrified by it or rolled her eyes at the mother for 'letting' it happen. What struck me was how calm the mother was.  I was certain I would have blown a gasket if it were me.

Well, APPARENTLY, when you are in the situation yourself, you are struck dumb (both literally and figuratively) and are fearful that if any sound escapes you, it may set off a subsequent explosion which would surely cause you to become either institutionalized or jailed. 

How do I know this, you ask? Well the 'snow' at our house last night - wasn't snow. It was BABY POWDER and it was INSIDE our house minus three very fortunate rooms which seemed to escape the havoc.  I am still stupified.

Gianna had an emotionally challenging day yesterday, but we had seem to have turned the tide around later in the afternoon.  She was playing dress up in a beautiful ballerina costume and was dancing to classical music. I started making supper, which didn't require too much effort. In less than the time it takes a small pot of water to boil is all it took for the 'snowstorm' to do it's damage. 

I am almost always hightly attuned to the sounds of my child and my home and quickly know when something is awry. As I was browning my meat, I heard Gianna's hysterical giggling as she quickly approached the kitchen.  As I turned around (this all plays out in slow motion, of course) she appears in the kitchen trailed by multiple clouds of smoke -- skipping all the while with a gleeful expression and the bottle of baby powder I used FOR THE FIRST TIME SINCE SHE WAS BORN after her bath earlier.

It was at that very moment, I became mute.  I calmly took the bottle out of her hand and escorted her to laundry room where I keep her high chair (which I now use for time out).  I was hoping that she had only just begun the powder rampage close to the kitchen, but that hope was quickly shattered as I entered the fog-filled living room. And then I got a glimpse of the hall which led to what I could not even begin to imagine.

HOLY freakin' COW! My room was covered, but certainly not the worst of it. The bathroom was like a WINTER WONDERLAND. It was still floating in the air as I tried to imagine how many hours it would take to clean up this horrible joke of a mess. 

It was EVERYWHERE: in the toilet, on the toilet, in the bathtub, in both closets on the picture frames,  And don't ask me how there was still powder left in the bottle!  Apparently powder fills space very differently when let out of it's container. 

First I stared sweeping - one room at a time.  That should help, right? HA!  Then I dry-mopped. HA! Then I had no other choice to add water to the mix....I wet mopped. Double HA!  Four moppings and a regretful steam-cleaning later - it is STILL NOT CLEAN.

Gianna spent a good hour in her high chair last night as I cleaned.  She peed on herself and I let her sit in it for about 20 minutes.  I thought that was the safest place for her. "I don't want to sit in the chair anymore, Mommy!"  My calm response:  "Well, I can relate. I don't want to be cleaning powder of my floor, furniture, clothes (she got in my closet too!) all night long either."

She asked to go straight to bed at 6:30pm.  I obliged. She raised a little cain when I put her down and I started crying.  She started sobbing and sobbing and saying, "I am SO sorry, Mommy.  PLEASE forgive me. You HAVE to forgive me. You're my MOMMY!"  Heartbreaking.

So, it's the next day. I've been cleaning for another hour and I've yet to see the light at the end of the tunnel.  I'm sure I'll be finding powder in unusual places for a good long while.

The funny thing is, Gianna is not the kind of kid who tends to things like this.  I'm pretty good about removing temptations or keeping them out of reach. (Apparently I was a little lax after bathtime yesterday.)  She's gotten into small things like make up or nail polish but never made enormous messes. From what she told me, she saw the powder and wanted some for her hands. When it came out in cloud form I think it was novel and fun and she got caught up in it. Who knows?  Even this morning after our little chat and another apology she told me, "But powder is so much fun!" 

My guard is up, little girl! Don't mess with MOMMY!!!!!

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

I was shaking my fist at the heavens last night. It was a hard enough day with this little hiccup.  Grief had already left it's mark on us throughout the day.  I was another kick in the gut and reminder that Iain is gone.  It's hard because he'd have been the one I would have called; who would have found it both appauling and hysterical; who would have told me to leave the mess and rest until he got home; who would have helped clean it - or at least offer to; who would have calmed me and held me and made it all better - or bearable; who would have told the story for years with a sympathetic smile.

  Now it's just me - and my blog. :(  I miss him. 

I sure hope he's enjoying this little show from the other side.

The Jury's Out

Well, actually - the jury's in....I'm just not on it.

I was summoned for jury duty - beginning this past Monday.  I've been called twice before and served on one jury, but never being a stay-at-home mom with a two year old at home.  I really didn't want to go at all - but didn't want to neglect my duty either.  I figured odds were with me and I'd hopefully get sent home after a day or so.

What was I thinking? Since when do I have the odds in my favor when big things are at stake.  I should have known better.  We were informed on the first day that there was really big case on the docket. Not only was it a big case, it was a big high profile murder case that was expected to last at least two weeks.  I started panicking as I was not at all prepared for that much time away from my child.

They had us all fill out a lengthy questionnaire regarding this trial and I did my best to make myself look as undesirable as possible.  (Not that I had any idea how to really do that.)  I did note that I was very concerned about the length of the trial and said that I had child care for this week (my mom) but the next week that wouldn't be the case.

Out of the 300 or so in the jury pool they called 50 or so to be considered for the big case.  Guess who was in that 50?  Lucky me.  Out of the 50, they called 20 or so for individual interviews because of something we had written on our 4 page questionnaire. Yep.  I was one of them.

Apparently, they were concerned about my comment I made childcare.  I was sworn in and had to take the witness stand.  I was interviewed by the D.A. and the defense attorney and the judge.  I cannot begin to tell you how demeaning it was.  I felt completely belittled by their questions and comments.  "Why can't you just get someone else to watch your child next week."  I told them that was not possible and the only alternative was for my husband to take off of work - which may be made complicated by the unforeseen issues happening at the plant.  They were unimpressed.  I told them that I had waited a long time to become a parent and that my choice to stay home was so that I could be there for her and that I could be the one meeting her needs.  They were again, unimpressed.  It's not that I wanted a medal, but I did want a little respect and validation.

The defense attorney asked, "So, Ms. Lewis, are you going to be completely ticked off at the court if you are called to serve on this jury - making you unable to render a fair and impartial verdict?"  Of course I was irritated that anyone would have questioned my ability to be fair - and answered, "No."  It wasn't until later that I realized I was mistaken.  When I returned to the jury pool, I learned that another juror was released because she was a middle school teacher and serving as a juror would prove to be a hardship.  My mom was a teacher. I completely get that. But, sheesh - I have a two year old that I have been away from for more than a day or so....by choice - not because I can't find a babysitter.

Back in the jury pool they called the first 14 to be questioned.  They went in at 11am, broke for lunch and were question until after 6pm.  After lunch the rest of us were told to go home and come back in the morning.  The next day, they again, took the first 14I was at the end of the list, so I figured they'd probably never get to me. What was I thinking?  They took the first fourteen in to be questioned.  They went in at 11am and stayed til 6pm.  They reported back that next morning with the rest of us and were questioned for another 3 hour.  Eight hours of questioning for 14 people! And that was only the first panel of juror. That's eight full episodes of Law and Order. Can you imagine?

This lengthy questioning of perspective jurors apparently isn't usual.  It certainly wasn't my experience of my first jury experience 20 years ago.  But this was a criminal case. We were informed that the defendant was charged with 2nd degree murder. The victim was a 20 year old marine just back from Iraq.  The gravity of the situation and the responsibility of the chosen jury was great.

After lunch on Wednesday, the judge called the next 14 jurors for questioning...and he wanted the rest of us in the courtroom while that went on....hoping that listening would make our questioning take less time.  Meanwhile they called another 25 jurors from the original 300 to come back in. Holy cannoli.  It became clear that they wouldn't be anywhere near starting the trial until next week.

To witness the questioning of the next panel was interesting, entertaining, disheartening, and frustrating.  There was a lot of 'explaining' about he process, the charge, the situation, the law, etc. threaded between all of the personal questioning.  I just felt terrible that some of the people who had to share highly personal, emotional facts about their lives, jobs, families. A lot of the questions were insensitive and presumption were unfair.  It is such a shame that the experience of many jurors is that they are being accused of a crime. On the other hand, some of the jurors REALLY enjoyed the spotlight.  One after another all but started 'trying out' to make the jury.  It was hilarious to watch the dynamics - but frustrating to see how much time it was taking.

First it was D.A.'s turn to interrogate the individual jurors.  It took him over four hours to get through the fourteen.  Then, the defense attorney began. He only got through two jurors before the judge finally let us go.  It was 6:15 pm.  I got home 15 minutes before Gianna's bedtime. 

Meanwhile, the weather reports were grim for the end of the week and the judge said that the court would likely be closed on Friday - and that we'd have to come Saturday.  You can imagine the reaction THAT got!  And even though the city was shutting down on Thursday, we were told to show up to continue questioning. Lovely.

Thursday morning we started at 9:00 am and the defense attorney finished the rest of the 14 jurors. Me and the remaining 11 hadn't even begun our rounds of questioning...and I was getting nervous.  By this time I was getting an idea of what they were going to focus on with me and I was practicing my answers in my head.  I had a couple of speeches brewing that were going to be fabulous.

At 11 o'clock once we returned after a short recess.  The judge said, "Well folks, I've got good news and I've got good news."  We all looked around a little nervous and excited. 
"Ladies and gentlemen, we have a jury. (He named the ones who were chosen from the current panel.) We will begin the trial Monday.  You are all dismissed."

Hallelujah!  We were thrilled.  And then on our way out I caught a glimpse of the young man being accused. And then I caught a glimpse of the victim's mother.  My life's temporary inconvenience was ovcr - but their lives' tragedies were continuing.

As the trial begins next week, I feel called to pray for all those involved in this sensitive case.

Plotting Revenge

Okay, well I'm not really plotting revenge - but I am fantasizing about it.

Iain and I are increasingly irritated and incensed by the tortuous nights that have followed the New Year's Eve ExtravaBANGza of fireworks in our area.  That particular night was horrible because our child was up til almost 3:00am. I can tolerate fireworks, but I think it's ridiculously insensitive and rude to use 'commercial grade' cannons shooting off for over seven hours straight....in a populated suburban neighborhood.

Oh, I'm not stewing because of that one ludicrous night.  It's been the ten nights following that has me beside myself.  Every subsequent night has been horrible because we have have dealt with a screaming  toddler who is completely panicked to go to sleep (naps included.)  My well-trained, sleep-loving daughter has been traumatized by the events of that one night.  I know I'm dramatic in my descriptions sometimes, but I can honestly say that every night we listen to hours of pitiful screaming, crying, pleading and summoning. We are at our wit's end.

It's almost like she's experiencing a minor case of post traumatic stress syndrome.  It's excruciatingly sad and we are trying to be sensitive and supportive without giving in to spending our nights giving in to her demands that we rock her all night or sleep with her all night.

The first couple of nights, I did whatever she needed/wanted.  I rocked her endlessly, held her little hand, slept nose to nose with her in her toddler bed (which is no easy feat for my not-so-petite-self), and finally ended up on the floor next to her bed for hours until she was in a deep enough sleep.

When I realized that this was bigger than a little reaction to loud fireworks, my game plan had to change.  As soon as we opened her door, she'd fly through the dark - grabbing onto us pleading, "Mommy/Daddy ROCK ME!"  Many times there were no tears on her pudgy little face - which had us completely befuddled, because it really sounded as if we would find her soaking in tears.  We realized that there was manipulation going on, but it was all tangled up in this complex web of emotions.  On the third night (we could hardly move at this point) we were exasperated and thought we'd let her cry it out.  Ahhh.....how we forget what a tenacious child we have!  Ninety minutes of listening to her screaming, "MOMMY!" in her most pathetic voice - I could no longer handle it.  Now I'M suffering for Post Traumatic Stress Syndrome!   She fell asleep immediately after Iain rocked her. Poor baby was exhausted.

It's taken me two and half years to finally absorb the fact that whatever challenging stage children experience go through (like when Gianna was a baby and grunted for sport twelve hours a day) , it usually works itself out (sometimes in spite of us) within a few weeks. I really believed that until last night when she got out of bed, laid on the floor in front of the door and started crying and calling for me through the crack under the door. HOLY CANNOLI.  Brutal.

A few nights ago, I realized that she'd only cry for  'mommy' even though she was totally okay if Daddy showed up to rescue her.  So over the weekend I thought it might help if Iain was the only one who went in.  Frankly, I don't think that did didly.

Oh, and then there was the stage, where I promised her a prize if she when through the night without crying.  It worked one night - probably because she was exhausted.  But then it was back to business as usual. 

Last night we started a new game plan.  I went back to the good ol' sleep training method where after five minutes, we go in - comfort and leave.  Next time we go in after 10 minutes, 15 minutes, etc. with the hope that she'll 1) feel like we're responding to her needs, and 2) fall asleep at some point during one of the stretches.

When we got to the twenty minute stretch, I told Iain I would go in next.  I did.  Even though we had already prayed at the beginning of the bedtime ritual, I started again.  LOTS of praying. Praying decades of the rosary, praying prayers of protection, comfort and peace over her.  The whole while, her little hand just patted my shoulder. Every now and then when I'd take a breath, she'd say, "More prayers?"  As I concluded the litany of prayers, she lifted her head from my shoulder and said, "I bless you, Mommy."  *melt*  I put her down and without a peep, she rolled over and fell asleep. It's 5:45 am - and she's actually slept through the night.  (I haven't, obviously, but I'll take that trade-off any day!)

So, thank you, God, for helping our little one rest.  Thank you, God, that this silly little hiccup in our parenting effort is the worst thing we're dealing with.  Please be with those parents and children whose nights are plagued with inconsolable crying due to truly horrible and unfortunate circumstances.  And please, Lord, help me to remember to always call on you FIRST and unceasingly whenever I deal with my child, my marriage, my family and my daily struggles. 

Amen.

(Oh, and please help me forgive those imbociles, thoughtless people, friendly neighbors who started this whole shebang with their one night of fireworks.)

Blech...

So, Gianna has been a little more 'subdued' that normal these last few days.  Clingy, quiet, loss of appetite. sleep interruptions, a THREE hour nap due to said sleep interruption. 

Yesterday she said, "I sick."

This morning she proved it - all over the kitchen floor.

Blech...

It freaked her out a little bit - because she's really never gotten sick like that before.

(God must really love me if He's guarded me from the 'ick sick' for over two years!)

I must admit, I don't do 'ick sick' well.

I have never handled it well, whether I was the victim, or someone else was.

My mom said she was the same way.

When she was teaching, SHE used to go and get the janitor when someone got sick - leaving the poor kids by themselves.

I'd have done the same thing.

The janitor asked her, "Ms. Zullo, what are you going to do when you have kids?"

She told him she'd worry about that when the time came.

And then she told me, "And when I got married and had kids, I could all-of-a-sudden handle it."

Poof. Just like that.

She told me it would be like that for me.

"When it's your kids, it won't bother you."
I believed her.

Hey Mom, guess what?

YOU

WERE
WRONG!!!!!

Blech!

Ugh!

Gross!

Gag!!

I should've known I wouldn't have been exempt from this curse.

You could just ask my husband.

I've hidden in the house before when my husband was sick.

I mean hidden, crouched down, with my ears covered.

Pathetic excuse for a wife, I know.

And then when his pale, pitiful self hobbled to come find me and tell me the coast was clear....

I'd yell at him for being sick too loudly.

Yeah. I should've known then.

I didn't yell this morning.

I was a good mommy.

A good gagging mommy, who washed the cleanup towels three times.

Frankly, I'm surpised I didn't throw them out.

I fear my frugality will be compromised in the future as I'm tempted to throw soiled bedsheets, towels and clothing out - so as not to 'deal' with them.  We'll see how it all plays out.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

On the cuter side of ick, Gianna woke up from her 2nd three hour nap in two days by saying,

"Gianna choke on floor. Mommy get towels."

Choke is her best description. 

Sounds better than the alternative terms I've managed to avoid throughout this post.

Blech.

You should see my living room.
I've got blankets covering every surface and a great big pink Snuggie laid out on the floor...just in case. (Couldn't think of a better use for that Snuggie!)
And every time I give her something to eat I say,
"Hey, let's go play outside!"
She thinks I'm the coolest mom.
But this is serious business.
I'm on the defensive now....wuss that I am.

 * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

She fell asleep in her high chair at noon as she was nibbling on the cracker.

So pitiful....and sweet.

(We're going to the doctor in the morning - just to check her out.)

Name Change

No. Not her name ~ her name for ME.

At first, she refused to say my name.

It took 15 months to finally end the stalemate.

I sneakily tricked her into saying my name.

Momma evolved into Mommy - which happnes to be my preference.

And it seems my sweet little Butter Bean has been having a little fun with language - and with me.

A few weeks ago, she started calling me Momma.

That, in itself, is not a problem.

The issue for me, was that her version of Momma sounded a whole lot like

"Maw Maw" ~ which, in the South, is another name for Grandma.

I really am okay with my age and it's no secret I'm a much older more 'seasonsed' mother than many moms of 21 month olds.

I know the days are coming when I'll be mistaken for Gianna's grandmother.

However, I sure don't need my daughter giving people reason to think such things so early on in the game.

Every time she called me 'Momma' I'm sure my face registered surprise/frustration and I would correct her, "You mean, Mommy."  BIG MISTAKE.   Aah...the girl likes a game.

The more I'd react, the more opportunities she'd find to push my button.

One day, I cupped that her little chubby face in my hand and sternly said,

"My name is not Maw Maw! My name is ................."

and she grinned and emphatically said,

"MOMMY!!!!"

Turkey.

So, it was then I stopped correcting and just rode the wave until she found a new button to push.

**********************************

About a week after that, I heard her call me when she woke up from her nap.

"MOM!"

I cracked up.

She sounded like a 12 year old.

*********************************

The latest name change is I think my favorite.

It sounds like this:

Mah-MEE-yah!

I'd like to think it's the shortened version of

Mama Mia.

Frankly, any version of Mom is just fine with me.  

I waited a long time for that title and I know it's an honor and privilege ~

 no matter what form it takes.

Mini Mommy Melt-down

I called Iain at 3:30pm

Me: "I need to know the EXACT time you're going to pull up into the driveway."

Him:  "Uh-oh.  Right at 4:30pm."
Me: "Oh gosh. No way.  I'll coming to meet you in the parking lot."
Him: "Is she being a pickle?"
Me: "I'm losing my marbles."

I changed her diaper, buckled her into her carseat, and started the 20 minute drive.

Her: "Hi Mommy!..... Hi Mommy!....... Mommy?"
Me: "Hi Gianna."
Her: "Mommy?........Mad."
Me:  "Yes Gianna, Mommy was mad."
(I didn't lose my cool, but I did keep telling her, "Mommy's mad, Gianna.")


Iain calls to have me meet him at the gas station.  We were both low on fuel.
I arrived and began pumping gas.
He arrived just behind me, filling his tank. 
We met in between the two cars.
Eye contact was brief.
I think he kissed me.
All I remember saying is, "I'm outta here."
We switched cars.
I didn't even tell Gianna goodbye.

It was a difficult day.
Not horrible. 
Moderately challenging.
The afternoon became increasingly frustrating.
For some reason or another, I wasn't coping well.

I guess I just needed a little breathing time.... a time out.

The ladies study circle meets on Tuesdays, thank heavens, but that was 3 hours away.  What to do?
I just drove.
I went into town.

First I went here:

I picked up a new welcome mat and a few other piddly things.

Then I had a lovely, peaceful, quiet dinner here:

...and had the grilled chicken salad.

It was really good and I enjoyed eating in the car listening to music. 

Not children's music ~ 80's music.

Aaah.  That's more like it.

Then I headed here:

...I'm rarely disappointed there.

And finally at 7pm I made it to study circle to discuss a couple of chapters in this book:

Had a lovely visit with some of the ladies afterward.

Nice.

I got home and Tivo'd my way through tonight's

which only took about 15 minutes, because I fast forward the the commercials, poor performances and much of the ridiculous drival by the judges.

Crystal Bowersox was AMAZING.

Hubby was asleep before I came home.  I missed him, but I'm feeling refreshed and much better.

Aaaaahhhh.

So much better.

It's amazing what a little Time Out for Mommy can do.

In the words of my darling daughter,

"Aw Beddah!"

(Translation:  "All Better!")

Phases

We're always going through phases.

With Gianna, I've discovered that at any given time, she's either going through a phase that is sleep-related, food-related, behavior-related or people-related. Sometimes they overlap...and we really can't count on anything being whatever "normal" is for that week.

Gianna's never been an ill-tempered child, or overly defiant, but since she turned about 13 months old she seemed to have formulated her own little daily agenda and my days started feeling long. REALLY long. 

Lately, most of what was coming out of her mouth was, "No, No, No." followed by "Daw-ree." (Sorry.)  She was testing boundaries as well as my sanity.  It seemed like every minute of the day was full of correction and redirection.  It was wearing on me.  Even our pediatrician commented on how "independent" she is.  She also told me that she has two girls just like that and said, "Good luck!"

Great

I'm not sure how exactly it happened, but not long after Gianna turned 18 months, things just seemed like they got easier with her.  Every single day, Gianna has brought joy to my life...but lately it's been like that most of the day every day (with minor exceptions.)  It was almost as if someone flipped a switch. I can even tell you the day......two weeks ago, Monday.  At first I thought it was a fluke - or just a lovely respite sent by my merciful God who was having pity on me.  But it's turned into a phase - the loveliest phase - for which I am so appreciative.

And as an added bonus to this phase has come a massive vocabulary explosion. I just discovered last week that she can count to ten (but won't do it on command.)  She actually did it when I was trying to put her back down after a middle of the night wake-up call. (She can be so much fun during those times.)

Anyway, this lovely phase may only last another ten minutes, but you can bet I'm riding this wave all the way to the shore.

*** I don't know why I ever post these things.  It seems like the second I do, she tries to make a liar out of  me.  She just ate part of a crayon....right in front of me and I didn't even notice until she opened her green little mouth.

And I'm not taking pictures for your viewing pleasure ~ because that might be a sign that this phase is ending. And it can't end. Not yet. Here's my new phase: denial.

And I'm embracing my denial, doggonit!

(I told you I was going to ride this wave til the end!)

The Invisible Woman

Overscheduled days.

Mundane tasks.

Unappreciated acts.
Invisible women.

Our busy lives are full of these. 

I hope you can take a quick five minutes out of your busy life to listen
to some inspiring words from someone who's experienced the insibility as well as enlightenment.

I've read this before, but seeing it is even more powerful.

She has a book too.
Here's the written excerpt shared in the video.

Perspective on Motherhood: The Invisible Woman. By Nicole Johnson

It started to happen gradually …

One day I was walking my son Jake to school. I was holding his hand and we were about to cross the street when the crossing guard said to him, "Who is that with you, young fella?"
"Nobody," he shrugged.
Nobody? The crossing guard and I laughed. My son is only 5, but as we crossed the street I thought, "Oh my goodness, nobody?"
I would walk into a room and no one would notice. I would say something to my family - like "Turn the TV down, please" - and nothing would happen. Nobody would get up, or even make a move for the remote. I would stand there for a minute, and then I would say again, a little louder, "Would someone turn the TV down?" Nothing.
Just the other night my husband and I were out at a party. We'd been there for about three hours and I was ready to leave. I noticed he was talking to a friend from work. So I walked over, and when there was a break in the conversation, I whispered, "I'm ready to go when you are." He just kept right on talking.
That's when I started to put all the pieces together. I don't think he can see me. I don't think anyone can see me.
I'm invisible.
It all began to make sense, the blank stares, the lack of response, the way one of the kids will walk into the room while I'm on the phone and ask to be taken to the store. Inside I'm thinking, "Can't you see I'm on the phone?" Obviously not. No one can see if I'm on the phone, or cooking, or sweeping the floor, or even standing on my head in the corner, because no one can see me at all.
I'm invisible.
Some days I am only a pair of hands, nothing more: Can you fix this? Can you tie this? Can you open this?
Some days I'm not a pair of hands; I'm not even a human being. I'm a clock to ask, "What time is it?" I'm a satellite guide to answer, "What number is the Disney Channel?" I'm a car to order, "Right around 5:30, please."
I was certain that these were the hands that once held books and the eyes that studied history and the mind that graduated summa cum laude - but now they had disappeared into the peanut butter, never to be seen again.
She's going … she's going … she's gone!
One night, a group of us were having dinner, celebrating the return of a friend from England. Janice had just gotten back from a fabulous trip, and she was going on and on about the hotel she stayed in. I was sitting there, looking around at the others all put together so well. It was hard not to compare and feel sorry for myself as I looked down at my out-of-style dress; it was the only thing I could find that was clean. My unwashed hair was pulled up in a banana clip and I was afraid I could actually smell peanut butter in it. I was feeling pretty pathetic, when Janice turned to me with a beautifully wrapped package, and said, "I brought you this."
It was a book on the great cathedrals of Europe. I wasn't exactly sure why she'd given it to me until I read her inscription: "To Charlotte, with admiration for the greatness of what you are building when no one sees."
In the days ahead I would read - no, devour - the book. And I would discover what would become for me, four life-changing truths, after which I could pattern my work:
•No one can say who built the great cathedrals - we have no record of their names.
•These builders gave their whole lives for a work they would never see finished.
•They made great sacrifices and expected no credit.
•The passion of their building was fueled by their faith that the eyes of God saw everything.
A legendary story in the book told of a rich man who came to visit the cathedral while it was being built, and he saw a workman carving a tiny bird on the inside of a beam. He was puzzled and asked the man, "Why are you spending so much time carving that bird into a beam that will be covered by the roof? No one will ever see it."
And the workman replied, "Because God sees."
I closed the book, feeling the missing piece fall into place. It was almost as if I heard God whispering to me, "I see you, Charlotte. I see the sacrifices you make every day, even when no one around you does. No act of kindness you've done, no sequin you've sewn on, no cupcake you've baked, is too small for me to notice and smile over. You are building a great cathedral, but you can't see right now what it will become."
At times, my invisibility feels like an affliction. But it is not a disease that is erasing my life. It is the cure for the disease of my own self-centeredness. It is the antidote to my strong, stubborn pride.
I keep the right perspective when I see myself as a great builder. As one of the people who show up at a job that they will never see finished, to work on something that their name will never be on. The writer of the book went so far as to say that no cathedrals could ever be built in our lifetime because there are so few people willing to sacrifice to that degree.
When I really think about it, I don't want my son to tell the friend he's bringing home from college for Thanksgiving, "My mom gets up at 4 in the morning and bakes homemade pies, and then she hand bastes a turkey for three hours and presses all the linens for the table." That would mean I'd built a shrine or a monument to myself. I just want him to want to come home. And then, if there is anything more to say to his friend, to add, "You're gonna love it there."
As mothers, we are building great cathedrals. We cannot be seen if we're doing it right. And one day, it is very possible that the world will marvel, not only at what we have built, but at the beauty that has been added to the world by the sacrifices of invisible women.

Mommy says "No"

"No, no, no." "Mommy, says no." "What does Mommy say? - that's right --- No No No." "That can hurt you. Mommy doesn't want you to get hurt." "Put that down." "That's not for you." That's Mommy's keyboard and mouse." "No, no, no - that's hot!" "Ooooh, no, no -- Max's food is yucky."

Throw in a few hundred 'I love you's and 'are you hungry's and 'let's go change your diaper's and you have a pretty good run down of my daily utterances. (Oh - and "Dear God, please help." and "Hail Mary, full of grace..." come up fairly often, too.)

Some days when it seems like "no" comes out of my mouth more than any other word I fear that I'm being too negative. I re-direct. I re-word my command/request/sugguestion. I use "stop" instead of "no" in some cases. I save my stern tone for more serious situations (or try to, anyway.) But there's really no getting around the word, "no." I spit mouthfuls of them out daily.

Some of my mom friends and I were chatting about this subject not long ago and one mentioned that she heard that 90% of what toddlers should be hearing at this stage is "no." Whew. That relieved a little guilt - and hey, by those standards I ought to be considered a stellar Mom.

Strong willed, loving to push the envelope, uber-curious, sharp as a tack and cute as a button - together make for the perfect storm when trying to train a child.

Meet our little storm:

My husband and I figured out early on in the game, the raising our voices in order to control or correct our small child's behavior was, in our case, lazy parenting. There are certainly instances where a raised voice is not only appropriate, but necessary. But I've been in way too many households where yelling was the primary volume...and we just don't want to live like that.

People I see often say, "Oh, I bet she's so spoiled." -- which I'm ashamed to admit, offends me. If they're asking me: "Does my child get an abundance of love? Is she is showered with affection and attention?" Then, you better believe she's spoiled. And I've got no guilt about that. But sometimes I have a feeling the 'commenter' is not always wondering those things. I suspect they are assuming that my munchkin is the center of our universe and gets whatever she wants and has complete control of our household. In that case, absolutely not. Both my husband and I are on the same page (thank heavens) when it comes to this subject. I'm a fun and loving mom, but I'm tough...not in a mean way - but in a 'training my child' sort of way.

I don't want to give the impression that Gianna is "difficult." Overall, she's pleasant, delightful and oh-so much fun.

I just think she's asserting her independence a little on the early side which will hopefully sharpen our parenting skills for the years ahead.

All that to say, that's it's rough navigating the waters of parenting and child-training - trying to figure out what is best for each individual child. I found some resources regarding the subject, and I thought I'd share with anyone interested.

Have you heard of Dr Sears? He's a pediatrician, father of 8, author and parenting authority. He's on the conservative side and seams fairly balanced. There's an article on his site called, 18 Ways to Say "No" Positively?
The Baby Center has an article called The Discipline Tool Kit: Strategies for Every Age. There are some helpful reminders there.

Also, there is a recent article from TIME magazine about "The Growing Backlash against Overparenting." A refreshing perspective in response to some of the pressures of society to raise "super-kids."

Jekyll and Hyde

Um.....I have a question:

Man, what's up with my munchkin?  Last couple of days she's just not herself. Pretty sure it's not physical...although I never really know when new teeth are coming (I usually only figure it out after they appear.)  Every now and then, my mild-mannered, funny, sunshiny little girl morphs into a fussy little whiny, weepy, clingy, cantankerous creature. And sometimes she goes back and forth between the two within moments. 

She plum wore me out today with her volleying between Jekyll and Hyde.  It's really quite amazing to watch those little wheels turning in the pretty little head of hers.  She finds things that she knows is wrong and will do them right in front of me just to watch my reaction.  Sometimes I feel like I handle the challenge well and sometimes I feel like I'm failing miserably. I guess that's ebb and flow of parenting.

These little episodes seem to arise unexpectedly and disappear the same way. I'm happily awaiting the disappearance of this one.

Cuddle-Bear

My little Sweet Potato is a lot of things: adorable, smart, sneaky, precocious, sweet, loving, verbal, funny, adorable, curious, strong-willed, loud, busy, did I mention adorable? She's all those things and much more. But one word that I would not typically use to characterize her is cuddly. She's always been way too busy and nosy to have time to be cuddly.

There were several times I got a little concerned about it. Was I bonding well enough with her? Does she love me? Am I doing something wrong? Will there be a wedge between us when she gets older? Geez, the ways we torture ourselves.

Anyway, I did what any good neurotic mother would do --- I googled it. Apparently, a "not-so affectionate 15 month old" isn't so unusual - especially with baby girls. Don't get me wrong - she'll kiss the stuffing out of you and she's very loving and even affectionate - just not cuddly. That is until this week.

What a delight (and surprise) to have her run to me throughout the day for hugs and cuddles and kisses and head on my shoulders and burying her head in my chest. When I'm standing in the kitchen, she'll wrap her little arms around one of my legs and sway back and forth and pat me. For someone who refused to say Momma for so long, and held out on all the squishy demonstrative behavior, she sure has turned a corner. And I'm savoring every minute of it.

I will say that in the months of wondering and longing and missing - I had a strong sense that God was whispering to me, "Unconditional love, Maria, do you know what that means?" Convicted, once again. If she never ever returned my love and affection, I am still called to love her with everything in my heart, not wishing she would be different - but loving her right where she is. I was reminded just how much I was like Gianna in my own relationship with God - and how much He just keeps loving me, constantly and faithfully and completely. I finally embraced that precious truth and the floodgates seemed to open. Another lesson in God's fidelity and graciousness. My heart is full. My lesson is learned. Now, to remember it every day - every hug - every cuddle.....even when I'm busy. Thank you, Lord, for my sweet Cuddle-Bear.

And speaking of bears,

This precious bear was given to me by my friend, Michelle, who also gave me that awesome dollhouse. How sweet is the antique dress and shoes?

And she also gave us this fantastic doll bed - again: hand-made by her mother.

Hand-painted, too!

And yes, a hand-made and hand-painted wooden doll with a hand-made dress. I mean, really, could she be any more creative?

How lucky for us that we get to play with all these wonderful toys - made with such love! Thank you Michelle, Jessie & Ms. JoAnn.

Havin' a ball...

Wanna know why this monkey is smiling?

It might be because she has a very clever mommy - on those occasions when her brain cells aren't in rapid decline due to FMM (frazzled mommy moments - it's a medical condition...you can look it up.)

My sweet little girl is BUSY. She's is also FAST. And she happens to be very very CURIOUS. (A combination that ought to afford her mother weekly trips to the spa. We'll shoot for yearly.)

This child can redecorate a room in 30 seconds. Now that she's walking/running, she's able to redecorate multiple rooms in 30 seconds. I'm sure I'm not unlike many moms who feel a tinge of guilt putting busy babies in the Pack-n-Play, Jumperoo, Walker etc. at this stage in the game.

Well, this mom was getting a little desperate, so I tried to come up with a win-win for both of us.

I took an old Play Pen that I had when my godquads used to spend the night with me (one at a time).I found bags of balls (the kind you see in the ball pits at Playlands everywhere.)

I hit a sale and bought 3 bags (300 balls in all.)

Pretty, huh?
And, VOILA, we ended up with our very own ball pit for Lewisland.

That made for one happy busy baby. (You can tell by how deep the dimple is!)

Now I don't feel near as guilty when I put her in her ball pit. I can actually get a few things done on occasion. I hide all kinds of little treasure in the balls for her to discover and enjoy.

The only drawback:
my munchkin seems to have two EXCELLENT pitching arms.


All in all ~ a small price to pay for a happy little monkey.

Happy little busy babies......sure Works for Me! For more ideas head over to We Are That family.

Mother's Day

I found the following written by an anonymous woman which completely resonated with my heart. (I'm sure you know someone who may relate well and take comfort in these words.)

There are women who become mothers without effort, without thought, without patience or loss, and though they are good mothers and love their children, I know that I will be better.
I will be better not because of genetics or money or because I have read more books, but because I have struggled and toiled for this child.

I have longed and waited. I have cried and prayed. I have endured and planned over and over again. Like most things in life, the people who truly have appreciation are those who have struggled to attain their dreams.

I will notice everything about my child. I will take time to watch my child sleep, explore, and discover. I will marvel at this miracle every day for the rest of my life. I will be happy when I wake in the middle of the night to the sound of my child, knowing that I can comfort, hold, and feed him and that I am not waking to take another temperature, pop another pill, take another shot or cry tears of a broken dream. My dream will be crying for me. I count myself lucky in this sense; that God has given me this insight, this special vision with which I will look upon my child.

Whether I parent a child I actually give birth to or a child that God leads me to, I will not be careless with my love. I will be a better mother for all that I have endured. I am a better wife, a better aunt, a better daughter, neighbor, friend, and sister because I have known pain. I know disillusionment, as I have been betrayed by my own body. I have been tried by fire and hell that many never face, yet given time, I stood tall. I have prevailed. I have succeeded. I have won.

So now, when others hurt around me, I do not run from their pain in order to save myself discomfort. I see it, mourn it, and join them in theirs. I listen. And even though I cannot make it better, I can make it less lonely. I have learned the immense power of another hand holding tight to mine, of other eyes that moisten as they learn to accept the harsh truth when life is beyond hard.

I have learned a compassion that only comes by walking in those shoes. I have learned to appreciate life. Yes, I will be a wonderful mother.

(When it talks about being better mothers.......I'd like to think it means better than I would have been had I not experienced everything else........not better than other mothers.)

I wasn’t completely surprised as my first Mother’s Day was approaching that I didn’t have that warm, tingly happy feeling all over. Since I spent many years as a single girl, there were many Mother’s Days that left me with a sting….”would my turn ever come?” Then Iain & I found each other and married….and still the question, “Will we ever be parents?” And then, Mother’s Day after a miscarriage. And then Mother’s Day during the years of infertility - post miscarriage. Lots of little stings.

Going to church was always the BIGGEST sacrifice on Mother’s Day. The sermon invariably focused on the virtue of motherhood. I often wondered how many other women were hurting as they listened. Mothers who lost children to death, miscarriage, stillbirth; who were separated by physical or emotional distance, whose children were serving in the military; who were struggling with infertility; who were journey the winding road of adoption; who suffered one or more failed adoptions; who had an abortion; who placed their baby for adoption; who desperately wanted to become pregnant; who was pregnant and desperately didn’t want to be; whose own mother was sick, estranged or deceased; whose mother no longer knew her because of Alzheimer’s…..the list goes on.

Last year on Mother’s Day – I could barely keep it together. We had just lost Maddie & Collin to a horribly unjust court system after six weeks of parenting them. I happened to be a confirmation sponsor and Confirmation was on Mother’s Day at the cathedral. If that wasn’t bad enough, just before Mass started, I looked three feet across the aisle from me…..and seated there was the stinkin’ judge who was sent the kids back to their drug-addict/trouble-maker father. Ouch. Talk about adding salt to a wound.So, it’s not that I am nonchalant about the day set aside to honor mothers…I guess I’m just hyper aware of how many woman are hurting on that day. So to all you mothers out there......Happy Mother's Day....espcially to all you first time moms and expecting moms. And to all those mothers and someday mothers and mothers of the heart who may be hurting today.......take comfort in knowing you are remembered and prayed for.

I am SO completely grateful to have my sweet baby girl in my arms this Mother’s Day…….for me, that gratitude is every day. I don’t feel the need to be honored – I just want to bask in my blessing. I remember very specially, my mother and deceased grandmothers, my husband's mother, and our heaven-sent birthmother of our daughter.

I am woman...

This was one of my favorite Christmas gifts from my friend MB. It held my coffee with honor today.Okay - help me understand this.....my child sleeps through the night but it's ME who wakes up and cannot go back to sleep. And how is it that on those days - Little Miss Sunshine doesn't see the need for hefty naps? Go figure.

So having had little sleep last night, today seemed extra LONG. I was worn out and just when Iain usually gets home, I got a text from him saying he'd be late. (Wouldn't you know it!) I was too tired to cry. This is what he found when he got home: Here's hoping for a simple, restful day tomorrow.