Don't Move That Throw Pillow, It's Covering A Kool-Aid Stain

Here's a few caveats before you enter my house:

1.  There is a high probability that there will be bits of food on the kitchen floor.  The probability is also high that said bits of food have been there for several days, because I overlooked them when I was sweeping, or I overlooked sweeping all together.

2.  If you need a hair tie, look in the nearest corner.  That's usually where they end up.

3.  The stain on my shirt came from my kid.  No it didn't.  It came from me.  Because, a) I'm just too tired to change my shirt when I get something on it, after all, who's here to see me? and, b) I can always blame stains on a kid.  They'll never tell otherwise.

4.  There will be random magnets stuck on lamps, the fire place, and the bathroom sink.  The kids were experimenting and never went back to clean up their findings.

5.  Don't move that throw pillow on the couch.  It's covering a kool-aid stain.

6.  Please complement me on my clean counters.  I work VERY HARD to keep them free of Barbie boots, scribbled sticky notes, grocery fliers, pennies, a half eaten apple, crumbs, artwork, crayons, dirty plates, keys and crumpled streamers.  Kitchen counters are the vortex of the home, everything ends up on them.

7.  I am not responsible for what you may or may not find if you open the doors to the kids' rooms.  Including a cup of colored water with markers stuck point-side-down in it, a rock collection, and a billion dirty clothes.  Oh wait.  I am responsible for those.

8.  If there are bits of flotsam on the carpet, it's not because the carpet hasn't been vacuumed.  It's because the carpet was vacuumed by a 5 year old.

9.  If it's too high for the kids to reach, it's too high to dust.

10.  If a room is clean, just wait for 10 minutes.

Put On Your Fancy Clothes

Sophie's 5th birthday party last weekend was an affair to remember.  She's all about Fancy Nancy right now, and we invited five little friends over to jubilate (that's fancy for celebrate).  We served sorbet punch in my antique punch bowl, had a chocolate fountain with all the fixings, and made accessories galore.

Ooo la la.

The little girls were invited to wear their most fancy dresses, as befitting a fancy party.  This resulted in a gaggle of princesses fitting around our house.  It was pretty much the cutest thing ever.

I've had a lot of kids over to my home in the past.  We've hosted play dates for years, and in the summer, our house is the 'pool house'.  I'm used to crowds of children rushing from room to room, bent on imaginary quests, with the noise level to match.  Of course with all the sugar at Sophie's party, I expected the same thing.  These particular girls are typically neither sedate nor demure.

That's why I was so surprised when the party was the most hushed, decorous, and sedate gathering I've ever had, including our grownups-only small group meetings.  I wondered if someone had slipped a Valium into the punch.

As I watched the girls, however, I realized that in donning their fancy clothes, they had also put on their fancy manners.  They were perfect, sweet little ladies.  Maybe I should have Sophie wear her princess dress every day.

This morning I read a passage:

... lay aside the old self, which is being corrupted in accordance with the lusts of deceit, and that you be renewed in the spirit of your mind, and put on the new self, which in the likeness of God has been created in righteousness and holiness of the truth ... Let all bitterness and wrath and anger and clamor and slander be put away from you, along with all malice.  Be kind to one another, tender-hearted, forgiving each other, just as God in Christ also has forgiven you.  Ephesians 4:22 - 25, 31 - 32

I sat amazed by the fact that, in believing in Christ and accepting His sacrifice for my sins, I'm actually clothed in His likeness.  This ugly old self that revels in bitterness, malice, wrath and clamor feels comfortable and right.  Feels like the only option.  But to think that I can cast aside those things, like an outgrown garment that is torn and stained, and put on the likeness of Christ - pure, spotless, safe, beautiful - shakes my heart to its foundations.

I want to remember today (every day) that I am wearing my fancy clothes.

Never Girl

As I was cleaning the other day, Sophie came bounding into the living room.  She was dressed in her rainbow swimsuit from last summer, and had tied a purple scarf around her neck.  She leaped across the carpet on her tiptoes, pirouetted once, then stopped in front of me with her arms raised and head thrown back. 

"Wow, who are you today?"  I asked.

"I'm Never Girl!"  She shook out her cape and struck a dramatic pose.  "Because I never give up!"  Then she took off down the hall, springing on her tiptoes.

As her, "Don't worry, I can help you!" drifted down the hall, I smiled to myself and let my hands still for a moment.  My heart suddenly overflowed.  I let out a small sigh.  This was one of the moments that slip so sweetly through my fingers, gone before I recognize it, leaving a glistening gem of remembrance that I, like Mary, "treasure up and ponder in my heart". 

Happy 5th Birthday, baby girl.  May you be blessed.

Another Boy!

So it's a boy.  There was no doubt, when the sonographer found the between-the-legs money shot and yup, there was definitely some equipment down there.  I'm ecstatic to have another little guy, a playmate for Xander, someone else for Scott to pass down his 'man lore' to.  There's just something about snugly little boys with big, loving, trusting eyes that make this mommy's heart turn into play dough.  Do what you will with me, little one, because I'm all yours.

With every pregnancy I'm amazed all over again when the little life begins to move inside me.  I know the science and technicalities behind conception and fetal growth, but you can't tell me this isn't a miracle.  And with this baby, every time he moves it feels like he's saying, "It's OK, Mommy.  I'm here.  I'm safe.  I'm growing.  See you soon."  How is it that this little guy is already connected to my heart and I've only ever heard his?

When I pray for him, he jumps inside me.  When I have moments of worry or some latent fear starts sneaking up on me, he jumps inside me.  Just now as I wrote this and pondered our connection, my heart full, he jumped inside me.  What a special little man he is going to be.  

God in Heaven orders the paths for our feet, He numbers our days, He reigns supreme and loving.  Sorrow may last for a night, but joy really does come in the morning, when you find your joy in the only One who remains unchanging.  

Sophie Says What?

Last night, my husband and I were heatedly discussing (very loudly), the Republican presidential primary candidates.  Sophie, who we thought we had safely tucked into bed and was adventuring in dreamland by then, poked her nose around the corner.

Me:  "What do you need, Sophie?  You should be in bed."

Sophie:  " ....... "

Scott:  "Honey, Mommy and I weren't fighting.  We're not mad at each other.  We were just really excited about what we were talking about."

Sophie:  "What were  you talking about?"

Me:  "Well, we're talking about the election for the President."  (Sophie knows about elections, since she got to see one first hand two years ago with Daddy).

Sophie:  "Who's the President?"

Me:  "He's the boss of everybody in America."

Scott:  "And we want the boss to be a good guy, not a mean man."

Sophie (with an indignant look and clenched fists):  "But JESUS is the boss of everybody!  And He's God's Son!  And He takes care of us!"

Well, that put our grownup discussion into perspective.  Why have fear when the God of the Universe is in charge?

The Muse Returns, and a Panhandle Pit-Stop

Oh my goodness it's been so long.  I haven't pushed myself to write lately (and the muse took a VERY long vacation) but suddenly today I feel that old stirring inside of me.  No, it's not the baby.  It's my creative itch, that oldest friend of my soul.  I feel suddenly like a part of myself that had been lost is now found.  So forgive my superlatives (and the two smileys on my facebook status update, excessive, I know).  I'm so incredibly extremely superbly happy to be writing today.

So we just returned home from a little trip into the Texas Panhandle to see the in-laws.  Any of you who have driven that God forsaken wasteland that lies to the west of Lubbock and Amarillo know that once you pass the succulent town of Hereford, you're out of potty break options until you reach Clovis, NM.

A note on Hereford.  Driving into town, we passed a billboard that read, 'BEEF is NUTRITIOUS!'.  No arguments from these travelers.  Scott and Xander would subsist solely on beef alone if they had their druthers.  Hereford, according to its 'welcome to town' sign, is the Beef Capitol of the World.  It's also the Stink Capitol of the World.  Ten straight miles of feed lots emit the most gut wrenching, vomit inducing smell you'll ever encounter in your life.  Imagine the thousands of cows, all packed together in metal pens awaiting slaughter, doing nothing but eating and stomping their ever increasing piles of feces into a sun fermented soup.  You can understand why we had no desire to stop there for bathroom breaks.

Once it was safe to breathe again, we found ourselves in the wide, flat wasteland of West Texas.  Unbroken furrows of red dirt and grass stretched to the horizon on all sides.  The 'towns' we passed through were little more than an abandoned homestead or two, and a post office with an rusted flagpole out front.

All four of us, having taken full advantage of the hotel's free breakfast an hour ago, were feeling the intense need to relieve ourselves.  The kids were squirming in the backseat, and it wasn't just from excess energy.  The baby was doing aerobics on my bladder.  Scott looked desperately at the odometer.

"It's still 20 miles to Clovis,"  he said.

"I don't think we're going to make it."  I told him.  We both looked out into all that unbroken emptiness.  Our eyes met.

"I'll find a county road,"  he said.

A minute later, we had pulled off the highway, bumped painfully over some railroad tracks, and were a safe distance up the compacted red dirt of a little country road.  When it was his turn, Xander took literally Dad's instructions to, "Pee on the tire."  He had never been given permission to pee UP before!  We sped down the road with a little wet arc on our rear wheel, leaving that particular part of red Texas dirt marked with four little wet spots.

Well, I Am Raising Them To Be Themselves ...

One of my main goals in parenting is that my kids are free to discover, develop, and become who they were purposed and gifted to be.  I try to provide lots and lots of opportunities for them to explore their world and who they are.

Maybe I should provide just a little less opportunity.

Sophie was playing around with her whiteboard this morning as I was cleaning.  After a few moments of quiet, she brought this to show me:

Her very first written word.  Ever.  Sweet, huh?  Should I be worried?

Thankfully, I'm not the only one who has ever faced this - read about another mom's experience here.  Interestingly, another home schooler.  Coincidence?  I think not.  Those home school people are craaazy.

Case in point:

Xander just walked by me, butt naked except for a chic pair of black wedges he found in my closet.

Rain!

It came with a magnificent thunder clap, rolling down across the arid hills in a giant mass of billowing clouds. The kids and I were on our way home from running errands when the first drops hit my little Corolla's windshield.  Soon, the rain was streaking across the windows.

"Mommy, what's that?!!"  Xander asked in amazement.  Now, remember, the child is almost 3 years old.

"It's rain, honey,"  I answered.

"It's on our windows!  And on the trees!  And on the street!  And on the house!  And on the other car! And ..."  We kept driving, marveling at this miraculous substance that was covering the world around us.

Soon, Sophie said, "Mom, you see that lake?"

"What lake?"

"That lake.  By the library."

" ... That's a puddle, Soph."

My poor kids, raised in the desert.  Still, we exulted in the rain as it came, and when we got home, the kids changed into their swimsuits to explore the 'river' outside our house.

Tantrums and Poo

It all started yesterday.  I woke up with the sudden resolution to cut Xander off from his froggy potty.  It was time to graduate.  I was tired of looking at it, cleaning it, and the comments from nursery workers; "Oh.  He still pees sitting down?"  Cue eyes drifting down politely.

So I pulled out Xander's nifty little step stool, armed myself with a bowl of cereal to hone his aiming skills, and packed away the little green training potty.  Goodbye.  Thanks for the memories.  I will (won't) miss those over-sized frog eyes staring up at me every morning.

The first day went great.  And then he slept on it.  This morning, it was nearing time for his post-breakfast B.M. (the kid's as regular as an atomic clock), and we headed into the bathroom.  He had just settled his little butt down, when he looked up at me with big eyes and said, "Mommy, I can't do it.  I need my froggy potty."

Now, you have to understand.  Xander gets performance anxiety when it comes to pooping.  He won't do it in public restrooms.  He won't do it in another home.  He will let loose outside, but we're trying to break that habit.

Once I packed away that froggy potty, I wasn't going to pull it out again.  So I said, "Yes you can, Bubba.  You can do it."

But it was a no go.  Xander hopped right off the toilet and back to his Raisin Bran.  As the day progressed, I could tell he was feeling increasingly uncomfortable.  You could say that he was 'showing signs of strain.'  He argued with his B.F.F. over a toy truck.  My usually sunny little boy sprouted a perpetual frown.  He kept asking to visit the bathroom, sitting down, then getting right back off again.

Fast forward to after nap time.  I had to wake him up early for his annual well child doctor's visit.  Normally grumpy between 4:00 and dinner time, by the time we got done with the doctor he was a regular bear.  He had asked to go to the bathroom five times while we were at the doctor's office, and didn't do anything each time.

I should have gone straight home.  I really should have.  But I was out of saline solution, so I risked a trip to Walgreens.

The first tantrum happened in the eye care aisle.  He kept pushing the cart back and forth, back and forth, and when I finally had enough and put him in the shopping cart's child seat, he started screaming.  At the top of his lungs.  A lady a few feet away slid me a covert "your child's a brat" look.  I ignored it.

Then, at the checkout, the salesgirl peddled me her mandatory spiel.  "Would you like to buy some M&M's?"  she asked.  I told her no, holding my breath, but the damage had already been done.  Xander started up with, "I want candy."

"No,"  I told him.

"I want candy."

"NO."

"I want candy!"  By this time the two old-timers by the register were watching me, as well as all the people in the after-work-beer-run line.

"NO.  Mommy said NO.  You can NOT have candy."  My inner frustration was bucking to be let loose.  I fiercely ratcheted it down, gripping my self control with every tattered shred of patience I had.

"I WANT CANDY!!!"  My cheeks burning, I finished up with the cashier, grabbed my screaming toddler, shopping bag, purse, and checked to make sure Sophie was at my side, then made a bee line for the door. I could feel the stare of every eye in that store pricking a hole in my back as I fled through the automatic doors.

After a severe tongue lashing (including, "You're going to tell your Daddy what you did when he gets home"), we arrived home tense and tearful.  Xander looked at me with his big blue eyes.  "Mommy, I have to go poo poo."

No kidding.

So we went in to try one more time.  He sat down.  His eyes got big.  His cheeks grew red.  His chubby fingers gripped the seat.

And then a look of blessed, blissful relief spread across his face.  Finally.

So to all of you who have never parented a 2-year old before, please let me tell you.  Don't judge that mother whose son is screaming in the store.  Because you never know what else is going on.  He might be hoarding a two foot long poo.

Anger

It is an emotion that never fails to jump out and hit me.  A fiery dart, a subsonic shock wave, a boulder breaking the placidity of my emotional pond.  The anger doesn't even need to be directly pointed towards me for it to sock me in the gut.

At the McDonald's play scape today, Xander encountered a miniature bully.  The kid came out of the slide behind him, and shoved him in the back.  Hard.

Xander, my tough little guy, turned right around and said fiercely, "Don't do that to me!"  The kid shoved him again, this time on his chest with both hands.  Xander yelled, "NO!"

Seeing the boy take yet another step towards my son, I hurried over.  Locking eyes with both boys, I said firmly, "You guys need to play nice," and led Xander to another area of the play scape.  Ten minutes later, the kid had muscled his way in on a wheel Xander was playing with, using his body to shove Xander out of the way.  I intervened again, this time telling him to just not play near the boy.

My son did what I said ... for a while.  The bully occupied himself with pulling on the foot of a little girl who was trying to climb up some stairs in a corner.  I was so busy watching the kid that I didn't notice Xander, inching his way close, until he was standing just on the other side of the bully, some wire mesh between them.  When the boy looked up, Xander pointed his finger at him from behind the screen.  His bottom lip was pursed, eyebrows pulled together in a fierce little outcropping, blue eyes slitted.  I knew this look.  This look meant, "You're not gonna take another inch from me."  It was Xander's 'line in the sand' look.  And the other boy took notice.

He let go of the little girl, came around the screen to face my son, and spat at him.  Xander kept glaring, pointing his finger, and then gave a little boy growl.  The boy spit again.  I watched, wondering when to step in.  Xander was backed into the little corner behind the screen, with the boy blocking his way out.  Xander took a step forwards.  In a quick movement, the other boy raised his leg and karate kicked him in the stomach.  Stumbling back against the wall, Xander pulled himself together and lunged at the boy.

That's when auto pilot kicked in.  I lunged toward both of the boys.  Before I knew it, I had scooped Xander up in my arms, and found the other boy's mom sitting with her friends at a back table.

"Your boy is hitting and kicking my son,"  I blurted, keeping desperate hands on the reins of my bucking, adrenaline charged inner mama bear.  Without even waiting for a response, I turned on my heel and hightailed it back to my seat.  It was so unlike me to say anything (instead of running, like I normally do), that I had shocked myself back into control.

Over the divider between play area and tables, I saw the mother carrying her struggling son towards the bathroom.  A split second later, the anger hit me.  It radiated like shock waves, as if the mother had sent a radio broadcast from her head, "Heat!  Anger!  Fear!"  The very room grew darker, heavier, muted under the dull, throbbing, ringing roar of rage.  Three long strides got her to the bathroom, and yanking the door open, she and her son disappeared inside.  The door slammed shut like an exclamation point.  Locking us out.  Locking them in.

And as a stillness settled over us like the eye of a storm, my heart twanged in regretful self-doubt.  Should I have told her?  Did I cause that?

Yup, This Is My Life

So I was Facebook stalking the prom pictures of some teens I know.  There they were, so bright, so young, their lives stretched in front of them with shining possibility.  I was pulled away from examining one sweet couple by a yell from the bathroom.

"Moooooom!  I go pooooooooo poo!"  It was Xander.  Fully potty trained now, but still unable to wipe his own little bottom.  I put my computer down, and went to help him.

"Mom!"  he greeted me cheerily when I entered the bathroom, "I made a big poo poo!"  He was sitting on the frog potty, leaning his elbows on his knees, little pot belly squished up against his alligator pajamas.

"Uh huh,"  I responded, kneeling down so he could lean himself over my lap.  After I cleaned him off, Xander bounced back up to inspect.

"Oooo I not make big poo poo.  I made little poo poo!  And pee pee."  I poured the contents into the toilet.  "Mommy, can I fwush it?"

"Yes, honey."  He was a little puppy, irrepressibly cheerful and interested.

I sat down myself on the toilet.  "Mommy, you making a poo poo?"

That's when my mind flashed to the 17 year old me, posing for my prom pics, my future path strewn with diamonds and glamour.  Yup, this life was slightly more mundane than I had imagined then.  But the sweet moments are sweeter, and the fulfillment I get from caring for my family greater than I could have known at 17.  This is my life.  And I love it.

Run Baby Run

Spring has descended on the Otero Basin.  Along with it have come beautiful, 71 degree days and skies of a color taken straight from my son's eyes.  Sophie and I are studying the four seasons for her home school right now, and have also been charting each day's weather.  Last week when I introduced 'Spring', I told her that in the spring time, it rains a lot so that all the plants can grow.  She promptly answered with firm conviction, "No it does not."  Then ran to the weather chart where it showed 'sun', 'sun', 'sun', right in a row down the week.  How can you argue with an objective, scientific analysis of all the facts?

Yesterday when Scott got home we all four went on a walk.  There is a jogging trail at the end of our street that winds through the desert, right up to the foothills of the Sacramento mountains.  We went there, enjoying the mild evening and sudden fragrant bursts of sage and mesquite.  Xander kept stopping every few yards to pick up rocks and throw them on the path.  Which of course necessitated our stopping every few yards to direct him to throw them back off the path.  Let me remind you we live in a desert.  Which has a lot of rocks.

Sophie tripped along in her own little world, coming out of it occasionally to tell us a story, or tattle on her brother.

Side note on tattling:  The other day Xander was dropping books on the floor, and I said, "Pick up the books, little dinosaur."  (Ever read Jane Yolen's dinosaur books?  Great for little boys' behavior management).

Immediately Sophie said, "Mom, Xander dropped his books on the floor."

"Sophie, you're not the mommy.  Let me take care of it."

Sophie started singing, "Little diiiinosaurs are naaaaughty when they puuuuut things on the floooooor."  Hmm.  Technically, no tattling going on.

So when we got to crest of the trail, it flattened out and ran along the rise, right up against the toes of the first mountain.  Xander was still dwadling behind, Sophie ran ahead, and Scott and I kept an even pace, holding hands and enjoying the descending evening.  I kept a mild eye on Sophie, thinking, "Good thing she's getting all that energy out.  She'll go down to bed with no problem tonight!"  She kept running.  And kept running.  Pretty soon she was so far out that she started getting smaller with the distance.  Growing uncomfortable, I called out.

"Sophie!  You're too far, come back!"  She kept running.  "SOPHIE!"  Still she kept running.

Now Scott lent his USMC bark, "SOPHIE!  STOP!"  She kept running.  My heart did the little drop shift from 'concerned' to 'there's danger here', and letting go of Scott's hand, I sprinted after her.

"SOPHIE!"  I yelled as I ran, pumping my arms, my legs a windmill of adrenaline on the gravel path.

She finally stopped.  Turned.  Saw me.  Burst into tears and ran back across the distance to me, sobbing, her arms reaching, her heart in her eyes.

"Honey,"  I said when I had finally caught her up in my arms, her legs wrapped around my waist, nose in my shoulder.  "Honey, you can't run so far away from Mommy and Daddy.  When you get so far away from us, you can't hear us when we call you."

Between sobs, she choked out, "I thought I was lost, and I didn't see you anywhere, and I was trying to find you."

She hadn't been running away from us.  She was trying to find us.

And then I realized.  How often in my life do I run around, scared and alone, when my Father can see me all along, and is calling me.  I just can't hear Him.

Mommy, What Does Heaven Look Like?

Sophie came up to me today and asked, "Mommy, what does heaven look like?"  I considered.

"It has gold on the streets.  And its walls have diamonds."

"Oooohhh,"  little Miss Fancy's eyes lit up.  Encouraged, I continued.

"And, Jesus said he's building a house for us there.  It will be all ready when we go."

"Jesus is making us a house?!  In HEAVEN?!"

"Uh huh.  And in heaven, we will get to see Jesus with our eyes ... he won't be ... invisible ... like he is now."

"But Jesus is in my heart."

She had a point.

"That's right, honey.  And when he is in your heart, that means you get to go to heaven when you die."

"But only old people die.  Not you and me, only when we get old."  I didn't really know what to say to that one.  She thought a while.

"Mommy, do you have clothes in heaven?"  I thought about the shining robes.

"Yes.  And they're white ... and sparkly."

"SPARKLY CLOTHES IN HEAVEN?!!!"  She did her little girl 'eeek' squeal and jumped up and down.

"You want to know the best thing about heaven?"  I asked.  "Nobody has owies.  Nobody gets bonked and hurt, and nobody cries.  You don't cry in heaven, you are only happy.  All the time."

She considered this for a moment.  "AND you have sparkly clothes."

Superman and Police Cars

Xander, Sophie and I made a break for it yesterday.  I had been climbing piles of laundry for three hours while the kids tootled around the house on their little child errands.  They started bugging me about getting outside, and I finally acquiesced (thank you, new year goals), partly because I felt guilty about not playing with them all morning, and partly because the four walls of the house were starting to close in.  My home felt about as big as a cracker box.

Xander, who had been wandering around the house all day in his Cookie Monster underwear, brought me the top to his Superman pajamas when I hustled Sophie off to get dressed.  There was a moment of indecision.  The pajamas are too small for him, having been a Christmas gift two years ago.  Not to mention the fact that little kids walking around in the day time in old, worn 'jamas are about the tackiest thing ever.  On the other hand, who can resist those big blue eyes?  I mean, REALLY?!

Figuring it wouldn't hurt in the long run to give in this once (and surrendering to the underlying desire to see him running around the playground as Superman), I helped him into the top.  Red cape and all.  A pair of sweat pants, his red Converse high top sneakers, and he was ready to go.  You can only be 2 once, after all.

I pulled on Scott's old Texas Tech sweatshirt over the yoga pants I hadn't changed out of yet.  One benefit to having a playground right up the street from you:  you can visit during the weekday in your 'I've given up all hope of even trying to be attractive' clothes, and nobody will see you.  Nice.

Sophie, on the other hand, picked out a silky black tunic dress with bright pink flowers splashed across it, pink cowboy boots, and a floppy pink ribbon for her hair.  I made her put jeans on under the dress.  She had a sparkly backpack that she had packed with some toys slung across her shoulders, and the 'let's get out and explore!' look on her face.

And off we went, a motley little caravan.  Superman led the way, running with his short little toddler strides, hands tucked up against his potbelly, tow headed tufts of hair pointing cockily at the sky.  Then came me, hands deep in the sweatshirt, alternatively calling for Xander to slow down, or Sophie to hurry it on up.  Sweet girl brought up the rear.  She dawdled along several paces behind, murmuring, "Why yes, we are going to the park ... it is a gorgeous day, isn't it?" and, " ... oh la la ..." to herself.

Rounding the block, we headed up the slightly busier through street.  Xander, very concerned about cars in the street, stopped each time one passed. He held his hand out, palm up, and shouted, "STOP!!", very fierce and commanding.

Along came a police car.  As it neared us, Xander yelled, "Woook, wook, Mommy!  It's a peese car!  Wee-ooo, wee-ooo."  He jumped up and down, red cape fluttering, his chubby little finger pointing.  The police woman inside the car smiled and waved as she cruised past.  As I caught her eye, then glanced back at my ecstatic son, I thought to myself, "It really doesn't get any better than this."

The Mouths of Babes

This week I took the long drive down to El Paso, TX.  It is the closest 'big' city near us, and also the location of my doctor.  Scott couldn't come (some one's gotta do the 'real' work in this family!), so I was on my own with both kids for the 1 1/2 hour car trip.  I had resolved to myself to take advantage of this excursion out of our little town and knock out Goal #2 while we were at it.  So, with picnic lunch packed, we headed from the doctor's office to the zoo, with a stop on the way at a gas station for drinks.

I am always very aware of my whiteness when I'm in El Paso.  It is right on the border (you can see the Rio Grande from the interstate), and I'm guessing about half the population come over from Mexico every day to work in and around the city.  I double checked that the car doors were locked when we pulled into the Valero station downtown, and held tightly to both kids' hands when we went into the convenience store.

After we had picked out our drinks (orange juice for Sophie and Gatorade for Xander - they were super pumped), we were standing in line to pay and this woman behind us started cooing at the kids.  I don't know Spanish, but it sounded like, "Awww, what cute kids!"  She reached out to touch Xander's white-blond hair.  This happens all the time when we are out and about down there, so I let it go.  Plus, I was used to the same thing happening to me as a kid in the Solomons. 

By the time we got to the zoo, we were all very ready to get out of the car and run off some steam.  We meandered through the African section first, king and queens of the zoo on this deserted Thursday afternoon.  The animals were as curious as the kids, trotting up to say hi as they poked their little heads over the low grating.  I strolled along behind, letting Sophie and Xander choose our course, reveling in the simple joy of them, while the kind winter sun kissed us all with a gentle benediction. 

Eventually we came upon the elephants.  The kids had been especially excited about finding them.  The two great, grey beasts stood with their backs to us, swaying in unison to some ancient, primal jungle beat. 

"Look guys, they're dancing!"  The elephant on the left turned its head ever so slightly to give us a 'I know you're there and am choosing to ignore you' look.  Sophie stared for along moment, then:

"Mom, what's that hanging down on that elephant?"

I glanced at where she was pointing, "That's its trunk, sweetie." 

"No, there, hanging down in the back of it."  I had a little sinking feeling in my stomach as I realized that this was very obviously a MALE elephant. 

"Um, that's his penis, Sophie,"  I said, trying to keep my voice normal.  We use the anatomically correct words for body parts in our household.  I glanced over at a young couple standing a few yards from us, hoping they weren't cued in on the conversation. 

"Oh!"  When Sophie gets excited, she gets loud.  "That's the daddy elephant!"  She looked quickly over to the other one, her forehead wrinkled in thought. 

"LOOK, MOMMY!"  Sophie shouted.  "THAT ELEPHANT HAS A VAGINA!!!"

I about died.

Temptation

We're a week into potty training Xander.  Every time he pees or poops in the potty, we reward him with an M&M of his choice.  It's very motivating.  Sophie gets a candy, too, because it makes it fair, and I also want to motivate her to encourage him to go.  The more people in this house cheering Xander on, the better. 

So we keep the M&M's in a little cup up in the cupboard of our bathroom.  Yesterday, when I went to get one for Xander, I noticed that about half of them had disappeared since the last time we had used them.  Sophie wanders in for her candy, and I see (on closer examination), that she has some suspicious looking brown smudges across her cheek.  Busted. 

"Sophie, did you eat the M&M's without asking Mommy?"

Sophie looks down.  "Yessss." 

"Sophie, don't you do that again, you hear?"

"Yes, Mommy."

We get dressed for church, pack into the car, and head down the road.  In the church parking lot, I'm unbuckling Sophie from the back seat when I notice she has the tell-tale smudge on her face again.

"SOPHIE!  Did you eat M&M's after I already told you not to?!" 

She starts to cry.  Scott and Xander are already half-way to the front doors of the church by now.  He hears her crying, stops, and looks back, "What's going on?  Is she ok?" 

"Well, Sophie has something to tell you about NOT obeying Mommy..." I say.  Scott turns to her. 

"Sophie...?"  She cries even louder. 

"I ... ate ... the .... M&M's .... " she gets out, between sobs.  By this time, we're almost walking in the doors, and (call me a chicken) I didn't want to have a sobbing almost-4-year-old on my hands in the church lobby.  We shush her up, get our Sunday faces on, and head into church. 

After service, lunch, and nap time, I'm puttering around getting our house picked up when I find some tissues on the bathroom counter - smeared with a suspiciously chocolaty-looking material.  Quenching my initial urge to go into def-com-five-red-nuclear-alert mode (and taking a big breath), I head to the living room to find the culprit. 

I find her reading with her daddy. 

"Sophie, what were you doing during nap time?"  A loaded question, I know.  I wanted to see if she would go straight for the truth, or decide on evasive tactics.

She looked up at me with huge eyes.  "Mommy, I opened the cabinet and saw the M&M's.  I wanted to eat them, and I put them in my mouth, but then I changed the plan.  I changed the plan!  I didn't want Mommy to be mad at me, so I spit them out in the sink. I didn't eat the M&M's, Mommy."

I have to say.  I was floored.  I am so proud of my little girl.  What more can I ask, but that when she encounters temptation, she will know that:

"No temptation has overtaken you except what is common to mankind. And God is faithful; he will not let you be tempted beyond what you can bear. But when you are tempted, he will also provide a way out so that you can stand up under it."

Big Boy Froggy Potty

I am a hostage in my own bathroom.  Picture this:  Danica, rocking the cubic zirconium earrings, sequined top and skinny jeans, blogging on the floor of her bathroom with a naked 2 year old.  Yes, this is my life.

Rewind five hours: 

The kids and I were doing our weekly WalMart run, and as I stood in front of the diapers trying to decide whether to go with a size '4' or bump up to a '5' for my son, a little something inside me said, "Danica, man up and potty train the kid, already."  Now, I know there are lots of different ideas about potty training, and he might not be ready, but in this moment of (in)sanity, I had just about enough of diapers.  So we picked out a cute little froggy potty and continued on with the shopping. 

Xander was very interested.  The packaging had a picture of a little boy sitting, grinning as he pee peed on the big boy froggy potty.  As Sophie picked out her weekly allotment of Kool-Aid, I talked it up with Xander. 

"Wooooowwwwww, see the big boy?!!  HE'S going pee pee on the BIG BOY POTTY.  Look at that, Xander!  What a big boy!  Do YOU think YOU could make poo poo in the big boy froggy potty???"  I looked up to find that I had blocked the aisle and the man waiting impatiently to get by had.  Heard.  The.  Entire.  Thing.  My cool-mom image grew wings and flew up to the rafters where it could hide.

Fast forward to after nap time:

With Goal #1 of my New Years Resolutions in mind, I busied myself picking up the house while the kids watched a movie.  A bottle of wine was chilling in the fridge, a roast cooking in the crockpot, and operation 'Celebrate Scott's First Day on the Job' was in full swing.  Right before 5:00, I changed out of my comfies - a '98 Westlake Cross Country tee (donned in hopes of motivating myself to get up and run sometime in the near future, see Goal #5), and the 'fisherman pants' my parents brought me from Thailand.

Enter 'Cool, Sophisticated Mama Danica', with my cubic Z earrings, cute top, and (not so skinny) jeans.  At this moment, Xander calls to me, "Mommy, I go potty!"  We rush to the bathroom.  Strip him down, and low and behold, he manages to produce .... nothing. 

I've never potty trained a boy before.  So I didn't anticipate sitting for minutes on end staring at my son's 'twigs and berries'.  I mean, I only have second hand knowledge of that hardware, and I am paranoid that when he does go, it's going to spray all over my bathroom like a sprinkler hose in the summer time.  So you better believe I'm keeping pretty close watch.  In the village the kids just run around naked, and when they 'have to go', they just pop a squat wherever they happen to be at.  An obliging older sibling then scoops the solids up in a coconut husk and tosses it in the bushes.  I've even seen a kid whizzing away as he ran after a friend.  Drive-by-peeing.

The thing is, Xander loves candy, and he also loves being in his birthday suit.  He's never been allowed to run free before (for obvious reasons), so he's totally digging this.  He's not about to leave the bathroom, because 1) if he pees he gets CANDY, and 2) he gets to be naked. 

So for now I'm stuck watching Xander climb in and out of the tub singing, "I NAAAA-ked".

Good thing I have a laptop.

Throw Back to the Simple Life

I took the kids to the park today. We went not to a tangled jumble of slides and metal railings, but to the open, wind-swept stillness of a pee wee soccer field. We brought along a $1 bottle of bubbles, and a Little Mermaid kite, and camped out on the lonely bleachers.

I sat with elbows propped against the step behind me, stretching my sun hungry face to the open sky. Beside me, Alexander explored the metal bleachers in his determined, 16 month old way. He carefully got on the lowest step, and walked along it with one hand out to catch himself as he navigated the narrow plank. He left a sticky trail of drool along the way, and a line of baby snot eased itself unnoticed by him onto his upper lip. His brow wrinkled in concentration as he put one foot in front of the other. Looking up, he caught my eye and grinned, "Look, Mom, at what I can do!"

Sophie had settled herself with her bottle of bubbles, and was intently trying to get the wand to produce. "Here, Sophie, let me show you," I said, reaching to take the bottle from her.

"NO!" Sophie yanked the bubbles to her chest and frowned at me. "I'll do it." I sat back a bit frustrated (why won't she ever let me just help her?!), and watched my little 3 year old as she went through the process of trial and error, until finally bubbles were floating along in the wind in front of us.

Usually, our trips to the park leave me harried and stressed. I'm constantly on alert, watching to make sure somebody's not in danger of falling, or needs to be pushed on the swings, or caught at the bottom of a slide, or dumping a box of crackers on the sand. Here, with no distractions, the three of us focused in on the simple things. I studied how the grass grew long and slender below the bleacher steps, and then was reminded how the sun creates rainbows on soap bubbles as one floated past me. How long had it been, I wondered, since I've just sat and taken in the world around me? What am I doing to my children, by not providing more simple opportunities such as this one to explore their world?

Meanwhile, Xander came upon an indentation in the grass where water had collected. He charged along full speed ahead, oblivious to the obstacle until he had splashed full force into it. Surprised, he sat down, and muddy water immediately soaked his pants. I grinned to myself and watched to see what he would do. My baby looked at me with a look of stark betrayal in his eyes - "How could you let this happen, Mommy?" - gave one surprised squawk, then thought again about being upset and decided he liked being wet and dirty. He spent the next ten minutes running out of the puddle, then in again, squatting in it, batting his hands in it, stomping on it, and poking at it.

After a while the kids got tired of our present situation, and we wandered over to explore a deep drainage ditch that ran between the soccer fields and the parking lot. "Come on, let's go on an adventure and see what we can find!" I said, grabbing Alexander's hand.

Sophie wasn't too sure, and hung back. "No, Mommy, I don't want to. I just want to stay here."

"Ok, you can just stay here and watch while Bubba and I explore," I said, letting her have the space to test the unknowns for safety. I led Alexander down the slope into the rock-lined ditch. It was really very steep, and once in it, I could not see above ground level. Sophie, her mind made up, was right behind us.

We spent the next twenty minutes or so exploring. I sat on a dry rock and watched the two little blond heads bob along as they met their world. Sophie hopped in between puddles with her feet together and a stick in her hand, punctuating each jump with, "Hop ... hop ... hop ... look, Mommy, I found a pine cone!" Her brother, on the other hand, sought each puddle out as an ocean to conquer, and splashed happily through them all. He climbed up the rocks, sliding down again on his little butt into a pile of leaves.

Soon it was time to go. I packed up the kids into a grocery laden car, gathered the half empty bottle of bubbles and discarded jackets and stuffed them in, as well. I drove away with an increased longing for a simpler life, one in which there are no schedules to follow or events to attend. A life spent befriending the sun and wind, getting up close and personal with weeds and caterpillars. A life with less clutter and more open spaces.