Not for the boys

This morning I went to my past-due annual OBGYN visit. Nothing says Happy Halloween like freezing your tushie off for 30 minutes naked on a table while waiting for the doctor to get around to seeing you. Good times.

Since I had a tubal when Clara was born I have not had much need for this doctor in the last year. However lately I have developed some troubling woman problems (NOT going to expounding on that further) which I wanted to see someone about. Also I am having hot flashes.

I'm 32.

So I am sitting there naked trying to remember all the things I wanted to mention to her. Which leads me to ask: Why can't they come in and talk to you about these things BEFORE you take your clothes off? Does anyone else find it impossible to have a rational thought while trying to strategically cover your breasts and fat rolls with a large sheet of tissue paper?

Anyway, I tell her about my problems, about my hot flashes and for good measure I throw in the fact that I am perpetually exhausted, although I am pretty sure this is from having four children and eating crap constantly. She peppers me with a few other questions?

Doctor: Are you irritable?

Me: Um...you mean when I am not sitting naked on a table?

Doctor: Any weight gain?

Me: Does 20 lbs this year count?

Doctor: Any problems sleeping?

Me: Nope. Sleep fine. Even in the middle of the day, when I am say...playing with my kids. Or driving.

She looks at me sideways and says that all my symptoms could be related to a thyroid problem and she wants to run some tests.

What? Wait. You mean grouchy, lazy and overweight may not be my natural personality? I am still reeling at what this could mean.

Not telling the family yet though. I am not sure I could stomach their excitement. Plus, I wouldn't want them to go buy party hats prematurely.

A post about shoes, lost children and grace.

This morning the weekids and I took an inpromtu trip to the mall. Clara had ruined her white Robeez at the Pumpkin Farm this weekend, and I decided to continue my quest for the elusive brown ones I have been coveting for fall. Clara feels the same way about hard soled shoes as she does about hair bows. They are off her feet and flung across the room before I can even pick up her diaper bag.

So Ben, Clara and I headed off to the mall with promises of playtime and lunch at "Old McDonalds" if they would just oblige me my errands. We hit Norstroms first and, while we still did not manage to find the pink and brown Robeez, we ended up with these shoes instead, which may just be the cutest things ever.

Notice the polka-dots. These shoes were made for us. And they have soft soles so everyone was happy.

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Then, after a romp at the playplace, we headed to the foodcourt for lunch. It was this point that things started to deteriorate.

The line was long and I stood there for quite a while trying to pacify a Clara who saw other people were eating while she was not. She sat crying in her stroller while frantically making the sign for "more food, more food" to everyone around her. That girl is passionate about eating. Can't imagine where she gets that from. By the time I finally ordered our food, I was frazzled and irritated. I stepped aside to wait and turned around to ask Ben to hold his milk.

Ben?

I didn't see him. The panic wasn't immediate. I glanced around expecting to see him standing just out of view behind another stroller. But after a moment of searching my stomach turned upside down. He was nowhere to be found near the McDonalds or any of the attached restaurants. I realized I couldn't remember exactly when the last time I had noticed him standing beside me in line. I had been preoccupied with his sister. I grabbed Clara's stroller, with her still whimpering, and started combing the area while calling his name. A minute ticked by, and then two, and suddenly I was in a full out frenzy. It was the first time in my life as a parent that I actually feared someone might have taken one of my children.

And then I spotted him...sitting contentedly on one of those mechanical cars that you feed coins into. The whole episode couldn't have lasted more than 3 or 4 minutes. But still my relief was overwhelming. I can't imagine what it must feel like to have your child missing for an hour, or a lifetime. Tears stung my eyes while I ran and scooped him up hugging and scolding him in intervals, while he squirmed in confusion at my manic behavior.

I headed back to McDonalds while pushing Clara in the stroller with one hand while keeping a pincer grip on Ben with the other. We picked up our food and I was forced to let go of Ben to carry it. Giving Ben a stern command to hold on to the stroller we started shuffling, mom balancing bags, cups and stroller and attached boy, towards the mob of people and tables at the center of the foodcourt. At this point, Clara managed to finally wiggle her way free of her stroller and slide halfway out onto the floor. I, of course didn't notice this until I started running over her. I thought about it for just a second and transferred our food and drinks into the stroller, picked up a writhing, wailing baby and continued the awkward migration towards the relative sanctuary of food and seats.

Once we were seated the children settled happily in to a greasy munch-fest . They had failed to substitute apples for fries in Ben's Happy Meal as I had requested, but I certainly wasn't going to attempt the trek back to rectify the situation so fries it was. The weekids at least, were thrilled with their fried windfall.

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Sitting there catching my breath I started hearing bits of conversation from the table near mine.

"Bless her heart, she sure has her hands full"

- Suddenly mortified, I realized they were talking about me. I covertly checked out the women talking. There were three of them. Moms if I had to guess, but with no children anywhere to be seen.

"Yeah, I remember that, having two so little, so close together. Those years were really, really, hard."

Awww, well at least they are being kind after watching my less than graceful trip past them to my seat. Mommy grace. Gotta love it.

"Yeah, I was about crazy then too. If I hadn't asked for help eventually, I think they would have had to take me away somewhere to wear a white jacket."

Wait! What? Crazy too? Oh, I'm not that bad. And I don't think they even saw the lost kid incident. Besides I think I have moved past the white jacket stage. I actually enjoy my kids now. Well most of the time.

They talked on after that going into their own stories about their children being young and I eventually tuned them out. But my face was still burning. I know I should have just been happy to have witnessed such a wonderful of example of the grace I am always preaching about, but I just couldn't get over the humiliation of needing to be the object of it.

Wordless Wednesday - Tankyouberrymuch

Clara Elizabeth at 15 Months

Clara was 15 months last week. I know it doesn't seem like much of a milestone, and this post is going to be the epitome of self-indulgence. Long and picturey. But I feel the need to stop and record exactly the way she is right now, because it seems like she is different every day and her babyness is slipping away.

Clara really wants to communicate with us now. She will nod her head vehemently "yes" or "no" to a question, and if she doesn't understand the answer is always "yes". The kind of yes that would give anyone over age 3 whiplash. She knows about 15 words (or word-like-sounds) and a couple basic signs like "more" and "up" and "bye". I think sometimes this bit of knowledge is even more frustrating than before. She will often make the sign for "more food" when I have nothing to offer, or for "I want up" when she is in the car-seat. And when we can't comply, boy does she get mad. She has a temper that girl and has already started yelling and hitting when she doesn't get her way.

It is already clear to us all how different she is than the rest of our children. For starters, her favorite foods are fruits and vegetables. Honestly, she eats like a rabbit. Cucumbers, tomatoes, broccoli, green beans, peas, carrots and tons and tons of fruit. Shane and I just stare in amazement. Also, she has this schizophrenic personality where she is cuddling you one moment and smacking you in the face the next. She's can really be a bruiser and takes be tackled by her brothers without a whimper. She has none of the fear or sensitivity of her siblings.

She is still not walking although she can stand alone now and she took her first independent steps last week. However, she is not letting her lack of upright mobility keep her from being more determined and mischievous than I remember any of our other children being.

Oh, and she drives her brother, Ben, crazy. The sound of "Cwara-NO!" rings out dozens of times throughout the day. She's always messing up his toys, turning off his television shows and grabbing his hair, clothes and face. Ben loves his sister though, and really wants to include her in his play. He just becomes frustrated with her more bulldozer like qualities.

I can't help but wonder what kind of child and eventually adult she will become. As much as I would love her to be girly, the signs of a rough-and-tumble personality are already there. We are already fighting the battle of the hair bows. I put them in, and just as quickly she rips them back out with a determined grin. Then she hands them back to me with a look that says "Go ahead. Give it your best shot." And I do.

I have found this hairstyle to be particularly successful though. So much in fact that I almost changed her Halloween costume to "Pebbles".

She has 9 teeth now and I must say that first molar made her a tyrant for a month straight. We got her back to her sweet self for a few weeks and then started in on the next one. It's almost through now. When she's not teething though, she has a mostly very sweet temperament. (ya know, when she's not beating people up). She loves music and the people in her Gymboree class call her "The Dancing Queen" because even though she can't walk, she boogies all the way through class. She also attempts to sing a handful of songs. She is particularly adept at our bedtime song where she sings "Night-Night" to the different members of our family.

It melts my heart every time.

Over all, I have to say...She's a blessing beyond measure.

And if you are still here, reading this til the end, you deserve a gold star, or a chocolate cookie, or something.

Because this was mostly for me. To help me remember.

Ramblings of a Chaotic Mind

Random things on my mind this morning.

1. Where do Allison's socks go? I wash them, give them to her, and they are never seen again. It's one of life's great unsolved mysteries. Like the Bermuda triangle.
2. I hated my last post. I changed it 3 times after I hit publish and I still hate it. It just feels corny to me. So now I have to rush and post something else so it slides on down the page.
3. Why do I continue to feel that there is a better version of myself stuck inside me? A version that has found the key to this self-discipline thing and can stick to a diet, an exercise plan, a Bible Study routine, a housekeeping schedule. One who's always put together and not still in her Pajamas at 10:00? If she's really there, how do I make her come out and stay?
4. The Office was such a better show at 30 minutes. It drags at an hour. They should change it back.
5. Allison wants a bigger dollhouse for Christmas. Why do I cringe when she says it because I know if she tells the girls at school that's what she got, they will make fun of her. Why do girls walk into the halls of a middle school and feel the need to immediately become teenagers in waiting. I read this post and I am convinced once again that media and materialism are ruining our children.
6. Why can't they make just the inserts for the Nuby sippy cups? Why do I have to buy a whole new cup each time my kids chew up the silicone part? Isn't that wasteful.
7. Why would anyone ever reject Slouching Moms articles? Did they read them? She's the best writer I know.
8. Why am I such a comment junkie? Is my self-esteem really that dependent on external support?
9. I took dozens of pictures of Clara for her 15 month post. I wonder how many I can post without boring everyone to tears. I just can't get over how cute that girl is.
10. Bill Cosby Rocks.
11. This is my 100th post. One hundred posts about me, my family, my thoughts on life. How is it possible I could think I have anything new to offer? Isn't it a bit egotistical to think people care about any of this?

Fill me up, Baby.

I often imagine that I start each week with a jar of patience. It's full of kind words, encouragement, and tricks to hold my tongue. It's full of deep breaths, and smiles and "Oh, that's okay honey"s. And the ability to speak softly. And hope. Hope, when I need it, for a better next day, next hour, next minute. I can imagine it sitting on my counter, this jar, and it's bright and cheery and polka-dotted. So I can find it easily. And because something as whimsical as a jar of patience would just have to be polka-dotted. That's what I think.

And each day, goodness each hour, I scoop a bit out. To referee an argument, to refold the laundry Clara has dumped all over the floor, to calmly explain to one of my children why I have to punish them for speaking to me disrespectfully, to clean the poop out of Ben's underwear, to tell Allison for the 327th time to practice, or Brandon to take out the trash. To help me not explode when someone says "I don't like that" about the dinner I prepared while Clara cried. Like she does every. single. night between 5:30 and 7:00.

And then sometime during the week, usually around Thursday, I reach in to find myself scraping bottom. And that's when I start to slip. Yelling a bit here. Slamming a bit there. Sending kids to their room or telling them they can. not. speak. one. more. word. or. they. will. be. grounded. all. weekend. long.

And I know it's time. Time to find a way to get away. Alone. To visit with a friend. To go wander through a bookstore. Even just to take a bath or pray or read. And that's why my dear husband lets me leave him alone with the kids almost every Friday afternoon. So I can fill back up again. A new supply for a new week.

But last week, because of his knee surgery, my outing was rightfully postponed. And that combined with the fact that I have been running and fetching nursing The Man back to health and well...there's no patience to be found around here.

Not a drop.

But tomorrow. I am back out the door. Freedom is only hours away. Okay like 18 hours, but who's counting?

I'm just so thankful for a husband who continues to espouse my need - for everyone concerned - to escape and replenish my jar.

The one with the polka dots.

Healing

The Man is recovering from ACL Surgery this week. Clara is recovering from a disagreement with her lower-left molar.