Ode to a Holiday Classic

In honor of the Christmas season, I have put a little spin on a good ol' Christmas carol...if you know the tune, feel free to hum along.

On the first day of Christmas my true love gave to me, a babysitter and a nanny.

On the second day of Christmas my true love gave to me, two casseroles,
and a babysitter and a nanny.

On the third day of Christmas my true love gave to me, three clean white t-shirts,
two casseroles, and a babysitter and a nanny.

On the fourth day of Christmas my true love gave to me, four bubble baths,
three clean white t-shirts,
two casseroles,
and a babysitter and a nanny.

On the fifth day of Christmas my true love gave to me, five per-so-nal chefs...
four bubble baths,
three clean white t-shirts,
two casseroles,
and a babysitter and a nanny.

On the sixth day of Christmas my true love gave to me, six fluffy towels,
five per-so-nal chefs...
four bubble baths,
three clean white t-shirts,
two casseroles,
and a babysitter and a nanny.

On the seventh day of Christmas my true love gave to me, seven days of freedom,
six fluffy towels,
five per-so-nal chefs...
four bubble baths,
three clean white t-shirts,
two casseroles,
and a babysitter and a nanny.

On the eighth day of Christmas my true love gave to me, eight peaceful phone calls,
seven days of freedom,
six fluffy towels,
five per-so-nal chefs...
four bubble baths,
three clean white t-shirts,
two casseroles,
and a babysitter and a nanny.

On the ninth day of Christmas my true love gave to me, nine romantic date nights,
eight peaceful phone calls,
seven days of freedom,
six fluffy towels,
five per-so-nal chefs...
four bubble baths,
three clean white t-shirts,
two casseroles,
and a babysitter and a nanny.

On the tenth day of Christmas my true love gave to me, ten empty dish loads,
nine romantic date nights,
eight peaceful phone calls,
seven days of freedom,
six fluffy towels,
five per-so-nal chefs...
four bubble baths,
three clean white t-shirts,
two casseroles,
and a babysitter and a nanny.

On the eleventh day of Christmas my true love gave to me, eleven lengthy foot rubs,
ten empty dish loads,
nine romantic date nights,
eight peaceful phone calls,
seven days of freedom,
six fluffy towels,
five per-so-nal chefs...
four bubble baths,
three clean white t-shirts,
two casseroles,
and a babysitter and a nanny.

On the twelvth day of Christmas my true love gave to me, twelve personal organizers,
eleven lengthy foot rubs,
ten empty dish loads,
nine romantic date nights,
eight peaceful phone calls,
seven days of freedom,
six fluffy towels,
five per-so-nal chefs...
four bubble baths,
three clean white t-shirts,
two casseroles,
and a babysitter and a nanny!

Sincerely Sunday

Just Say Yes!
I went to a women's meeting at my church on Friday night, where I heard a wonderful speaker talk about her testimony and journey with God. Her story is amazing, almost unbelievable, a real inspiration for women who are looking to hear from and follow God's plan for their lives.

While I won't do it justice, I will try to give you just a glimpse of her story. You may have heard of her before through her other ministries, or may have even seen her on Oprah, but her real claim to fame lies not in this world, but with the Father. All because she said yes.

It all began one day when she had gone to a concert to hear an African boys choir, sing at a local church. While she expected to hear some great music, she did not expect to hear the voice of God. You see, as she was sitting there listening to these orphan boys sing of the joy of the Lord, God spoke to her and told her that two of those boys would be hers. While she dismissed it at first, this call would later be confirmed numerous times, to the point where she had but one choice...to be willing to follow the voice of God, or to choose to go her own way because of her own fears and insecurities. In the end, she chose to obey God, and despite numerous obstacles, went on to adopt two teenage boys from Liberia, and bring them home to live with her family. As a result of her doing this, her friends also went on to adopt more than 30 orphans from the country of Liberia. Sound crazy? She thought so.

While just the thought of deciphering God's voice seemed crazy enough, what really struck her was the fact that God chose her to adopt these children. It amazed her that she was chosen, out of everyone in the world, to give these boys this new life, that they so deserved.

Here's the real good part. As she examined her life and questioned God as to why He would choose her, a woman not nearly good enough, or worthy enough for this great deed, He simply answered to her, because you said yes.

You see, that is the way God is. He is not a God who is looking for perfection, or even close to that. He doesn't bless nor call only those who are the most spiritual, the most upright, or even the most godly. He merely calls those who are willing. Those who in the face of opposition, will choose to listen for His call, and who will answer it with a yes. Heck, He doesn't even expect you to necessarily like the call, He just expects you to willingly accept it. That is the God we serve. And that is who He will choose...those who say yes.

So, if you are waiting to return to God until you are worthy, better, or even perfect...don't.
Go back to Him now, listen for His voice, and be willing...in your acceptance, He will choose you, He will prepare you and He will perfect you.


Matthew 5:9 Blessed are the pure in heart, for they will see God.
If you'd like to hear the speakers full story, check her out here.

Drawing Blood

I decided to run some errands this morning after dropping my daughter at school. At the top of the list was getting some bloodwork done, something that I had been putting off for the last couple of weeks. I had brought my boys with me the last few times, so I knew it wouldn't be all that bad. They actually kind of like watching the phlebotomist tie up my arm in the tourniquet, and well, I don't mind the seconds of pain all that much either. Hey, it's something to do, kind of like a field trip.

Since this was about the fifteenth time I had gone already, I knew that the massive questioning from my son was about to begin. "Mama, why will they take your blood?"
"Mama, what's that thing for?" And then when I glanced down at the script and noticed it said Urinalysis, I knew I was in for an interesting visit, to say the least.

It started out fine. My boys were being so sweet to me and the phlebotomist. My baby is really concerned with me getting hurt lately, so he came over to me and said, "mama, you o-tay?" and stroked my belly. Well, actually it was another part of my body, a bit higher, but he thought it was my belly...cute nonetheless. As I sat there trying to regain my center of gravity, after giving out nearly 70 percent of my blood volume, I couldn't help but beam at their cuteness. I had no idea it was all about to go downhill.

Once I felt stable enough to stand, I headed into the bathroom with my plastic pee-cup and my boys trailing behind. Once I got into the bathroom, the conversation between my son and I went a bit like this:

"Mama, what are you doing?"

"Mama has to pee in this cup honey."

"Mama, that's gross, are you joking me?"

"No, honey, mama is not joking, can you watch that your brother doesn't...Oh, don't put that in the toilet!"

As I wrangle a mound of toilet paper from my son's hand, I stand him on the side of the wall, next to his big brother. As the uncomfortable conversation with my middle son continues, I attempt to pee in the cup, a feat in itself. I continue to explain to my son that the cup is not a real cup, but rather like a test tube for experiments. As I try not to pee on my hand while talking, I look up to see my baby unlocking and opening the door, while I am still trying to pee in the cup.
"NO, don't let him open that!" Luckily my older son grabs the door, just as I nearly flash all of the nice phlebotomists in the lab.
I then grab my baby and try to hold onto his coat, while pulling up my pants. I catch my breath, slide the pee cup through the "secret elevator"(all part of the storyline for my son), and head back out into the office.
Some field trip...guess I ought to rethink bringing my boys to my next O.B. visit.

10 Things I'm Thankful For

In honor of Thanksgiving, I've compiled a list of things I am thankful for on this day.

1. I am thankful that this morning when I put a button up dress shirt on my son, he didn't fight me tooth and nail, like he usually does.

2. I am thankful that the extreme nausea I have been suffering from, didn't appear until after I hit the dessert table.

3. I am thankful that all three of my kids sat down on the couch this morning in their cute, coordinating outfits, and let me take a picture of them...truly a major feat.

4. I am thankful that two out of my three children fell asleep on the way home from our Thanksgiving commute today.

5. I am thankful for maternity underwear.

6. I am thankful that my husband hardly ever forgets to tell me I look pretty in my new shirt, even when I don't.

7. I am thankful that my middle son loves to hug and kiss his mama.

8. I am thankful for a comfortable bed and pillow to sleep on tonight.

9. I am thankful for big families...especially mine.

10. I am thankful that I am not in control of my life and God is...less anxiety for the both of us.

Desperate for Attention

I'm convinced my children absolutely do not want me to have any down time alone. They just don't. Apparently my innumerable hours with them since their birth, have not been adequate. They are so desperate for attention that the second I step foot in my steaming hot bath at night, they are completely lost among themselves, to the point of delirium.

I know this because as I was just settling in the tub this evening, my husband banged on the door and said, "you've got to help me!" I sensed the urgency in his voice and stepped out of my comfort zone, into the hallway. To my surprise, my five year old had decided to put a wad of gum in my husband's hair, and he needed my assistance in cutting out. So I did. No questions asked. I didn't have to ask, I knew all the answers already. Kids will do anything when they are desperate for your attention. They wanted me out of the tub. Mission accomplished.

Mama Scissorhands Part 2: Revenge of the Toddler

Some of you might remember an earlier post about the traumatic experience that occurred while cutting my middle son's hair. If you don't know what I am referring to, check out this post.

With Thanksgiving right around the corner, I decided to finally get some help in straightening out my little one's locks, mainly because he would be meeting some out-of-state family members for the first time. While my heart was saying, "save your money, do it yourself," my brain was saying, "bring him to Snip-its, you stink at cutting hair." In this case, my brain won the argument.

I planned the trip accordingly, made sure my guy was fed and happy, and I even managed to pack my camera, so I could capture these sweet moments of his first real haircut. We entered Snip-its, or as I like to call it, Disney World Hair Salon, without the slightest hitch. This is where it all went wrong.

I didn't see it coming. My baby proceeded to wander through the maze of brightly colored chairs and toys, grabbing at things left and right. He seemed to be enjoying himself. Unfortunately, the fun stopped there. The minute we strapped him in the bright pink hair chair and handed him a dum-dum, he began to throw the biggest fit known to man.

Trying to appease the wailing and thrashing of my son, the women in the salon began performing from their great bag of tricks. Bubbles, lollipops, videos, even a balloon...nothing worked. The girl with the scissors began to cut his hair, and just maneuvered this way and that attempting to salvage some sort of decent cut. Her friends continued to try to sweet talk my screaming baby, while I snapped some pictures. (Ah...for the sake of the scrapbook.)

Approximately 4 minutes later the nice girl asked me if it was okay, and proceeded to release my tortured baby from his chair. I surveyed his hair quickly and nodded that it was indeed acceptable. I must admit, that while I was wiping the tears from his cheeks, I noticed that my son had a bit of blood trickled on his little ear. That's right people, she cut his ear. For the time being, I dismissed the injury, and went on to pay the girl for the haircut, as I am not one to make a big scene and make a girl feel bad. I knew she didn't see the cut, and it was obviously a challenging client. I imagine it was somewhat like trying to put a dress on a cat. And from my experience, that ain't easy.

After going on with the day and pondering it awhile, I have come to the conclusion that I actually am pretty upset about that little cut on his ear. I mean, if I had wanted someone to cut his ear while cutting his hair, I would've cut his hair myself. Isn't that the whole reason for the hair salon? You pretty much expect that they won't do a worse job, or even an equal job, as you, isn't that right? I paid $14.95, for some lady to snip my baby's ear, when frankly I could've snipped it myself. It's crazy! And on top of it all...I tipped her. That's right,the insanity goes like this, "hey you, yes,you managed to somewhat even out my baby's bowl head, but you did happen to snip a little piece of his earlobe. Ya know what, it's okay...here's an extra two bucks, go buy yourself a cup of joe...on me!" And to top it off, I'll probably end up going back there one day, when he needs another haircut! It's crazy I tell you! Snip-its...they get you in with the flashy colors and goofy prizes...they really ought to call it Snip-you. Maybe it's time I break out my own chicken shears again.

Typical Responses to "I'm Pregnant with my Fourth..."

Let's face it, with your first baby, you can barely see the pink line appear, before you are on the phone with half of your family, telling them the great news. With your second, you still have that overwhelming excitement, that you burst the news out over a holiday dinner. Baby number three comes around, and fear starts to set in. You just barely mention it to your closest friends, but only because you are trying to line up some help for the future months. But your fourth? That's a whole different ball game. There's no cutesy announcement t-shirt (trust me, I checked), no special hallmark card, frankly no real easy way to break the news. That is because most women who have four, don't even tell anyone they are expecting, until they're in labor. It's true. And I know why. It's because of those not-so-well-wishes, and facial expressions they receive, when they finally do break the news. Here are just a few:

What they say: "OOhh...four huh?"
What they mean: "You need a hobby."

What they say: "I didn't even know you were trying."
What they mean: "You need a good lesson in birth control, girl."

What they say: "How sweet, another playmate for the children."
What they mean: "Remind me never to come to your house for dinner."

What they say: "I wonder if you can get a refund on that gym membership."
What they mean: "Guess those flabby thighs are gonna be around for awhile."

What they say: "Wow, you're going to have your hands full."
What they mean: "You are absolutely crazy!"

Confessions of a Stay at Home Mom of Three...and Counting

Attention: Will all those with four children, please stand up? I just want to get a head count.
Ahem...is this thing on?
Where is everyone? I don't see anyone standing.
Oh wait, there's someone in the back, uh...nope, just the mailman.

Where are all you moms out there with four children? Are you just busy? Tied up? Are your children all on top of you, so you can't get up? Are you stuck in the basement doing laundry for six people? Are you trying to plan out a meal which includes at least one thing that everyone likes,not even including a vegetable? Are you breaking up a brawl between your little ones as they fight over the one barbie that still has all her body parts? Or are you hiding in a closet somewhere, or better yet, the bathroom? Oh, that's what I thought.

Next to Jon and Kate, and the Duggars, big families are seeming to become obsolete these days...at least in this neck of the woods. What a shame. Somebody's gotta do something about that. Think of all the stuff you'll miss out on...fighting over the last Pillsbury croissant on Thanksgiving,(you've seen the commercials), camping trips at the lake(who can afford a hotel with four kids?), sibling rivalry to get your parents undivided attention, and think about all the valuable writing your children will miss out on, since they won't have to fill out thousands of scholarship essays to get into their school of choice. Yeah, that's what big families are all about. I say bring it on. In fact, I consider it my personal mission to bring back the value and joy to the stigma of big families. And with one in the oven...I'm well on my way. Stay tuned for what probably may be my most hysterical adventures, as I turn into one stay at home mom of four. For now, I must go, there is a bathroom floor with my name on it.

Bedtime Blues

I can remember back to when I used to rock my daughter to sleep at night, for literally hours. It was the only way she would fall asleep peacefully, and I considered it a small trade off, rather than listening to my precious firstborn's, blood-curdling screams. I can remember one night in particular, when I was nine months pregnant with my son. I remember hardly being able to fit my daughter on my lap, and her sliding down each time I made the rocking motion. And yet I still kept my little girl comfortable enough to get her to sleep(about two hours later). As I sat there rocking, I can remember reassuring myself that this wouldn't be forever, and that one day, I would actually miss these precious moments/hours, I had spent putting her to sleep. Yes, that memory crossed my mind tonight, as I lay half my body on a twin size bed and my head down on a strawberry shortcake pillowcase...directly next to...my FIVE year old daughter's head.

It's true, I have not yet been able to miss the memories of the exhausting efforts to get my children to sleep, because, the memories have yet to cease. The exhausting efforts have yet to cease. The blood curdling screams have also, yet to cease. I once heard someone say about potty training, "don't worry, it will happen, I mean nobody ever sent their kid to college in diapers, right?" I've tied that one right in with my own personal motto, "nobody ever had to rock their kids to sleep in college, did they?" The only problem is, I don't believe it. Either one of them. As of about twenty minutes ago, I wholeheartedly believe that there probably are some kids walking around UCLA in pampers, and just maybe those gliding chairs and ottomans in the dorms, aren't just for "movie nights."

I'm not here to tell you bedtime has been terrible with all my children. As most of you with more than one child know, you usually progress as a parent with each successive child, and typically don't make the same crucial mistakes you made with the first one. For instance, yes, my daughter prefers I lay down with her, just as she falls asleep, but my middle son, couldn't care less if I was even in the room with him. In fact, he couldn't care less if he was even sleeping on a pillow, or a bed for that matter. Now my baby has been a great sleeper thus far, of course he does need 3-5 binkys with him to even enter his crib, either that or some random item he picked up on his way upstairs. For example, this evening I laid him down with a small container of crayons...oh well, pick your battles, right?

Needless to say, I am confident that in due time, my little darlings will be marching up to their beds, and settling themselves to sleep all on their own. For now, I just learn how to contort my body to get comfortable sleeping on two inches of mattress, and as I lay there, I plan all of the things I will be able to do, when that glorious day comes.

Under Age Drinking

As of today, I officially deserve the Dumbest Move of a Mother Award. Don't judge me, but I may or may not have just given my 22 month old a sippy full of fermented apple cider.

I was never all that good at chemistry, so I didn't even think twice about giving my son a cup full of the apple cider that had been sitting in my car overnight. I know, it sounds terrible, but we just went apple picking and bought a whole gallon of delicious apple cider. Unfortunately, when we unloaded our car at home the other night, we forgot to bring it inside. Typically, I don't make a habit out of feeding my family food that was left unrefrigerated for hours, but fresh cider? Come on, that stuff is expensive! So, being as I don't live in a tropical climate, and considering the cost of the cider, I decided to render it back to the refrigerator without a second thought.

I should've thought something was up when my baby kept handing me his sippy this morning, saying, "mama, yu-yuck." But I didn't. The kid says everything is "yu-yuck." How was I supposed to know? It wasn't until I started choking on a piece of bagel, while trying to break up a sibling dispute, that I reached for a cup of cider, and realized the enormity of my negligence. The cider didn't taste bad, just...bubbly. Actually it tasted quite delicious to me, but I definitely thought I tasted just a twinge of wine.
Moral of the story...check your kid's pupils after you've given them old drinks from the car.

A Cup in my Hamper

I once read in a magazine how it's a good thing to teach your children while they are young, the value of helping out with chores. It instills responsibility, a sense of accomplishment, and well, an extra hand around the house...NOT! I taught my almost two year old, how to use the laundry chute in the bathroom--definitely one of the worst decisions I've made as a parent.

Don't get me wrong, my son does throw the dirty clothes down the chute. He wobbles into the bathroom, opens up the cabinet door and slides any clothes lying on the floor down the chute. Yes, a big help. The problem is he does not stop there. Anything and everything that is on the floor gets thrown down the chute. Towels that have fallen from the hook, my bathroom rugs, rolls of toilet paper, cleaning supplies that are under the sink(I know they should be locked up in some liquor cabinet somewhere), and yes, a cup. Pretty much anything that is on the floor in any room is game. And with three kids, there are a lot of things on the floor in every room in my house.

The problem is I typically don't realize that he's thrown anything unusual down the chute, until it's already in my laundry pile and then often in my washer, right along with my kid's undies. Go Kenmore! They really do stand up to anything! Let that be a lesson to you all...chores are not really meant for any age. I know we're all anxious to instill hardcore values, but we've got to set some age limits.
I'm not even going to begin to tell you how he washes the dishes...

The Result of Watching too much Discovery Channel

The conversation today, on my front porch between my four year old nephew and my three year old son, went something like this:

My son: Hey did you see that spider, he was eating a moth? Some moths eat people.

Me: They do?

My nephew: Did you know some people eat moths? Some people eat lots of bugs too.

My son: They do?

My nephew: Yes, there are some poor people that eat bugs.

My son: Why?

My nephew: Poor people who don't have food, eat bugs because they have caffeine.

Me: Oh, bugs have caffeine in them?

My nephew: Yup.

Those are my kind of poor people. No food to eat, but they eat bugs, not for their nutritional value, but because they have caffeine in them. They must be mothers.

The Wrong Fit

I recently attempted to replenish my dying wardrobe with some new Fall must-haves...which for me, means jeans. I must have jeans. Though I thoroughly enjoy the art of shopping, my personal shopping experience is often, less than desireable. This of course due to my figure challenged body that has resulted from birthing my three wonders in, ahem, 4 1/2 years.(You can imagine the stretching.) In fact, shopping for myself is such an ordeal, that I usually schedule a day, weeks in advance, so that I can prepare myself, (not eat for 5 days), for the shopping experience.

So, last Saturday we loaded up the kids and headed out to the mall for the day. I prepared in advance and packed a bag full of snacks for the kids, so my husband could walk around the mall with them, while I tried on clothes. I situated my children in the double stroller, handed my husband the diaper bag, and sent them off.

I began my journey through the massive mall, and ended up in a particular store (I won't mention any names), and made my way over to the jean section. With every step I took, it was so strange I heard a sort of music in my ear, ya know that music they play in scary movies, right before the main character is about to be attacked. Da-Da-Dun. I knew this task wouldn't be easy, but I had no idea what I was about to get myself into. I began to shuffle around through the jeans, passed the acid washed and tapered legs, and headed to the boot leg, dark wash(they're slenderizing). I started to look for my size, well, actually two sizes--the size I wish I was which I always try on first, and the size I unfortunately really am. (Who do I think I'm fooling.) But, as I went to grab a size, I realized that the sizes on these jeans, were not normal. They only had the numbers 1-6 on them, and no, I was not in the junior section. I was completely confused, just how long had it been since I bought a new pair of jeans?

I glanced up at the sign hanging above the jeans, and read, "The Right Fit Jeans." From what I understood, the numbers had something to do with the number of inches from your waist to your thigh...HUH? My goodness, all I wanted to do was get a pair of jeans, and now I've got to go through some sort of major metric measuring system just to find my size? If I wanted to go through all that, I would have just went to a seamstress to make me some jeans out of that old lady, fake denim.

Anyway, I knew my time was running out and my children would be running in the store any minute, asking me when I would be done. (Prompted by my husband, of course) I quickly grabbed two numbers, any two numbers and headed to the dressing rooms. As I tried on the lower number jeans, I realized that this desperate attempt to cram my butt into them, was not happening. I pried them off my body and hoped to God that there weren't cameras in the dressing rooms. I reached for the larger numbered jeans, and put them on, only to find that they were too big. Now what? Just how does this "Right Fit" work exactly? Are there half sizes? Nope, I checked. I give up. And just in time, because wouldn't you know it, in run my three chocolate faced children. So, after an exhausting attempt at a wardrobe upgrade, I discovered that these "Right Fit" jeans, were exactly the opposite...they were the wrong fit. Oh well, Kmart here I come.

Intimidation

Intimidation is defined as something that makes you timid or fearful. Unfortunately, as a mother of three, I've found that the list of things that make me timid and fearful, keeps growing, almost daily. Things that wouldn't intimidate your average twenty-something...can completely intimidate the pants off of your average twenty-something year old mother...translation--Me. I've compiled a list of persons and things which intimidate me, add your own as you see fit.

1. Caked on greasy pans
2. Cooking fish for dinner, unless it's in the shape of a stick.
3. Fresh herbs, can I eat the stems?
4. Restaurants with cloth napkins.
5. Restaurants with glassware.
6. Restaurants.
7. Salespeople from any clothing store that doesn't have the word 'mart in it.
8. The Fine China department at Macy's.
9. Moms who wear low rise jeans.
10. Any kind of beef that isn't ground.
11. Leaving my home with a newly potty trained child.
12. Moms who have "wash windows" on their to-do list.
13. Moms who actually write a to-do list.
14. Defrosting a chicken in time for dinner.

The Next Suburban Inventor

As I trudge through my household duties with my three little ones, yet again, I can't help but imagine that there's gotta be a way to avoid some of the stressful situations that unfold throughout the week. Someone, somewhere, has got to come up with some "helpers" for we, stay at home moms. Our comradery as stay at home moms, lies in that we all struggle juggling our duties, while taking care of our children. I've come up with a list of helpful inventions, if you will, that might come in handy for some of you who struggle with the same mundane tasks as I. My hopes are that these inventions would ease the load of our duties, and in turn, better our lives.

1)The Arm Extender: not only used to reach objects high up, as the name suggests, also very useful in reaching numerous toys, snacks, pacifiers etc. from floor of vehicle, while driving the vehicle. Proven to be much safer than driver reaching behind seat to reach items to appease children, while steering car with knee.

2)The Baby Box: A plexi-glass like box, with large air hole, that fits over top of toddler while in stroller. Primarily used to restrict child from pulling down shelve loads of merchandise in grocery stores, clothing stores, etc. Also very effective with double strollers, in keeping child riding in back, from ripping hair out of head of child riding in front. Overall, a real shopping must-have.

3)The Grocery Belt: A sturdy belt you wear when unloading groceries, with large loopholes that attach to grocery bags, to ease the load of carrying in grocery bags, while simultaneously carrying in squirming toddler. A personal favorite of mine, this baby cuts your grocery transport time in half, and also eliminates the dreaded wrestling of food from toddler's hands, as he ransacks the bags that you leave at the top of the stairs.

These are my personal favorites...let me know if you have any to add...

Serenity NOW

Get this Seinpost

You remember the Seinfeld episode don't you? George's Dad was trying to manage his frustration, and destress himself, and so he decided to repeat, "Serenity Now" every time he felt his blood pressure rising. I, in turn, have decided to also use this method of decompressing while at home with my three little wonders. I've found this to be effective, especially in dealing with my 20 month olds, massive daily destruction. If your morning jog route happens to be by my home, you may hear me screaming, "Serenity Now", on occasion.

In addition to this method, I have also taken it upon myself to write a little prayer, to be sent up to the good Lord, on those real hairy days. This prayer may sound a bit familiar...feel free to use it also, as needed.

Mama's Serenity Prayer
God grant me the serenity
to accept that no matter what I clean,
my baby will minutes later, destroy it.
Give me courage to pry cleaning chemicals,
hand lotions, and precious valuables from his chubby little fists.
Give me wisdom in outsmarting him, and hiding these things high enough
that he may never be able to reach them again.
Amen.

Mama Scissorhands

I can't put my finger on why it is, but I am completely obsessed with cutting my kids' hair. And...I am completely and utterly terrible at it. Maybe I have some sort of subconscious love of haircare, but honestly, the obsession has turned quite ugly. Literally.

Fortunately, my three year old is terrified of the hair salon, so I get my practice cuts on him, and his little brother. It's pretty hilarious actually, my methods, that is. For instance, when I am cutting my baby's hair, typically I bribe him to sit in a chair out on the porch, with some sort of pop. He then proceeds to take the pop and wriggle his way out of the chair, all the while I am cutting and cutting at his chocolate locks. And as I cut each strand, it falls down onto his face, where it lands right onto his sticky mouth. And there it stays. Sometimes, it even lands in his mouth. When that happens, he usually grabs at his tongue with his free hand, (also covered in hair), and shouts, "Mama, yu-yuck." You'd think that would prompt me to take him to the barber...nope, I like a challenge. So I proceed to chase him around the yard with a pair of scissors, and snip every time he pauses. Let's just say, he will be sporting the "layered" and "messy" look for awhile.

But today, my baby's hair was not the problem. My middle son has this fear of the salon. I've tried many different places, even the real expensive kid's ones, that make it pretty much like a party every time you get your hair cut. Nope, he won't do it. He refuses the prizes, and the cut. So, as his sideburns started to creep around his chin this weekend, I decided that it was time for me to dust off the ol' shears. I told him that if he didn't let me cut his hair, I would have to take him to the haircut lady. He promptly complied.

My skills are what you'd call progressive. When I first begin the cut, I completely forget what I am doing, what number is the shortest, and how to even hold the scissors. I begin to sweat and my pulse races. My son senses my incompetence and begins his hour long taunting of, "can I get down yet?" Usually, about ten minutes into the cut though, I figure out what I'm doing. Just like riding a bike. What happened today though, has got to be my worst performance yet.

I began his cut with the clippers, and was just starting to get the hang of them when, oops! "MAMA, my ear, it hurts so bad!!" And then the tears...I thought those clippers were supposed to be safe...I'm going to have to sue Conair. Anyway, it's sounds much worse then it was, and I quickly grabbed a red towel, (we, moms know what that means), and I managed to calm my son.

Maybe it was the Holy Spirit, or maybe it was the fact that I had to use chicken shears because I couldn't find the haircutting scissors, but something inside of me said, "Stop Now!" A few more uneven snips off the top, and I knew I was in over my head. I approached my son with yet another offer, and told him that if we went to the haircut lady, she would cut it real fast...and I would buy him a toy. And wouldn't you know, he agreed. Unbelievable.

A quick shower later, and I had loaded up all the kids and were on our way to Costcutters. I was slightly mortified to tell the lady that I had butchered my son's hair, especially when she looked at all three of my kids and said, "Oh...he must be the one." But I humbly took my seat and watched in awe as my son conquered one of his biggest fears, right before my eyes. I couldn't believe it. He sat like such a big boy and actually got his hair cut...no fuss, no nothing. And I even heard him talking to the lady! Another major feat! And I didn't even mind as I overheard him tell the lady, "and Daddy was very mad at us!" I had no idea what he was talking about...but I didn't care. I was just so happy that his hair was fixed, and his fear was gone.
Maybe, it wasn't such a bad idea to cut his hair after all.

Sunday's Best

Sunday mornings at my home are completely chaotic. My husband and I usually try to grab every last second of sleep we can, before we have to get up for church. We procrastinate to the very last second. As we are lying in bed, we convince ourselves that it is totally possible to get five people dressed and ready in 35 minutes. We are foolish. It can't be done.

No surprise to me, this morning was no different. As I felt my son jump on my bed and nearly crack my shin, I rolled over and asked my incoherent husband what time it was. He mumbled, "around 7." Well, if it's only 7am, and we have to leave for worship practice by 9:15, then we've got another half hour to sleep. As I strolled into the playroom to bribe my children to watch a show so I could steal some shuteye, I passed by the clock and it said 7:55! That guy better start repenting!

Long story short, the mad dash to find clothes for everyone began. I managed to dress everyone but myself. I literally took out every article of clothing from my closet and tried it on, but to no avail. On Sunday's, I attempt to retire my olive oil stained cotton t-shirts, and ripped up jeans, for something, a bit well...cleaner. Yeah, I'm not worried about some major frilly dress here, just basic, out-in-public attire. But this morning, nope...could not be done. I couldn't find anything. By the time I was dressed, my room looked like it had been ransacked by wild animals. I'm lucky I made it out of there alive.
Contrary to the distress of this morning, I managed to walk away with some very useful lessons for the future. I'd like to share them with you.

What I learned this morning:

1)You gain at least 10 pounds on Sunday mornings.

2)Never eat potato chips on Saturday night. Even if they're baked.

3)Kmart has a surprisingly fashionable clothing line, when you're in a pinch.

4)If you trash your bedroom getting dressed for church, the mess will still be there when you get home.

5)My dryer is broken, it shrinks all my clothes.

6)There is no shame in wearing Spanx.

7)When God said, "May your cup overfloweth," He did not mean, take a second helping.

Wordless Wednesday

Sincerely Sunday

A Good Mourning

I recently experienced a loss, one that I didn't see coming, yet always feared. It was a shock to my system, and beliefs, but only for a short while. I am here not to dwell on the pain of loss, but to tell you about an awesome restoration. Somehow, someway, God has turned a day that ranked as the worst in my life, into a day that has begun to change and replenish my life.

Through bible study and prayer in a time where I didn't want to pray or even look at my bible, He has completely opened my eyes to His plan and has graciously and miraculously allowed me to not only accept His will, but understand it as well. For that I am truly grateful, as it is one thing to accept something you can't change, but to see the perspective behind it, that is a great peace giver.

Before this happened, I was in a very slothful way with my everyday life, and most importantly with God. I was fine with "just doing enough," and honestly would've probably continued in that pattern, if not for this loss to catch my attention. Though I don't believe God allows suffering and pain only to get our attention, I do believe he can turn a completely traumatic and devastating event, into one that pushes you forward, and towards Him. And I believe and understand my loss as that. Our relationship with God is not meant to be on the "do just enough to get by" list. He won't stand for it.

God opened my eyes to the vulnerability we as humans have, especially when we make Him less than a priority in our life. An event that I would've once thought would crush my spirit, has actually lifted my spirit, and pointed me to Him. Does this revelation take away the pain I felt that day? Nope. I still felt it, deeper than anything I've ever felt. But He knows that. He was there. God doesn't claim to erase the pain you feel, He just promises to restore your joy.