Summer Time Kids; The Good, the Bad, the Ugly

For years, I have had all the kids home with me, 24/7, all the time, forever. We had some bumps in the road, but for the most part, they knew and understood what was expected of them.We had a routine. I always wondered why moms were so anxious for school to start in the fall, when summer had barely just begun.

I love my kids, and I like them too. They were home all the time, and I still missed them if I was out without them, once in a blue moon. I thought for sure, if they ever went to school, I would LOVE having them home during the summers.

So they entered school in January. And now I test my theory.

Years of 24/7 time with my kids could have never prepared me for this day.

Y'all, it is not even noon yet, on their first day of summer vacation, and I can't even look at them right now.

They have completely forgotten how to act. It's as though they used up all their good listening, well-behaved, normal human being skills during school hours, and they have nothing left.

They have been bickering all morning. Isaac, the 3 year old, is just happy to have them home, so he's maybe a tad bit annoying, but they've been snapping at him all morning, bossing him around. They are demanding of more food almost immediately after I've fed them, and at the bold suggestion that they help me keep things tidy around here (and I made Elijah do the dishes, since he was suddenly starving after being full 10 minutes ago, and already putting his dish in the sink ((I'm not running an open buffet here!)), melt downs ensued. Chastity stomped off to her room when I told her she would no longer be keeping her backpack downstairs, and that it should go in her closet. She threw a fit on the couch when I called her out for her nasty attitude toward Isaac, and she burst into tears when I told her that the pretty dress she was putting on could not be played in outside.

Elijah cried when I made him do the dishes, he snapped at Isaac more than once, and he and Chastity both have done nothing but snap at each other.

So, I get it. I have a better understanding for all you summer worn moms.

But then, came my least finest moment as a parent. And I'm still processing it...

My husband and I just celebrated our 10 year wedding anniversary. 10 amazing years. 10 years we have had a beautiful engraved cross that we opted for our wedding cake table instead of a cake topper. 9 years, said beautiful cross has survived a rambunctious dog. 8.5 years it has survived children. It has survived 7 moves, across 3 different states; multiple toddlers, basketballs, baseballs, soccer balls, footballs, wrestling, sword fights, and even the kids on wheels, in a small space. We don't have many nice things. Most of what we've assembled together in our home came from our college days or WalMart. Our highest end items might be from Target. But this cross, this glass cross with our names and wedding date engraved, was one, very nice thing, with more sentimental value than monetary.

Today, my oldest, shoulda-known-better child, playing with his plastic toy sword, decided that the large space in the middle of the living room was not living dangerously enough for him. And our beautiful glass cross met it's untimely demise, shattering before our eyes.

And I lost it.

Every part of the morning boiled over in me.

"ELIJAH!!" I yelled.

And, in the spirit of honesty, I may have even yelled before the cross hit the floor. I saw it unfolding before me. Maybe, had I not yelled, my athletic child would have caught it, and I wouldn't be confessing this all to you now, but I yelled, immediately.

As soon as it shattered, his blood curdling screams met my ears, and I had no patience for them. Also, aware of the glass all around him, I quickly dragged him, by the arm, to the other side of the room. He was sobbing screaming. And in that very moment, I didn't care.

I cried while I cleaned it up. Chastity cried because Elijah was screaming and hurting her ears. Isaac obliviously watched The Cat in the Hat in amusement. It was a scene out of a sitcom, but no one was laughing. Oh, except Isaac.

As I vacuumed, I was talking myself down.

It's just a thing. A nice thing, but a thing. A sentimental thing, but a thing. 

Elijah was upset even more, that I wouldn't allow him to help clean it up. Protecting him from the glass was important, but mostly, I needed this time to myself. I needed to be alone, and I need to grieve this thing, that I loved but rarely looked at.

When I was finished, I scanned my wedding album for picture of it. There are none. Somehow every angle of our cake table has the cake blocking the view of the cross.
So, this is all that's left:

Then, midway through the writing of this story, Elijah, still in tears, walked over to me, to apologize, for probably the 10th time. 

I finally gave him the response he needed, the response I wish I had been wise enough to have immediately.

Elijah, it's ok. I forgive you. I'm sorry I seemed angry. I was really sad. It was a special thing to remind me of the day I married Daddy.

He began to cry harder.

I took his head in my hands. But it is just a thing. I don't love it like I love you. You are more important to me.

Then, he handed this to me:

 It is just a thing, a small thing, but it has infinitely more value than any shattered glass.

She Lost Herself

There's this well known phrase about women, particularly moms, who no longer look like their younger, fitter, childless selves; a phrase that has never, to the best of my knowledge, been uttered in a positive or kind way; a phrase which holds so much power in the attitude in which it is spoken, that it resonated deeply within me as a child, when I would hear adults speak it of someone, with pretentious, gossipy, indignation:

"She really let herself go."

Let herself go where exactly?

Because, as I see it, she probably hasn't let herself go anywhere.

I have been battling feelings brought up by this phrase for a long time now, not that I have ever actually heard it directed at me, but who does? No one. No one hears that insult. That insult falls onto the ears of other pretentious, judgmental adults, and young children. Young children who grow into adults and come to realize, they are likely the ones being spoken about in this way.

See, a while back, I discovered that I am practically unrecognizable to people who haven't seen me in 10ish years. I was briefly excited to see an old friend, until I noticed the tilted head and squinting eyes of "I think I should know you." And it's not her fault. I am currently still roughly 60 lbs overweight from a very large pregnancy. I have very few clothes that fit comfortably, and so I look like a sloppy, hot mess most days, and most days, I hope against all hope, that I never run into anyone I knew back in college...or high school, or anyone who knew my former self. You know, the one worthy of being known and seen. You see, because it is now my perception that I am that embarrassment of a person; the one people have to squint at and do a double take at, and then go home wondering, "What happened to her?" The one who sees the occasional Facebook rants about adults wearing old sweats (of all things) in public, and women who don't wear make up, or do their hair, or make themselves look nice for their men. What horrible and lazy moms and wives they must be, right?

Wrong.

In fact, it's probably the exact opposite of everything you think about them. Last year, I had my 4th child. She was just about as close as you can get to 10 lbs, without actually being 10 lbs, so we'll just say it; she was a 10 pound baby. I gained close to 70 lbs, on top of the almost 30 I was still hanging on to from my third pregnancy.

I had been homeschooling my oldest 2 children, in grades 1 and 2. I had been nursing a baby. I had been trying to cater to the needs of a toddler somewhere in between. At about the 3 month mark, postpartum, my back decided to stop working properly. Putting the baby into the crib, and taking her out, suddenly became breathtakingly painful. I worked through it, remained functional, and discovered one of the possible causes was diastasis recti. This was a devastating blow to my former self, the athletic self, the one with a ridiculously strong core because her other limbs were always injured and core work was all she could do.

It hasn't gotten any better either. Charlotte is now over a year old. I stopped homeschooling the older two children to give myself a break, and maybe, just maybe, more time to take care of myself. I recently went to a dentist for the first time in 4 years, to discover my teeth are falling apart. I take very good care of them at home, but don't have time for many doctor's appointments of my own, not to mention a complete lack of dental insurance. Sooooo, the dentist was my first stop on the "take better care of mommy tour," and now, I might need oral surgery to keep my teeth in my head. Spine specialist is stop number 2, since last week, when I tried a muscle relaxer for my back for the first time (after finally weaning the baby from nursing), it disoriented me, caused one eye to dilate like crazy, and kept me in bed all day with motion sickness from simply standing.

You see, when you are a stay at home, homeschooling mom of 4 children, with no available family nearby to watch the kids for you during the week, and a husband who works during the operating hours of most all other medical places of business, getting out to see a doctor yourself, or do anything for yourself, is a near impossibility. Any available hours for that are quickly taken with everyone else's appointments (including the dog's), and grocery shopping and errand running. See, she doesn't let herself go. She gets completely lost.

She loses herself to love others and make sure they are well taken care of.
She loses herself in a schedule that circles rapidly around her, but doesn't include her.
She loses herself to herself; her own guilt, shaming herself for stealing away any alone time that doesn't involve grocery or birthday or necessary shopping for her family.
She loses herself in social media, a rare outlet, where anyone and everyone is there to invalidate every thought, opinion, or emotion she has; the only place in the world where she is surrounded by thousands, and completely alone at the same time.

And once she's completely lost, unrecognizable to even herself, she battles different emotions. Feelings of complete worthlessness. How did she get this bad? She doesn't even deserves this family. And these kids...these loving kids? While she's so busy, self loathing herself for even taking the time to self loathe, she can't find the time/energy/strength to enjoy what's right in front of her. Her inner struggle is a constant tug of war between wanting to freeze and enjoy every single moment with her rapidly growing children, and counting down the seconds to when they go to bed.

She hasn't let herself go, people. I beg of you, please stop using this to describe women who, to you, might look run down, overweight, exhausted, or seem to be aging poorly. She hasn't let herself go. She forgot how to make herself a priority. She has lost herself, sacrificed herself for the sake of those she loves, not to the point of martyrdom, but just far enough to not quite know how to claw her way back. Instead of judging her, labeling her, or thinking her a negative person who must love misery, love her, and know that she doesn't need pity or even unsolicited advice, but rather love, support, and understanding; to know that just maybe, she's not as alone as she feels.



**Update, I am working toward a healthier me. Do not allow my honest and uncomfortable, heartfelt emotions here to scare you or worry for me. I will soon update with a blog about the journey to a healthier mommy. :) 

It's Not You; It's Me: Confessions of an Introvert...Unable to be an Introvert

As a little girl, I was shy. By shy, I mean so shy, my parents held me back from starting kindergarten because I spent a whole year in Pre-K refusing to talk to anyone or participate in any group activities.

Years and years of playing basketball sort of changed that for me. By high school, I was an active part of drama club and LOVED getting on stage to perform funny skits in front of the whole school. I enjoyed playing in front of a big crowd. I liked being around people. In fact, sometimes I needed to be around people. But I still loved to shut myself up in my room with a good book or my journal from time to time. I would have identified myself as an extrovert with occasional introvert tendencies.

Fast forward to today. I am raising and homeschooling four children in a 3 bedroom, 850 sq ft home, and I am more convinced than ever, that I am as true an introvert as they come. And I am never alone. Y'all, they never leave.

For a few years we only had 2 children. Close in age, they always napped together, and I had some much needed time for myself. When we had a third child, and Elijah and Chastity outgrew naps, they would spend a quiet time in their room, playing creatively while Isaac napped. Then number 4 arrived, rooms have been switched around, and now Isaac and Charlotte take naps in two different rooms, sometimes at different times, and Elijah and Chastity are always here. Up until about a week ago, at the very least, I would have a few uninterrupted moments to myself in the morning. After my husband would get up to get ready for work, and the kids were still sleeping, I would stay in bed, in the silence. Sometimes I would read a little. Sometimes I would pray. Sometimes, I wouldn't do anything at all, but lie there, quiet but awake. Then, this week, Charlotte, my 6 month old, decided to start waking up anytime between 6:30 and 7:30 am. She's still sleeping all night, and I'm thankful for that, but that missing 1 to 2 hours in my mornings isn't about sleep for me. I get up with her, and the one perk to getting up earlier than usual with the baby is the *almost* alone time. I can sit in silence to nurse her, and be downstairs by myself for a bit. That time rejuvenates me, and helps me mentally prepare for the day. Except that I can't. Because she wakes up early enough to be early, but late enough to make the other 3 believe they should be up too. So, by the time I get comfy in my chair with my hungry baby, 3 other heads are peaking down the stairs at me. And it angers me inside. It takes every ounce of strength I have to say "Good morning," with a half smile, rather than snarl.

It used to upset me to hear mothers complaining during the summer about their kids. Wanting them gone, away from them, and in school all day was a strange desire to me. Now, I totally get it. I am never alone, and the slightest noise that is above average volume, emitted from my children causes a tightening in my chest and a whisper screamed "SHUSH!" which hurts my throat.

My time spent with them just consists of making them food, cleaning up messes, and trying to get necessary things done amidst the hundreds of daily interruptions. It is purely quantity, not quality.

And so, in the middle of all this chaos, when someone...anyone suggests that we get together, especially with their kids and mine or as whole families, I can feel my breathing becoming strained. I make jokes folks, but the struggle is real. It actually doesn't sound fun to me. On a normal day, my interruptions have interruptions, but now you're asking me to function in a day (or several) where my interruptions have whole families of interruptions of their own. I have days, weeks even, where I intentionally avoid phone calls from some of my favorite people. Let's face it, if there is a single moment in this house where no one is talking to me, I'd like to keep it that way. We have local family (if you're reading this, know I love you!), which, including us, consists of 10 adults and 10 children. There are birthdays and holidays constantly. Every occasion for adults and kids alike are cause for celebration, and we can't even fit all these people into our home comfortably. Meanwhile, I'm over here all like, "I'll spend my birthday alone, with some yarn...and a book, thanks!" Under normal circumstances, for normal people, this is a great blessing. And I know this. And I truly love all my friends and family. But it's like taking a person who is already suffocating; having difficulty breathing, into a sauna with the expectation that it will be relaxing and rejuvenating for them. It sounds good in theory, but it only exacerbates the already existing problem.

I think (I hope) I hide this well, because, the truth is, I don't want to avoid the people I love and alienate them. Contrary to what this may lead you to believe, they are important to me! I want to want to get together, and I will continue to do my best to suck it up because I love all the people in my life. But this is my public apology to all of my friends and family who might be under the mistaken impression that I don't like them, I merely tolerate them, or I don't enjoy talking with them.

This is a season. A season in which someone is almost always yelling, screaming, or fussing at me, always talking, always asking questions...the same ones...repeatedly, always interrupting me, or always touching me, stepping on me, tripping me, pinching me, hitting me, or scratching me; a season in which my interruptions have interruptions, cooking up interruptions, stewing in a pot of interruptions and I nurse a headache daily, unable to complete a full thought; a season in which my patience wears thin and my anger stirs with every. single. noise; a season in which I want to smack someone for trying to tell me "enjoy every second, because it goes by too fast!" You don't think I know this? You don't think I hate myself for being so miserable on days when I just need to be alone? I love my kids. I even like my kids. They are pretty great. And I miss them on the rare occasion that we are apart. But while I'm in this season of zero time to myself, for myself, or by myself, and the only time away I get is to get groceries, or see a doctor for a problem that's been going on for years, I don't want to feel guilty for having zero interest in being around people. Maybe this is a disorder. Maybe this requires therapy. It certainly feels dysfunctional. But maybe, just maybe, this is normal, and some other moms out there might be able to read this, relate, feel normal for the first time in a long time, and stop hating themselves for needing space and time to themselves to feel like themselves.

This is a season. A season in which it takes days and determination to complete a blog I need to write out for my own sanity.

Please know that I love you, even if the thought of getting together with you causes me physical pain and nausea.

It's not you; it's me.

No, really.

Top Ten Things I Think When You Tell Me You Would Never Let a Baby Cry (For Shame!)

I am so tired of all the mommy shaming...

the daily sharing of posts to make every mom in the world feel badly about a choice that they made, in a desperate moment, to get their kids to sleep. The fact is, we sit around judging the decisions of other parents without ever having been there to witness that decision making process.

It's as though that business about walking in someone else's shoes doesn't apply to moms. "Don't judge, until you've walked a mile in their shoes, dear; unless it's about parenting, and then anyone who does things differently is wrong." 

I could write a whole book about all the mommy shaming and judging; how we all judge each other to feel better about our own decisions which others are making us feel guilty for. It's a vicious cycle. But I'll try to keep this topic more condensed. Let's talk about crying.

Here is a list I have compiled, of the top 10 things I think, when you tell me you have never let your child cry.

10. You have never put them in the car for any extended period of time.

This could mean any trip outside your home town or city; any trip from, say, 30 minutes to 14 hours or more.  Charlotte screamed the whole way home from the hospital at 3 days old. It happens. She had just been fed and changed, and it was bitter cold. We weren't stopping. The goal was getting home. We recently took a trip to North Carolina with our 4 children, one of which was only 5 months old at the time. We saved our money all year for this trip, but we still didn't have enough money to turn it into a 3 day, 2 hotel stays, trip. We had no idea how Charlotte might respond to the trip either. Isaac made it to Tennessee and back at about 6 months, with very little problem. Charlotte, however, got to the point where she screamed the second we placed her back in the car seat, no matter how long we stopped for. So we carried on, through her screams, because, well, we couldn't just stay in West Virginia forever.

9. You've never vacuumed. 

All of my children eventually reached an age when they were terrified of the vacuum, and no longer slept through it. Tough break. I'd rather they screamed during my once or twice (not nearly enough) a week vacuuming, than roll around in filth, collecting dog hair in their mouths. 

8. You have never made dinner.

Not every night is a disaster, but, as you must know, infants are unpredictable, as are their nap times. I can start dinner while she's napping, and be elbow deep in raw meat 10 minutes later when she decides nap is over. I have other people in this house who need to eat, and if I catered to every single cry, we'd all starve. Also, baby wearing has not been a viable option for me (so don't even suggest it), for a long time. I have back problems which become so much worse, to the point of not being able to move at all, if I strap her on me to go about my day. So, I do what absolutely needs to get done before grabbing her, and sometimes, she goes back to sleep before I get there.

7. You've never had a child claw, kick, scream, and hit you during one of their overtired fits.

Maybe your children are perfect angels and never fight sleep and only cry when they have a real need for your snuggles, or more. I have not always been that lucky. My oldest daughter became mobile at an early age and refused to even nurse beyond 10 months because it was too restricting. It would be 11 pm and I would go to her night after night because I couldn't stand the thought of letting her cry. Every single time, I'd try to nurse her, she'd twist her head away from me so hard, I would hurt her if I'd continued to try. I'd try to rock her, and she'd kick, scream, and claw to get away from me. I'd put her on the floor, and she'd play happily as though all was right in the world, while continuing to rub her overtired eyes. I'm sorry, but I'm not in the business of allowing my children (especially my 9/10 month old) stay up all night, just because they want to play. Maybe other moms and dads are ok with this. We were not. She was trying to manipulate the situation to get what she wanted, though she was clearly tired and fighting sleep, and she needed to learn that it was BEDTIME.


6. You've never cleaned their nose or face, clipped their nails, changed their diaper, or done anything good for their overall health, that they didn't particularly like. 

Maybe you view these as separate and completely different things, but I do not. I've done a lot of things that are good for my children, that they didn't like, and guess what? I'm sure to do more. No, I don't sit there listening to them scream when they are clearly in need of something from me, even if it is just snuggles. Believe me when I tell you that, because most people refuse to hear that, too outraged by my apparent heartlessness. As stated in the above, that was not always the case. I am happy to cuddle my babies, and rock them to sleep, but they are not always going to go to sleep willingly, no matter how long I try to rock them. And, believe it or not, sleep (and lots of it) is an important part of our little ones' health, growth, and brain development. They may not always want it, but they need it, and when I hear a whiny, fussy child, even well beyond infancy, I hear a child who's likely not getting enough sleep. We remedy that quickly here.

5. You've never disciplined your child, in any way, shape, or form.

This isn't a debate about spanking. It could be spanking, sending them to their room, or just a firm yelling, but the hard truth is that children don't like to hear, "No!" They don't like being told what to do or what not to do. They also don't like disappointing their parents. These upsetting things can lead them to cry, and depending on the situation, the fit that's thrown, or the point you're trying to make with them, sometimes, you have to let it run it's course.


4. You don't have any other children.


Maybe you don't, and that's not a judgment on that, choice or not. But I too was able to cater to every cry out of my first born child. It's been down hill from there. When you have other children with needs, other children who need to be fed, and can't be ignored, sometimes, the baby needs to cry a little longer than you might like. I have had the occasional week here where my older children would never get lunch until 3 or 4 if I stopped everything for those midday infant melt downs. If it was bad enough (and believe me, a mother knows when it's serious or not), we did have a later lunch, and we figured things out. But many days, things needed to get done, they got done, and my baby survived and got plenty of cuddles during the parts of the day when I wasn't providing sustenance to my other offspring.

3. You have never left your child with a babysitter, caretaker, childcare provider, or school.

That may sting, and I don't mean for it to. The point is, our children will always cry for us, even when (or especially when) we are doing something that we need to do for them or the sake of our families. My babies and children have cried even when leaving them with family they know and love, because they want us. They desire to be with us, and they don't like being left behind for anything. But sometimes it is for their own good, the good of your mental, physical, spiritual, or emotional health, the good of your family, or the health of your marriage. These things are all important things, and though they may not like it, you are doing what is best by your family.

2. You don't actually have children.

Because...well...they cry. And sometimes, even holding them, doesn't stop it.


1. You just enjoy thinking you're right about everything and judging others. 

This sounds harsher than I intended, but it's still true. Some people become so blindly passionate about particular topics, that they cannot find a gray area. It's black or white, and if you're not with them, you are wrong! That is really too bad, because we moms could find a lot of common ground in the gray area.


The point is this, I would never judge a working mom for dropping her crying baby off at daycare, or a parent for rightly disciplining their child, any more than I would judge the mom or dad who had tried absolutely everything else, before making that heartbreaking, last ditch effort to get her child to sleep. Just stop it. You don't know how they arrived at that decision. Contrary to what you might assume, it is not because they are lazy or neglectful or selfish. So stop trying to make them feel that way.

There is no such thing as a parenting expert.

No one has the proper credentials.

Once Bitten, Twice Shy

There's this story about my childhood my dad has always loved to tell; a not so flattering story about my character I might add. See, apparently, I used to really enjoy biting my new baby sister.

I bit her any chance I could get. I was 2 and a half years old, and who knows what was going through my mind, but my dad was anxious to put a stop to it.

So, this one time, we were driving somewhere. In the back seat, my sister was strapped in secure right next to me, helpless to defend herself and no where to go. I bit her. She screamed, and I felt the wrath of our father. Some dad's threaten, "Don't make me pull this car over and come back there!" Well, my dad wasn't one for empty threats. He pulled the car over, walked over to my door, opened it, and bit me.

The memory is more of a foggy dream to me than anything, probably encouraged by the repetition of the story over the years. But one thing is fact: I never bit my baby sister again.

Today, I put the baby down on the floor to play next to Isaac. He smiled and made faces at her. All was well. I turned my back to look up a potential birthday gift for our soon to be 3 year old, online, and then it happened. I heard the blood curdling, tear inducing, heart breaking scream of an infant who had just been given a shot. I spun my chair around to a very concerned, very confused, very fearful for his bottom, 2 year old. He saw the anger in my face, knowing she would not scream like that for no good reason. I saw the mark on her cheek.

Isaac ran to me, "Mommy, she no like dat! She no like dat!"

I could hardly contain my anger. Isaac has been left alone in a room with Charlotte for a few minutes or more before. What on earth did he do?

"Isaac!" My accusatory tone was unmistakable. "What did you DO?!" I ran to her and immediately noticed the teeth marks in her cheek, prominent, already bruising. He was nervously silent, and I already had my answer.

"Did you bite her?!"

"Yeths."

"Why would you bite her?!" Everything was a yell. I was so mad. How did such a sweet and happy boy inherit such a horrible trait...from me. It's possible I was even more angry at myself.

He didn't have an answer. I popped the back of his hand, "Go to your room!"

His heartbroken cry traveled all the way up the stairs while I cuddled my recovering, sniffling baby girl. Knowing my own history, I decided to take care matters before they continued. After a few moments of cooling down, I called Isaac back downstairs to apologize to his sister and explain to him how wrong that was. The problem with trying to talk and rationalize with him, is that his response to anything he doesn't quite understand is yes. Many conversations have gone like this:

"Isaac, is it nice to hit?"
"Yeths, it nice to-"
"NO, IT IS NOT NICE TO HIT!"

...and repeat. We've had that exchange so many times, I can't figure out if he's confused by the word, "not," doesn't understand the difference between "yes," and "no," or just enjoys pushing my buttons. He tends to hit when he's excited. Maybe he thinks they are playing. I don't know, but it's been a point of contention with us for a few months now.

So I sat him down, showed him Charlotte's boo boo, and told him how he hurt her. He had a look of concern on his face, but also confusion. I asked him to apologize.

"Sorwy, Charlotte," he said, after kissing her boo boo.

I asked, "You aren't going to bite her again, are you?"

"Yeths,"

"ISAAC, NO! It is not nice to bite!" I interrupted, frustrated. "That hurt her!"

He still seemed confused, "Sorwy, Mommy."

"Isaac, do you want me to bite you?"

"Yeths,"

I am so confused by his constant need to respond with this, but ok.

"Ok, I'm going to show you what it feels like to do what you did to Charlotte. I'm going to bite you on the cheek, ok."

"Ok."

I leaned over and gently bit until he yelled, "OW!" The tears began to flow. He looked betrayed. I didn't even leave a mark, but he understood that it hurt.

"That hurt, didn't it?"

Crying and wiping his tears he replied, "Yeths!"

"Now, are you ever going to bite Charlotte again?"

I braced myself for a repeat of my ongoing frustration when he cried, "Noooo."

I was heartbroken, but felt the mission had been accomplished. I hugged him and held him tight and told him how sorry I was that I had bit him. The rest of the day went on as usual.

I shared the events of the day with my husband upon his return home from work. I was aggravated, concerned, and confused by Isaac's response to the whole thing. We've talked about biting. He's heard me yell several times when Charlotte has clamped down while nursing. He would run to me and ask, "What wong, Mommy?" When I would explain to him what happened he would say, "She bite you like dis?" and clamp his teeth together, and I would say, "Yes," and explain how that hurts.

"So why would he think this was something she would like?" I asked while chatting with Jelani.

"Ohhhh, I know why he did that." Jelani went on to explain to me how they've played on the floor with Charlotte, together before, and he (Jelani) would 'nibble' her cheeks with his mouth.

My light bulb moment occurred as I remembered turning my back while he was playing in her face, making sounds, "booga booga boo," at her, just before the screaming. Guilt rushed over me like a waterfall. He is not even a smidgen of the horrible child I once was, just because he's mine. He thought he was playing, legitimately. His look of confusion at her response to his playful 'nibbling' was genuine. He thought that's exactly what Daddy was doing! His heartbroken confusion at my form of discipline was real and gut wrenching, and, as I cry while writing this, I have never felt worse.

Epic. Mommy. FAIL.

Jelani laughed, "Well, he'll never bite her again!" But I had to make things right. Or at least as right as I could.

We were going to the park for a walk, so before getting Isaac out of his car seat, I leaned over, "Isaac, when you bit Charlotte, were you trying to play with her? Like Mommy and Daddy do?"

"Yeths," he looked hesitant.

"Like this?" I asked, but as I leaned in to his cheek, he flinched and turned.

"No!"

"I'm not going to bite you, Isaac," I said, with a broken heart. I munched his cheek with just my lips, and he smiled. "Is that what you were trying to do with Charlotte?" I asked.

"Yeths!"

I did it again on the back of his hand. "You can't use your teeth, ok? Just your lips."

"Ok, Mommy!" He was excited that we now seemed to understand each other.

"Isaac."

"Yeths, Mommy?"

"I'm really sorry I bit you."

"It's ok, Mommy"

Before bed tonight, I asked Isaac if he wanted to nibble Charlotte's cheek with me. He still seemed hesitant, and honestly, as he approached her face, so did she, but we both nibbled her sweet little cheeks. Kisses and toddler slobber all over her teeth marked cheek brought a smile to her lips and her brother's, as he relished the chance at righting a wrong.

¹⁹ My dear brothers and sisters, take note of this: Everyone should be quick to listen, slow to speak and slow to become angry, ²⁰ because human anger does not produce the righteousness that God desires. James 1: 19-20

Dear Jesus, 
Give me the wisdom to know when discipline is necessary, and when it is not. Help me to be much slower to anger, and never allow a necessary apology to go without saying.

Sanctuary!

Sometimes, motherhood is a cruel form of torture. You know the days I'm talking about. The days when there is no limit to the amount of times you can get puked on, pooped on, or screamed at; the kind of days you find yourself getting your first shower at midnight and intentionally staying up even later just to sit in quiet.

I used to be a people person. I've always required a fair amount of alone time to be able to function at my best, but I've always enjoyed people. Anymore, instead of wanting to make plans with friends, I dread them. I cringe when someone tries to set something up. Plans are so daunting. What if our day is going lousy? What if I want to back out? What if I'm too exhausted? What if the kids absolutely require a nap that day? Nope. Too bad. Suck it up. On the flip side of that, I have, on more than one occasion, really enjoyed a surprise play date. Spontaneity works well for me. Text me, call me, ask me if we have something happening that very day, and I may just take you up on something, but try to plan something with me days or weeks in advance, and I will almost always look for a reason that date won't work. It's not personal. It's just that some days require more intentional, do-the-bare-minimum nothingness than others.

And what's the bare minimum for a stay at home mom of 4, you ask? Well, it usually involves doing all the things I need to do every day in order for my household to function and my kids to live, but allows for me to remain in the same clothes I slept in the night before, and allows me to cuddle my baby longer than I might normally, while reading up about all of you on Facebook.

Yesterday was an I don't want to do anything important all day kind of day. The day before that was too, except that we had plans, so I sucked it up, and I was a miserable conversation partner for my poor, dear friend.

There are only so many times you can get puked on, so many times you can repeat the same dang sentence, and so many times you can get asked the same darn thing, before you inevitably snap. And it's not pretty. Y'all, I'm tired, and it has nothing to do with sleep. I have a 4 month old baby who has been sleeping all night since she was about a month and a half old. And not just all night, but 10 hours all night. I'm still not getting the full 8 or even 7 or really even 6, but my exhaustion is not from a lack of sleep, it's from the constant do-all-the-things days, because our level of functioning depends upon laundry getting done every. single. day. And dishes, oh the dishes! I spend roughly 10 full days a year just washing dishes. WASHING DISHES! And that isn't counting all the interruptions. The bare minimum cleaning tasks require a whole stinking day between all the times I have to feed someone. Oy.

So, yesterday my entire morning consisted of telling Isaac no or acknowledging him when he needed me to look at him do something, while trying to get a pukey, fussy baby to sleep.

- Mommy!
Yes, Isaac.
---------------
-Mommy!
Yes, Isaac.
--------------
-Mommy!!!
YES, ISAAC!!!!!
-Go outside?
No, not right now. Wait please.

-Mommy.
Yes, Isaac.
-Put socks on?
We're not going outside right now. Please wait.


Meanwhile, Charlotte is screaming at me, clawing my chest, banging her head into my shoulder. She grabs a fistful of hair from the nape of my neck with the grip strength of a Marine, while using her other hand to strategically pull the burp cloth away from my skin, and promptly pukes right between my boobs.

-Mommy.
Yes, Isaac.
-Put shoes on?
between clenched teeth, NOT. NOW.

While I'm cleaning up the spit up, Elijah comes in from outside, and utters the two most dreaded words of my day, the two, seemingly most harmless words you can imagine, that really do me in.

-I'm hungry.

It is never simply stated. It is always whined, as though they must be starving, as though I never feed them, as though they didn't just eat 10 minutes ago.

-Can I have something to eat?

And I. lose. my. mind.

NO! NO TO YOU, WHO CLAIMED TO BE FULL WHILE I WAS MAKING LUNCH JUST 15 MINUTES AGO, AND WAITED UNTIL I PUT EVERYTHING AWAY! NO TO YOU WHO JUST ATE 10 MINUTES AGO! NO TO YOU, WHO STILL HASN'T FINISHED THEIR BREAKFAST EVEN. NO NO NO NO NO!

Ok, so I hold it together a little bit better than that, and I start counting down the hours/minutes to when Jelani will be home, and I can pass the baby to him and claim sanctuary.

You know, that one place in the house where no one questions what you're doing in there, how long, or why?

The bathroom.

I don't care if all I have to do is pee. I'm taking the Kindle in with me, and I will sit there as long as I want. I turn that vent on, which sounds like a really old, rusty helicopter, and do a whole lot of nothing in there. I might do my squats, and some core work. I might brush my teeth an extra time. I might even clean. You don't know, and you won't ask, and if the baby cries? Well, that's just not my responsibility, is it? Not from in there! I relish that time alone.

And then, inevitably, there's a knock on the door.

-Mommy?
Yes.
-I'm hungry.

You had to walk...by your daddy, IN THE KITCHEN, to come up here and tell me that!!!!!!

SAAAAAAANCTUARRRRRYYYYYYYYYYYY!

Mommy's Tears for a Broken Lolly Pop

I am 37 weeks pregnant, and a rare kind of emotional. Me. The athlete. I once played a quarter of a basketball game on a broken foot, a whole game on stress fractures; and contractions? Well, I'm never sure when they're real..until they're really real, because I can talk through them for hours, and they've never made me cry.

But today...today, I cried over a broken lolly pop. As we were walking into church, our greeter handed each of my children a little sucker, in honor of Valentine's Day week. We had hardly gotten to our seats, coats still on, when the kids were asking if they could have them. My youngest, Isaac, still in his minion hat, held the sucker up, eyes wide, "Peas?" in need of help getting it opened. Of course they could have their special treat, and maybe it would keep them calm and quiet during worship.

I obliged. I undid the wrapper on Isaac's sucker, only to have 3/4 of the thing crumble into my hand. My poor child! I couldn't give him the crumbles. A stick-free, hard candy is not something I'm ready to trust my 2-year old with. My heart broke for him, whose siblings were happily sucking on their whole suckers, while I handed him his 1/4 sucker, but that's not really what did me in folks.

He took the sucker. He didn't question the pieces in my hand, which I walked to the trash can. He didn't cry. He didn't complain. He took that 1/4 sucker with...get this...a smile. He was content to have any of it at all. My sappy, pregnant eyes welled up with tears as I watched his joyful reaction to something anybody else might have thrown a fit or shed a few tears about.

I imagined, briefly, how I would have handled that. It didn't take much imagination, since I have recently dropped chocolate on the floor, or in the sink, and immediately muttered something whiny like, "Are you kidding me? Seriously?" As though, in a string of horrible events of my day, that just takes the cake. 

Then I remembered how we got nearly every green light on our way to church today, but I inwardly acted profoundly annoyed with the one or two red lights we still got. I remembered how much I have complained these last 5 weeks, having a cold return about every week and a half, but haven't taken the time to be joyful that I am carrying a healthy baby, and I did NOT test positive for gestational diabetes. That's a big deal!

My ankle hurts, every day, but I have two feet on which to walk, and even run sometimes!
My basketball career ended prematurely, but look at this healthy, beautiful family, I wouldn't otherwise have!
It snows in Buffalo...like a lot, and often, fall and spring are non-existent, but our summers here are beautiful!
I could go on and on about all that lolly pop taught me today. 

How often do we focus on what we don't have, and forget to enjoy what we do have? Oh, the lesson I learned today from my sweet Isaac, so aptly named (he will laugh)! He finds joy in all occasions. He's been laughing, easily, since just days old, and he is incredibly grateful for the smallest of things, right down to that 1/4 lolly pop.

I, too, wish to be that thankful for all the things, even the broken. Lord, give me the grateful and joyful heart of a child! And may Isaac always find reasons to be so joyous and thankful!  

The Anti-Climactic Gender Reveal

Things always happen so naturally and beautifully...in my head. Much like today. I had this beautiful picture in my head of exactly how our family's gender reveal was going to go. For the first time, Jelani wasn't able to go with me. None of the available appointments worked with his schedule, so I went very early in the morning while he and the kids were still sleeping. I asked the nurse to please write it down, so I couldn't see it. In my head, we'd slowly open it, the anticipation just tickling us! The kids would be bouncing around in excitement waiting to hear, and as we'd pull open the envelope, we'd smile from ear to ear, no matter what, and hug and congratulate one another.

Oh, it just sounds perfect, doesn't it?

So I got up at 6 am this morning, got ready for my appointment, woke baby up with a little Earl Grey so we could get some cooperative photos, and went out to my 6:45 am appointment.

I've never began a Monday so beautifully. The nurse was informative and sweet, showing me every little detail. The baby moved rhythmically, in perfect timing for every photo she needed. We got great footage of the healthy beating heart, the beautiful brain, all the perfect little bones, and saw the most precious yawn. I was still imagining how beautiful our family's morning was going to be, as I arrived home with the magic envelope!

I was exhausted, but I smiled all the way home from the appointment. There's something truly beautiful in that moment of anticipation, in the not knowing.

I returned home to a quiet house. The kids were all still sleeping. Jelani was quietly getting ready for work.

I sat down to crochet, all the ultrasound pictures beside me, with the one telling picture tucked away in the envelope beside me. As the kids stirred and came downstairs, Chastity asked to see the pictures. Of course!

"Do you know yet if it's a boy or a girl?" she asked me.

"Not yet, but we're about to find out!" I explained, in far too little detail.

She sat down beside me, right next to the envelope, and begin looking through the string of pictures of baby's feet, head, and arms.

I couldn't get the internet to connect to the laptop, and I was trying to get the school lessons set up, so I took the computer over to the router to fix it, while Chastity still excitedly browsed the pictures. Just one minute before Jelani made his way downstairs, I heard, "Oh, Mommy, it's a girl! It says it right here." In a very quiet, very nonchalant voice from my daughter who had been praying for a sister for months. And in a tone that said, "Didn't you see this?"

In a split second of horror, I realized my moment was gone! That beautiful moment I'd imagined so thoroughly in my head...poof...thin air.

"Oh, Chastity! You weren't supposed to open that yet! That was supposed to be a surprise!" I said, before thinking, while silently cursing the moment I'd taught her to read.

She burst into tears.

Now my moment was gone, her moment was stolen, and Daddy still hadn't made his way downstairs.

I immediately backtracked, "Oh, sweetie, you're not in trouble! Don't cry! It wasn't your fault! You're going to have a SISTER!!!! Yay!!" I got the hint of a smile from her, as Daddy came downstairs.

"Would you like to know what we're having?" I laughed.

"Do you know? I thought you were going to wait for me."

"Yes, well..." I briefly recounted the morning's quick, unraveling events. Having already missed all the excitement, he looked at the pictures, ate his breakfast, and went to work.

We can't expect that our lives are going to get any more predicable, or that our moments are going to

always ever go as planned, but they will always be our moments to hold dear, and we are perfectly excited to know even more about our final little treasure! 

Camera Ready or Not

I've always wanted 4 children, ever since I can remember thinking about the children I might one day have...back in high school. Four seemed appropriate; not too many, not too few, everyone has a buddy. There have been times throughout our marriage, my husband and I weren't sure we'd have 4. I've had a lot of discomfort during pregnancies, I tend to gain a lot of weight, we've had financial hardships, and frankly, I just don't like being pregnant.

With each pregnancy, I held out hope, hope that one of my 4 might just be a cute pregnancy; hope that I might, just might, have one of those all-belly, skinny everywhere else, can't tell I'm pregnant from behind or in head shots pregnancies.

It didn't happen with the first. It didn't happen with the second, even though I worked out and walked regularly throughout. And it didn't happen with my third, even though I played basketball well into the second trimester.

Then, for the first time ever, I became pregnant before losing the previous weight. My first concern was to hear the healthy heartbeat of the baby. Having had a miscarriage just 9 months prior, it was a concern I'd never known before. A miscarriage never even occurred to me or entered my brain...until I'd had one. But then, a very close second concern was, "Crap! I'm already overweight. This pregnancy is going to be my most hideous yet!" Yeah, I'm a fabulous mom, I know.

Of course, I started showing almost immediately. I put on weight during that first trimester just like always. It was embarrassing to have people think I was much farther along than I actually was, asking me, at about 14 weeks, "Do you know what you're having?" or even worse, thinking I was due this fall.

Greeeeaaaaat. I became much like a hermit, only going to church and attending things I'd already committed to, and I wasn't sure I was ever going to let the Facebook world know of this pregnancy. Come February, I'd just post a picture of the new little one all nonchalant like, "I'm so crafty, lookie what I made!"

Then, when I finally decided to let my Facebook friends in on our little secret, I wanted to use pictures of each of my pregnancies to announce this fourth one. And ya know what I discovered? There's not a single pregnancy picture of me with Isaac, our third. I remembered my mom trying to take some and my refusal, because I couldn't stand the look of my face, and how my whole body looked pregnant, from my toes to my hair. I hated my face, in particular, and how when I would smile, my cheeks themselves, all swollen and rosy, looked like they were about to give birth to a family of elves.

It occurred to me, that no matter how little I actually enjoy pregnancy, it produces my greatest joy, and to not have any proof of the love I had for them, in my being, is heartbreaking. Poor little Isaac. :( So today, I (me, I did it, I organized it, my idea, mine), planned a family portrait for us while apple picking. My mom was more than happy to photograph us, and I didn't hide every time she pulled up the camera. I smiled, I laughed, I embraced the family of elves living in my cheeks and cherished this moment with my growing family.

 I'm 19 weeks and huge, and I'll be just fine. Baby is healthy, I am healthy, and we find out the gender on Monday. My husband thinks I'm beautiful, my children think I'm pretty, and their love can conquer all of my insecurities.

Besides, for the first time in my life, I can actually say this; when am I ever going to experience this again? Never. This is it, the last hoorah, the final piece to the Greene puzzle, and I'm not going to keep running from it. There will be plenty of time for dieting, and running, and being fit and fabulous after the elves, I mean babies, ;-) no longer need my body for their growth.

From this moment on, I will stop allowing moments to pass me by just because I don't believe I'm camera ready, and I challenge you to do the same! 

A Letter from a Bad Friend

I, for one, have never been a big fan of seeing everyone's relationship dramas play out on Facebook. Marriage, engagement, and dating are the first that come to mind. But posting about how bad our friends are is an ongoing and consistent trend from even those who are private about their other relationships. Even Zooey Deschanel is sharing blogs about the 12 Signs It Might Be Time For a Bestie Breakup.

And listen, I'm not here to tell you what you can and cannot say or post on Facebook. That's totally up to you. I just think that when it comes to friendships, our expectations are really inconsistent, and often outrageous, and maybe a touch hypocritical.

I am the bad friend who forgets to call.
I have three kids and a husband, a house to clean, and three meals a day to make and clean up after. Before this life there were jobs with odd hours. Before that life, there was basketball and school which was a full-time + overtime job. I have never intentionally avoided someone, but different seasons of my life have called for different priorities. It never meant I stopped caring about my friends.
I am the bad friend who prioritizes her husband and family ahead of you (in many, but not all, circumstances.)
Ummm, there's something wrong with a family in which the BFFs are constantly taking precedent over the spouses and children, right? Even in a dating relationship, many are dating with intent to see about a future. Now if the guy is all bad for your girl friend and causing her to make horrible life decisions, that may be different, but ladies, try to understand the life changes that occur when your friend falls madly in love with someone they want to create a life with.
I am the bad friend who often uses social media as her main form of communication.
I'm home all day, every day, with three loud kids. During the school year, I am their teacher, and I often forget to even turn my phone or ringer on until afternoon. But the computer is always on for walk-bys, and I try to communicate as much as I can on there. It doesn't mean you're not important enough for a phone call. It just means phone calls are often a frustrating task in my household. Ask my own sisters how often I call them!  
I am the bad friend who will be honest, even if you don't like it.
I like the truth. I appreciate the truth, and I will always try to be honest, even if it is hurtful. I often ask questions people don't like because of that as well. If you can't have an honest conversation with a friend, then things are pretty superficial, in my opinion.
I am the bad friend who often gets wrapped up in her own mess and may, selfishly, forget to ask about yours. 
I admit it. I am selfish sometimes. I am tired, or I'm so worried about something going on in my own life that it's often all I can think about. Haven't we all been there? No, it's not all about me. I don't ever expect it to be all about me, but sometimes, my brain gets stuck. Don't be offended by momentary lapses. We're all allowed to be a mess sometimes and sometimes, for some people, those messes last longer than others.

I am all of those things. And, if we're being honest, you probably are too.

I have spent years calling myself a "bad friend," and believing it, because I have never fully been able to meet all the expectations that come with the fun moniker, BFF.

But those are almost always unfair expectations to ask of anyone. Your bff shouldn't ever be your everything. It is ok to have lives and even close friends outside of each other. It should be ok if you miss a few phone calls here and there; even ok if they are sometimes one-sided. And it is OK if you disagree on things. Different seasons of our lives are going to provide different amounts of time for each other, and I think friends should understand that and be able to reconnect at any time. That doesn't mean your friends are never going to be without fault. No one is perfect, so no relationship will ever be perfect, but why oh why, do we not lend our friends the same forgiveness and consideration we would lend a significant other?

Ladies, I have seen y'all go through Hell and high water to forgive a man for horrible things; abuse, adultery, good old fashioned condescension and inconsideration, and yet, we can't forgive each other for minor mistakes, and often, completely unintentional ones. 
Nobody reads minds. Hardly anyone who has ever unintentionally hurt someone, realizes they have done so if you don't tell them. And when you tell them, don't expect an automatic apology, but a give and take conversation. Often our own behaviors are reactions to hurts as well, so you may have hurt them too! Keep in mind that your emotions may be your reality, but that doesn't make them truth.

So your friend made you feel like this, and you posted it on Facebook.

Just because they may have unintentionally made you feel that way, doesn't mean they actually feel that way about you. Maybe they're going through a lot, and just know they can turn to you. It could just be a season of your friendship, but if you're starting to feel bitter about it, talk to them.

I've had friends who were there through the good times, when I was a college basketball prospect and then player, with a lot of potential, and people knew who I was. They sort of disappeared when that all came to an end and I became "just a stay at home mom," struggling financially and struggling with my own identity. Most people don't know this, but I really struggled through my first year as a mom. I felt very alone and unsure of myself, and for years I felt like friendships ended because I was just no longer "cool" enough. I didn't have enough to offer them. And it wasn't fun hanging out with a new mom who was tired and cranky, and whipping her boobs out every couple of hours. My feeling that way, doesn't make it true. It was a new life I was unused to, and I may not have even known how to be a good friend at that time myself. Life happens, people and friendships change, and that is OK. We shouldn't go around pointing fingers, assigning blame, or playing passive aggressive Facebook games. Doing any of those things will only prevent you from ever reconnecting down the road, past the seasons of busy-ness in your lives. It's as if we're not ok with the uncertainty, so we make good and sure it's over.

I can't help but notice that women struggle with these things so much more than men. Men don't get all bent out of shape if they don't hear from each other all that often. They don't assume they've been ditched or replaced, or that it's been done out of spite. They pick right up where they left off the next time they talk. "Oh, sorry I missed your birthday man. That was a crazy week." "You missed my birthday? No big deal. I was out with friends all day anyway. How've you been?" And the thing is, they really mean it. It's not a fake, "No big deal," while they spitefully plan to intentionally miss your next birthday. We women, myself included, need to stop battling each other inside our own heads! Stop letting our own emotional struggles and insecurities effect the way we feel about our friends.

No relationship is completely one-sided, or it wouldn't be one at all, and no argument, misunderstanding, or fight, is ever the complete fault of one person. There are always multiple sides to a story, so let's not all try to assume the worst.

Signing off and hoping to remember (and find the quiet time) to call my sisters tonight.

Yours truly,

The Bad Friend