Stop and Play with Legos (But Proceed with Caution)

A little healthy competition never hurt anyone, right? Well…unless you risk your life by stepping on a lego while you’re having a contest with your 6 year-old to see who can build ‘the coolest, most epic ship’ in 10 minutes.

Yeah. That hurts. Ever stepped on a tack? It pretty much feels like that. But worse. Because every little killer bump on that piece digs into your tender foot. At least with a tack, it’s just one puncture.

Anyway.

Once I get over the fact that my foot is now (I mean again…I really should be used to this by now) wounded, I sit down to take part in this friendly competition.

Or so I think.

This is Levi we’re talking about.

This is the firecracker-of-a-kid who says things like: “When I get tickled is the only time I get a six pack. So if I go into the army I’ll have to be tickled the WHOLE time I’m there so I can be strong and have a six pack.”

This is the kid who, upon seeing someone smoking a cigarette, will point and loudly exclaim, “Doesn’t he know that’s gonna make him DIE?!”

And who goes around singing songs all day about how much he loves his toots while doing a little dance (I know. Trust me. I know…).

And who jumps into the middle of the clean clothes pile and instead of gathering clean clothes and going to his room to change, will start whisking everything off while yelling out to everyone, “If you don’t want to see my undies, look away right now!”

Or who has the inhuman ability to produce this ear-piercing scream at the drop of a hat — and to pinch harder than should be possible for the hand of a little kid…if someone tries to take control of the make-believe game he is playing, he screams or pinches. If someone hurts him, he screams AND pinches. For no reason at all sometimes, he screams. And/Or pinches. He calls it his ‘defense’ and says he needs it to protect himself because everyone else is bigger than him.

And the amazingly hilarious bursts of laughter that come from this squirt that resemble a pack of chipmunks is…well…amazingly hilarious. And the best of those laughs comes when he is either A) Doing something mischievous and gets caught, or B) Is able to run away faster than you can spank him back after he lands a hard one on you.

This is also the kid who told me pretty much every day that I was pregnant with his baby sister last year that there’s no way I could ‘just be pregnant with one baby,’ because it looked like I was growing another one in my big bum.

Yep.

This cutie came to earth with an Exclamation Point attached to him. Pretty much everything he says or does has one that just comes along with it, with who he is. NEVER A DULL MOMENT, let me tell you.

Anyway.

I should have known what I was getting myself into when I agreed to this build-the-best-ship competition with his Legos. I should have gotten a pep talk from Mike first, to boost my self-esteem. Levi IS really good at building legos, after all…and I’m out of practice.

Hence, this is what ensued…for the whole…ten…minutes:

“I am SO much better at this than you!”

~ chipmunk laughter ~

“MAMA. Are you EVEN trying??”

~ chipmunk laughter ~

“Oh I am SO gonna win this contest!”

~ chipmunk laughter ~

“If I am your kid and you are my mom, then where did I get my epic-ly awesome lego building skills?? ‘Cause I sure didn’t get them from you!”

~ chipmunk laughter ~

“I thought this was gonna be a contest, mama…”

~ chipmunk laughter ~

~ chipmunk laughter ~

~ chipmunk laughter ~

And when we finally finished, I thought DANG. I actually did a pretty good job! I seriously fully expected Levi to have something nice to say. Maybe Congratulations! Or Good job! Or Dude, maybe you ARE kind of cool, or That turned out to be a close contest!

Instead, I get this (accompanied by chipmunk laughter):

“Ohhhh man, mama — you are SO horrible at this!!”

~ more chipmunk laughter ~

I get over myself, swallow my pride, remind myself that he has no filter yet, and half-sarcastically say, “Thank you,” with a big smile.

What does he say? (Also with a big smile and a look of great satisfaction.)

“You’re welcome!”

…I think I preferred stepping on the lego. It hurt less than my ego.

Just One Minute of Peace…Please??

“It’s MIIIIIIIIIIIINE!”

“He punched me and called me Dumb!”

“I had it first!”

“Woof woof woof – woof woof – howl – woof” — “The dogs need to be walked.”

“He’s not playing the game right!”

(I’m a cute squirt, mama, but I’m just screaming and crying because it’s loud and I know you can’t stand it and it drives everyone else crazy and and and I’m just going to keep screaming and crying just because)

“WAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!”

“Where are my keys?” “My phone?” “My wallet?” “My glasses?”

“Can so-and-so come over to play even though I’m not done with my chores?”

“I’m SOooooo hungry and I need food right now or I’m gonna die!”

“Meow-meow-meow-meow” — “The cats are clawing the curtains again!”

Honk honk honk “We’re running late!”

“Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!!!”

Ring, ring, ring –

“I need a bandaid here and here and here!”

“I can’t STAAAAAAAAND doing my schoolwork!”

“Oh NO I just broke something and you’re gonna KILL me, mama…”

~ The loudest, spitting-est, most animated and excited sound effects you can imagine, accompanied by the biggest array of weapons you could think up — used against each other in battle, usually ‘to the death’ (even though I always remind them they are supposed to only knock the opponent out or put them in jail rather than kill them, they always end up dead) ~

“Play with me, mama! Be my airplane!”

“I had an accident and need a bath.”

“Let’s blast ‘Tonight, Tonight’ while we jump on the couch and into the air and land on the bean bag unless we land on each other first!”

“I just tracked mud in again…”

“it isn’t fairrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr!”

“No one likes me! Everybody hates me!” (And my first thought to this one is to want to sing, ‘Guess I’ll go eat worms…’ Remember that song?)
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Aye-aye-aye woe is me and oh my goodness!!!!!!!!!

As a wife and mother (and everything else in between that comes along with the territory), it is really difficult to find even a few moments of peace, quiet, meditation, or relaxation — just a moment in time when you don’t have a bunch of people using you as a jungle gym or screaming at the top of their lungs or needing something that only you seem to be able to give them or breaking up fights or making sack lunches or cleaning up messes or OR OR OR OR OR!

~Sigh~

I just want to be able to breathe. That’s all I want. To breathe and feel the stress and tension release out of my rock-hard shoulders. To think. Or to NOT think.

Don’t get me wrong, please. I absolutely love being a wife and a mother. I love having dogs and cats. I love having a house to take care of and maintain. I love having some land to try to work with. I love teaching my kids, learning more myself every day, and having opportunities all the time to practice patience, kindness, and love. I couldn’t be more amazed by my best friend and husband and all he does in his life for us and with us. I love to have chances to serve — and yes, even when that means scrubbing the toilets.

But I do get lost quite often in the noise, chaos, and neediness of my world around me. And it is really hard to step outside of that and make a moment happen where I can just be. I long for some peace and quiet. For a chance to just let go, and not have to worry about anything.

But will that ever happen? Will my life ever be such that I could do that? I don’t know. Probably not. But I suspect that even if it ever did happen, I would be sad in some ways. I would probably miss this absolute craziness.

So. How to make some sanity happen right now? I would love suggestions and ideas from anyone who has made it happen. In the meantime, what I sometimes try to do is:

Count to 10 (or 20…).

Try to listen more and react less.

Spend a longer time in the bathroom.

Get up a little earlier and make a few minutes of time for myself before everyone else is awake (this rarely happens, unfortunately).

Try to make sure I go outside at least once every day in the sunshine or cool, crisp wind or soft rain or stillness or stars. And breathe.

Call a friend.

Of course I have to admit to things like Pinterest, Facebook, random Google searches, allrecipes.com, etc.

Exercise.

Once in a while I get to go on a date with Mike.

Once in a while I get to go on a date with just one of my squirts.

Take pictures.

Write in my journal (like…once every two months).

Talk to a sibling.

On the rare occasion, I take a little nap.

Sometimes I watch part of a movie or documentary.

I read.

These are all things that I have done and sometimes currently do in order to not spontaneously combust when all of the craziness of raising four rowdy boys, a baby girl, four pets, and of course I have to add in my husband — get to me. And earlier I did not even mention things like extended family responsibilities and needs, things that need to happen with church jobs, with service, all the homeschooling things we do, community participation, emergencies that come up, helping Mike with his job sometimes, & & & &…

Sometimes I wonder how I/we have survived this far.

And then I remember.

I remember that I know that I am a special, beloved daughter of God. I remember that I get to go to church every Sunday morning, and there I get to partake of the sweetness of the gospel of Jesus Christ. I remember that the Scriptures tell me that I will not be given more than I can handle as long as I don’t try to do it alone. As long as I do it with the Lord’s help. And that I can have the Lord’s Spirit with me to guide me, comfort me, and help me feel His love.

I remember that millions have gone before me, and have succeeded. I remember that even on the very hardest days, it could always be worse. I remember that I am so very, very blessed with so many good things in my life to be grateful for. I remember that no matter how discouraged I might get, or how much I might feel like I am failing in one or two or five or eight or 20 of my responsibilities, that I am stronger than I think I am, and can make it.

I remember that I can always and should always pray, every day, several times a day, for strength and energy and understanding and focus and patience and love. I remember that I am here for a very specific purpose, that there is a plan for myself and my family, and that I am never alone.

I remember that we were not put on this earth to merely survive, but to thrive. So I try to focus on good things. I try to look for brightness and sunshine in every situation I can. I try to have fun. I make silly faces. I sing silly songs. I try to care less about what other people think of me.

Sometimes all of this works, and sometimes it doesn’t work as well as I would like it to. But I will never stop trying at it, even the seemingly mundane, everyday stuff that makes up my life right now. I believe that I chose this life before I came to earth. That even when a really big challenge comes, that I knew at least about some of it before hand, and that I was prepared to take it on, work through it, learn from it, and come out on top.

So, in a way, I already know that I can do it. And not only that I can do it, but that it is possible to do it well. And to not go crazy in the process. I just need to make a few minutes for myself every day, and never lose sight of who I am.

And that this is all worth it.

Now…BREATHE.

Ahhh. 🙂

The PrinceS and the Bri

Babies ARE royalty.

Not only do we dress them, feed them, even carry them around to where they want to go, but we also listen to, tolerate, and obey their every waking (and even sleeping) squawk.

Spoiled little Miss Bria — ‘Bri-Bri’ as Mike calls her — is learning very fast to be demanding of her subjects — even though I consider them royalty, too. I guess if they’re princes, that makes her the queen.

Lately she has mastered the point, grunt, and then very-strong-and-urgent-shriek-if-she-doesn’t-get-it-right-away tactic. She’s brilliant at it. And when a loyal and obedient person bends to her desire, we don’t get a baby version of ‘thank you’ such as a smile or a nice little cuddle.

We get: a fake courtesy laugh.

Seriously. She’s 8 months old. She can’t crawl yet, but she can courtesy laugh.

Sometimes the boys deserve to be treated with casual indifference, though. Like when they are inappropriate. Take the Ball Rule: I can’t stand when basketballs, soccer balls, you name it are bounced into the kitchen (almost always on purpose), because of obvious reasons. Even more things in this house will break. There’s almost always some kind of food prep going on. There’s a ceiling fan and drop lights that will get knocked. Etc etc etc.

So when someone brings one in, my automatic response is to say, “No balls in the kitchen!” And without fail, every time I say this, one of my ‘princes’ retorts, “Everybody but mama and Bria leave!” Get it?

Oh goll.

Then there’re times when you’d think the boys were the queens — the drama queens.

Take dishes, for example. We rotate chores week by week, and they absolutely loathe being on the dreaded dishes chore. I must admit, having a dishwasher would be nice, but it is also kind of fun to wash by hand and spend good quality time having a conversation with the one you are helping, slowing down a bit, etc.

But to my boys, they may as well be living in the Temple of Doom that week (and that’s what they’ve referred to it as). Boys, come on. It isn’t a new concept. We have been without a dishwasher for a couple of years now. But oh my goodness, you’d think they were dying — several times a day. The complains. The screams. The tears. The threats. The attempts at bargaining. And I have to admit that sometimes I do give in and make deals. (But don’t tell them that I usually get the better end of the deal, like them cleaning out the litter box and me doing a load of dishes for them.)

But sometimes, they are very, very sweet, attentive, gentle, and downright adorable with their little royal sister.

And the melting begins.

When Benjamin carries her around on his shoulders, jumping and laughing and chasing the other brothers, making her squeal like a little baby pig because she is so happy and having so much fun. Or when he single-handedly babysits her and his other three brothers so stinkin’ well so that we can go on a much-needed date. When he doesn’t complain about changing her diapers, even the really nasty ones. When he picks out cute outfits for her to wear. When he feeds her, when he shows by everything he does how much he adores her, and how much she adores him back. You can see in her eyes how much she loves and trusts her biggest brother/prince.

When I walk in the room to see Owen holding her on his lap, quietly stroking her cheek, and humming her a soft song. When he sits her down and reads her a book, complete with lively, animated voices and sound effects. When, even though it drives his sensory issues absolutely crazy, he doesn’t totally freak out anymore while she is crying or doing that high-pitched girly scream that would scare dogs away — but instead tries as hard as he can to figure out what she needs and how to help her. This is so hard for him and he has come such a long way with it. And when he always remembers her in his prayers. Always.

When Levi shares his cat with her, even though he knows this may mean sacrificing his relationship with Pumpkin due to baby sister’s grabby hands which try to shove every piece of cat in her mouth that she can. Ew. Cat fur doesn’t taste very good…but she seems not to care. Or when he can make her laugh harder than anyone else (real laugh, not courtesy) by just being himself with all his ‘firecracker’ attributes. His silliness, his faces, his loudness, his goofball attitude and show-off-for-your-entertainment ways. She absolutely gets a kick out of him no matter what he is doing, even if it is in the next room. As long as she can hear him, she thinks it is all for her, and she starts busting up.

And then Zachary. This gentle giant who will grow up to be her biggest protector and defender. I think I do the most melting when I catch him sitting quietly by her, playing with her and her toys. Or sneaking a little kiss on the top of her soft head. Or trying to remember how to do ‘Dis Wittow Piggy’ on her toes for her. Or insisting on one last snuggle or hug before bed. All the tons and tons of times he runs as fast as his legs can carry him for a diaper, a wet wipe, or a pacifier. Actually letting her use his basketball once in a while.

Little Miss Bria Kate is actually the luckiest, most blessed princess or queen or dutchess or whatever in the whole world: she has these four crazy but amazing big brothers who would do anything for her — even if it sometimes means beating each other up, which definitely happens.

She will always have them. They will always love and take care of her. And I couldn’t be more amazed by and more grateful for my five royals. I love you all.

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Rainbows and Vitamin C’s and Dancing. DUH!

3 yr-old Curiosity + Independence = Messes and Profound Simplicities

When his oldest brother pointed out the “super epic” awesome rainbow outside earlier this morning, Zachary’s first reaction, accompanied by a squeal of delight, was: “We should climb to the top of it (like Curious George did in his most recent episode, of course)!”

I asked him what we would find there. His answer: “A slide to slide down. DUH!”

I love how much he boosts my self-esteem…

Zachary just came around the corner with his mouth jammed full of orange gooeyness. One look and I knew what it was: chewable vitamin C’s.

I could barely make out his proud, chipmunk-cheek words, “Mama! I got 20 bitamin C’s out of the bitamin container!”

I said, “Why?!” while fully expecting some smart response like Because I have a cold (even though he doesn’t, but he knows that when he does have a cold, he gets to have more vitamin C’s) as I start to try to clean up his sticky orange face.

Instead I get this from him: “Because somebody left it open. DUH!”

The other day, Zachary was doing ‘THE DANCE’ — you know, THAT one, with a sudden look of extreme horror as he realized he might’ve waited a little too long — past the point of no return — to run to the bathroom (he was too into his Curious George show, of course).

Me – “Do you need to go potty?” (knowing full well that he did)
Zachary – “Nope!”
Me – “Then why are you dancing?”
Zachary – “Because I’m wearing my bah-kee-ball shirt and I’m happy! DUH!”

Life really is pretty simple.

Rainbows are fun to slide down.

Vitamin C’s are yummy.

And wearing your favorite basketball jersey should make you happy enough to dance.

DUH!

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Well Hello There!

Welcome to My Box of Chocolate — or, my life, if you’d rather look at it that way.  It’s custom-made for me, full of surprises, and only when I bite into one of those surprises do I usually find out what’s inside.  Sometimes it’s salty, sometimes it’s nutty, sometimes it’s juicy, sometimes it’s nasty, and sometimes it’s so scrumptiously yummy that I have to close my eyes while I savor every bite.  It’s pretty much always messy, and sometimes I regret one of the chocolates I’ve tried.  But overall, there are more sweet morsels than there are of any other kind, and they make me happy.  😀

Now don’t mind if my mouth is full of real chocolate as I type away…

The Shower

If I told you how many days it’d been since my shower and I had had a face-to-face conversation, you’d throw up.

See, I’m a crazy busy mom of five crazy little squirts, and shower time is almost as ironic as sleep in a mom’s world — it’s the something you need the most but usually get the least.

I finally got the chance to take one yesterday morning, when I had gotten to that point of disgustingness that can only be compared to when your kitchen floor needs to be mopped so badly your feet stick to it. I told everyone — I prepared everyone — where I’d be, how important my task was — I made sure they were all doing what they were supposed to be doing and that so-n-so was helping who he needed to, etc. My hubby was even still home, so I figured… I got this! Right??

I get the water piping hot, I step in — and for the first few minutes I think I’ve died and gone to heaven. Ohhhhh, heavenly heaven of all heavens! I don’t remember the last time a shower felt THIS good! I seriously think I’ve died and am floating on some cloud — this feels SO amazingly wonderful! Have you ever been that dirty? I mean THAT dirty? Good. Then you can appreciate where I’m coming from.

Just as I’m coming back to reality a little and realizing I need to grab the shampoo, the unthinkable (but probable) happens. Yep. You’re right — the water pressure starts to drop, and as thoughts of OOOOOOOH NO YOU HAVE GOT TO BE KIDDING ME form in my brain, the water turns to ice. And I mean ICE.

My first reaction is to want to jump out of the shower and streak out of the bathroom like a mad-woman, screaming at the top of my lungs to everyone in the house to stop whatever they’re doing to ruin my shower!!!! It’s MY shower! I’ve EARNED this! I NEEEEEED this!!!!

But I stay calm, luckily, and stay in the shower — mostly because I know that no one should EVER see THAT except for my unconditionally-loving husband, and I start to do that oh-so-fun freezing shower dance. You know the one: where you barely step into the water stream to get something wet, then jump back out to scrub, trying not to cry, then you brace yourself again as you put that arm or leg or whatever back into the stream of freezing water just long enough to rinse it off.

Grrrrrrrrrr. Grr. Grr. Grr. GRR!

At least I’m burning a calorie.

You know how, when you’re in the middle of a challenge — even a small one like this — if you can think about things to be grateful for, you get through it better? It’s not so bad? Well, I try that… I try to think how lucky I am to have running water, to have soap, to have a dry towel waiting for me, to have clothes to put back on when I’m done in this miserable torture chamber that started out as such a lovely escape at the mom salon…

But what makes it REALLY hard is that someone keeps teasing me the whole time I’m in there doing this tiny, contained, River Dance: the water gets warm! Oh, no, just kidding — now it’s freezing again. No, wait! Now it’s almost hot! No, no, no, sorry — it’s actually ice cold now. WHAAAAAAAT?? If you’re going to put me throw a polar freeze, then let’s just get it over with already! Whatever you’re doing to take away my hot water, just finish it and stop taunting me so!

I finally get decently clean enough to turn off the water with my shaking hand, and step out to reach for my towel. Ahhhhh–shudder–ahhhh–teeth clatter–ahhhh. Starting to warm up and dry out a little. But then OH! Someone else is in on the plan to ruin my coveted shower experience: Pumpkin, our mischevious little kitty, is sticking his paw under the bathroom door and is using my pinky toe as a pin cushion. OW! Are you kidding me right now?! All I needed was 10 minutes, people! And…feline!

I step away from the door and get out of the range of the orange-and-white death paw, grumblingly pulling my clothes on — the same jeans I pretty much always wear (yes, the ones my husband says I need to replace because the knees are ripped, but seriously, I’m a mess most of the time anyway, and they’re one of my only pairs that currently fit), and my hubby’s comfy sweatshirt ’cause, let’s face it, I have quite the muffin-top currently — even WITH those ripped jeans. I throw a comb through my hair and knot it up on my head in a wet bun to get it out of the way because I really only can justify making the time to do anything with it on Sundays for church — and because I’m in a hurry to get out of the bathroom to appropriately yell at whoever needs to be yelled at for my horribly disappointing shower experience.

As luck — or life — or “it figures” — would have it, of course I leave the bathroom to find out that the reason for the ice cold/warm/freezing/hot/arctic water was none other than this: Owen was down in the kitchen washing dishes like a good, obedient, chore-doer.

Awwwwwwww.

What was I mad about again?