Lost & Gained

I've written before about people I've lost.  I will do that again here (one specifically), but I also want to write about people I've gained.

My father-in-law was a wonderful man.  He was kind, sweet, smart, caring, generous, and loved life.  My oldest boy, Z, would always make him laugh.  All of his grandkids did, but this blog is from my perspective, so please pardon me if I don't mention the other grandchildren more.  He called him "Sport" and would always tease me and J about the "fits" that kid was giving us, and would continue to give us in the future.  He loved hearing the new things Z had done, learned, said, in a way that only grandparents can.  Z was only 18 months old when he lost his grandfather.  How we lost him is another blog, but suffice it to say it was a freak accident.  A sudden loss.  An unexpected hole blasted in our hearts.

But our family has grown since then.

My husband and I have given him another grandson, M.  Wow, my father-in-law (and us) only THOUGHT Z was a handful!  Whew!!! M exhausts me just watching him.  He is so full of energy, and mischief.  I never know what he's going to say.  Or do.  I have not yet figured out how his mind works, and frankly, I don't think I want to know.  He makes me laugh daily.  And shake my head in disbelief.  And rant and rave.  And pray for patience.  And blame my husband for all of his bad traits (even though he clearly got them from my side of the family.  Shhhhh!  Don't tell J that I admitted that.)  He is a charmer, though.  He can smile and you have to smile with him.  He laughs and you have to laugh with him.  He brings joy (and frustration, lol) everywhere he goes.  His Papaw would have LOVED him.  I don't mean just with his heart, but with sense of humor, with his mind, and with his heart.

M would have had Papaw wrapped around his little finger, too.  I have no doubt about that whatsoever.  M would have pulled one of his stunts that make me want to strangle him and Papaw would have laughed, shaken his head, and said (as he did so many times with Z), "He's all boy, isn't he.  It's terrible to spank a kid just 'cause he feels good."  So, of course, I couldn't have spanked him then.  No matter how much he needed it.  Yes, M would've loved Papaw just as much as Papaw would've loved him.

My husband also gave his dad a granddaughter.  We found out about her just a couple of years ago (another long story), but she is a joy.  Her mother is from a previous marriage, and H just turned 13.  Only 13.  And she's 5 inches taller than I am.  *sigh*  Yes, I'm vertically challenged, but that's beside the point.  H is pretty awesome.  She got all of her dad's best traits.  She's sweet, funny, smart, easy-going, and caring.  Her Papaw B (she calls her other grandfather Papaw) would have loved her, too.  See, she's just like he was.  H takes after her dad, and her dad takes after his dad.  Seriously, it's like they were cloned.  Well, except she's a little goofier (actually more than "a little"), and she's a girl.  This family is pretty amazing.

And H would've loved her Papaw B.  He would've spoiled her just as much as her other Papaw.  He would've given her the moon if she'd asked for it.  She'd have wrapped him around her little finger, too.  Just like she has her dad.  But I have to say, she doesn't over-step.  She doesn't push the limits.  She's just so quietly sweet, that people want to give her things just to see her smile.  She doesn't manipulate like so many kids do (including my boys that know exactly how to get what they want out of Mamaw B.)  She's just H.

My husband's brother, K, has also gotten married, gained two step-daughters, and had a little girl of his own.  My father-in-law would really have loved to see that.  K had some problems that slowed down his family creating abilities (a third long story, and not mine to tell), but everything seems back on track for him.  As much as I know my father-in-law would have loved to see the family that J and I have gained, I know in my heart that K's life now would have brought him more happiness and peace than any of you can possibly imagine.

So we lost one.  And we've gained six.  But each of those six lost one they never knew.  And that was a treasure of which they can never know the value.

I do like to think of my father-in-law looking down from Heaven and smiling.  Happy at what he left behind.  Proud of how we've grown.  Laughing at our children and how they make us pull our hair out.  Yes, I can see him laughing at us all.  And that makes me smile through all of the tears.

WOW.......It's Been A While

I just looked back and realized, WOW....It's been a while since I posted.  At least a couple of months.  Things have been busy.  My last post dealt with my baby graduating Pre-School, and my oldest getting his 2nd Grade Awards.  They are growing up so fast.

Now the summer is almost over.  M. starts Kindergarten this fall.  He's going to ride the school bus with his brother.  I'm hoping that Z. will look out for his brother in one of those Only-I-As-His-Big-Brother-Can-Beat-Him-Up ways and not let anyone else torture him.  I'm hoping.  With my luck (and M's) Z and his friend will gang up on M together.  *Sigh*  I can only hope.  And pray.

M is excited about riding the school bus with his brother and going to big school.  If you ask him what school he's going to attend this fall, he'll tell you "My brother's school."  I don't think it has quite sunk in yet that it will be his school, too, now.  Z, on the other hand, is looking forward to being the Big Man on Campus and instructing his little brother in just exactly how things are done.  I believe this will last until the first time they run into each other in the hallway, or lunchroom, or playground.  M will run up to hug his brother, and Z will look at him like he has no idea who this little runt is glued to him.  *Sigh*

I have mixed emotions.  On one hand, I'm really looking forward to plugging that financial leak that has been daycare and babysitters.  And I'm proud of my boys growing up.  But part of me already misses those rides to town in the morning when M and I would talk about what game he was playing on his DS, or what movie he was watching in the backseat, or just why he didn't want me talking to his teachers after school that day.  (Yeah, that was a "good" day - but it was funny!)

My boys aren't babies anymore.  Z is as tall as my shoulder at only 8.  M is fast catching up.  I don't know if they're growing that fast, or if I'm shrinking.  Probably both.

But no matter how tall they grow, or what grade they are in school -- as all mothers know -- they will always, Always, ALWAYS be my Babies.  Period.  End of Story.

Growing Up Is HARD........on Mom

Yesterday, my two sons had milestones.....and so did I.  They enjoyed themselves very much.  Me?  Not so much.

My oldest son, Z, had his Parent Picnic and Awards Day at school.  He made Honor Roll for the year (Yay, Z!!!!!) and earned over 70 points in his Accelerated Reader Program -- one of the highest in his class.  I am so very proud of him.  And though he clearly got his brains from me, I was still a little sad.  My boy is growing up. Fast.  He is only 8, yet he already reaches my shoulder.  Granted, the basketball teams in school were never beating down my door (or even knocking, for that matter), but still.  He shouldn't really be that tall.....should he?

Watching Z wasn't so difficult though.  He quit giving me hugs and kisses in public over 5 years ago.  He has grown independent and really is turning into a little man.  He loves to build things and show them off to me -- and I am always suitably impressed -- but he never wants me to help anymore.  He doesn't want me to read bedtime stories to him.  I'm still a part of his world, just not an active part.  And I haven't really been for a while, so though I brushed back a couple tears during the slide show at the end of awards, I really came through it okay.

Last night was a completely different situation.  M graduated from Pre-Kindergarten school.  He dressed up in big boy clothes -- pull-over shirt and khakis -- and had on his cap and gown.  All of a sudden, he wasn't my baby anymore.  Who is this little boy?  Wait! Where is my baby?!?!? NOOOOOooooooooooo, this CAN'T be him!  He's 5.  He still crawls in my lap to give me hugs and kisses -- and he still fits!  He loves on me anytime and anywhere, and sometimes it's even his idea.  He still wants bedtime stories (though I'm beginning to suspect it's to delay bedtime more than wanting time with me) and occasionally even lets me rock him.  I bawled like the baby M is still supposed to be.  He walked across that stage, got his diploma and his "Imagination Award" (very apt, I promise you!) like he owned the place.  I cried more.

Z is my oldest, and though it was hard, it was not THIS hard.  I think.  The distraction of his brother who would have been 2 at the time kept me from dwelling on just how fast all of this happened.  M, though, is the baby.  No more distractions.  No more of these events will be happening.  He is my last one.  I'm trying to write all of this down so that I won't forget anything. I write it down to help myself adjust to how fast my boys are growing up.

One little man.  One little boy.  Neither of them so "little" anymore.  What's a mom to do?

Then M came running up to me, gave me a hug, and went running off to race his brother up and down the halls (despite my admonishments not to run inside), and suddenly he was my baby again.  I got a reprieve.  But this fall, when they both climb on that big yellow school bus -- one to 3rd grade and one to Kindergarten -- I make no promises.  Yes, I do.  I promise I will cry all the way to work.  Or maybe I'll follow the bus all the way to school . . . . . . .even if it is the opposite direction from work.

Today is A Better Day

Yesterday was a Not-So-Good Day.  You know that if you read what I wrote then.  Today is Better.  Not A Great Day, but A Better Day.

We didn't make it church this morning, and we really should have gone.  I know I could have used it, and my little heathen children need all of the religion they can get!  But my husband J obviously wasn't feeling well since he slept until 11:30 am -- and since he Never Ever does that, I knew something wasn't right with him.  Plus, I had (and still have) a headache and my stomach isn't real happy either.  Yes, they are probably both stress related, but I can't do much about that.

Today is still A Better Day.  My boys wanted pancakes for breakfast.  Well, I wasn't really feeling up to it and put them off.  Z came back at lunch time wanting them, and that started me thinking.  He's been asking for them for two or three weekends now.  They aren't really THAT hard to make since we have that wonderful helper Bisquick.  And I really needed to do something for THEM.  So I made pancakes.  With chocolate chips in them just the way my boys love them.

Their smiles made everything worth it.
They didn't notice the ones that browned a little quicker than I thought they would.
They didn't notice that they weren't perfectly shaped.
They didn't see anything wrong.

All they saw was Mommy fixed something for them that they really liked.  And I think Z (at almost 8 years old) realized I did this just for him and his brother, which is a really grown-up observation for him to make.  See, I can't eat pancakes anymore.  I had gestational diabetes when I was pregnant with him and again with his brother, and my system just can't handle syrup anymore.  It throws my body into some weird tailspin.  Irrelevant information.

Z ate 6 pancakes.  By himself.  Even J only ate 3.  M only ate 2, but he just turned 5, so I don't expect much there.  But the smiles......they were pretty wonderful.  And to hear them say Thank you was fantastic.  But when Z smiled at me, and said, "Thank you, Mom, for making these.  I really like the way you made them for me," it almost broke my heart, and healed it up again.

Today is A Better Day.  My kids are happy, and I know they love me.  That's really all that matters right now.

Thank you, Z, for making my world all better.

Scared

Have you ever been scared?  I don't mean scare of spiders, or scared of a strange noise.  I don't mean scared of  what mom or dad is going to do to you when they find out what you did.  I mean scared all the way to the bottom of your heart.  Scared that is so deep you feel your bones shake.  That kind of scared.

I feel that way now.

Let me tell you a story.  When my first child was 3 weeks old, he started throwing up.  Nothing would stay down for long.  It got worse and worse.  We saw five doctors in five days and got five different diagnoses.  Finally, after ending up in the ER at 1 am, and my son's pediatrician back to work after surgery, we found out what was actually wrong.  Pyloric Stenosis.  The muscle between his stomach and his small intestine grew too fast and closed off the opening so his food had no place to go.  He weighed less than he did the day we brought him home from the hospital.  They transported us to Blair Batson Children's Hospital in Jackson and he had surgery the next morning.  The very day Z turned 4 weeks old, they operated on him.  4 Weeks Old. That day I was scared.  I handed my baby off to a doctor for surgery.  But at least I knew that the doctor was going to heal my baby.  I was scared, but I knew it was going to be all right.

I don't know that right now.

The details of what is happening really don't matter (and please don't ask).  Suffice it to say, I'm wandering around in the dark and I'm lost.  I can't find my way out.  I can't find a light.  I'm not sure when it will end.  I know it will, but I like a timeline so that I can count down.  I can see progress then.

I believe in God.  I know he will get us through.  I do have faith.  But I'm still absolutely terrified.  My world is completely shaken.  I can't be calm and steady and sure like some Christians I know.  I really wish I could.  I know this is a test or a trial of His, but honestly, all I really want is to KNOW how this will end.  Knowing that it WILL end doesn't help.  At all.

People tell me to be quiet and listen to that "still, small voice."  I'm afraid that mean, cruel whisper of doubt is louder no matter how hard I try to ignore it.

I'm trying to have faith.  I'm trying to believe.  But I can't help but wonder if I'm clinging desperately to the wrong choice.

I'm tired of wandering around lost in the dark.

I'm tired of being scared.

I'm tired of feeling helpless.

Please God take away my fear.
Please God give me strength.
Please God give me peace.

My Mini Man's Mercurial Moods!

Things have been a little serious on my blog lately, so this is one to lighten things up a bit.  You know how all parents (well, most) say "If I had had my second child FIRST, he/she would be an ONLY child!"  I have to admit that I have thought that on more than one occasion.  See it all began like this.

When my first child, Z, was born, he was a relatively easy baby.  We expected the normal sleep deprivation and strange feeding schedules.  We expected fussiness puzzles for us new parents to solve.  And we got all of that, of course, but he was still an easy baby.  His feeding schedule was almost regular.  (You could count on being up at 5 am to feed him.)  At six weeks EXACTLY, Z started sleeping through the night.  He ate whatever he was fed (then, not now), and played quite happily by himself or with others.  He had a very laid-back, middle-of-the road personality.  Easy baby.  This was much easier than we expected!  Let's have another!

This is where the word "sucker" was imprinted on my forehead I am convinced.

M. was anything but "easy."

He was colicky from the start.

He refused to be put on ANY feeding schedule.

He didn't consistently sleep through the night until he was close to six months old.    You never knew when he was going to wake up (and us, too, with his enthusiastic crying -- he completely skipped the polite "come-get-me-please-Mommy crying and went straight to the COME-GET-ME-NOW crying that would bring us straight up out of bed and halfway across the room before we realized our eyes were open).

"Fussy" doesn't begin to describe it.  Saying M was "fussy" is like saying the Grand Canyon is a "little hole."  It just doesn't come close to being accurate.  He would be happy and grinning and laughing one second, and exploding like an atom bomb the next.  Screaming, kicking, little eyes squinched shut, turning red, flailing arms -- full temper tantrum mode like I had never seen before! From one extreme to the opposite in .02 seconds flat.  (M's was the first case of Jekyll and Hyde Syndrome that we had seen in children.)

And he's still like this at 4.5 years old.  Oh, not the FULL temper tantrum mode, but whining, stubbornness, stop-in-his-tracks-not-go-anywhere-til-he-gets-his-way mode.  For instance, this is the conversation we had yesterday morning:

Me:  M, here you have to put a jacket on because it's cold outside.

M:  I don't want to wear a jacket.  I won't get cold.

Me:  It's cold outside, honey, you have to wear it.

M:  Well, I don't like that jacket.  (Whine begins here!)

Me:  It's the only jacket you have, put it on. (I'm getting a little forceful here)

M:  Fine!  (Yes, he got that from his mother, I admit it)
M:  I want it zipped up.

Me:  We're just going to the car, it's only 10 feet, you'll be okay.

M:  NO!  I want it zipped up!

Me:  Okay, fine!  (See?  I told you he got it from me)

So I stopped, put down my purse, my keys, my cell phone, his blanket and pillow for nap time, and zipped up his jacket.  Finally, we are out the door.  We're in the car.  He is buckled, I'm buckled, car is cranked and ready to go. (Yea!  Progress is being made!)

M:  Here, Mama.

I reach back to get whatever he's handing me..................it's his jacket.

Me:  Why did you take this off, M?

M:  I didn't want to wear it anymore.

Me:  *sigh*  Fine.  (yes, again)  Whatever.

Off we go.  He happily watches cartoons in the back seat while I try to get the car warm enough that he doesn't get a chill.  A half hour later, we get to his daycare.  I get out of the car, holding my car keys, his blanket and pillow for naptime, and say:

Me:  C'mon, M.  Let's go.  Put your jacket back on.  (which he DOES!  No argument?  Wow!!!)

M:  Zip it, Mama.

Me:  No, M.  I have my hands full.  We're just going up the stairs.  Come on.

M:  But I want it zipped!  (Here comes the whining again.*sigh*)

Me:  (quickly losing patience since this is Round 2)  No, M!  I don't have a two hands to zip it. You'll be fine, Now. Come.  On.

M:  But I'll get cold!!!!  (Remember this is the child that didn't want to wear a coat?)

Me:  NO! I do not have a hand to zip it.  We're going 10 feet.  You WILL be fine. Come on, NOW.

M:  Whine, pretend cry, whine, pretend cry

But he does get out of the car.  And starts up the stairs.  I give a sigh of relief/frustration.  He stops.  In the middle of the steps, he stops.

M:  (whinnnnnniiiiinnnnnggggg)  But I just want it zipped, Mama.

I give up.  I'm not fighting anymore.  I pick him up like a sack of taters with the one free hand I have and carry him up the steps.  Fortunately the door opens, and in we go.  Finally!  We are here!  I talk to the young man at the daycare and warn him about M's mood this morning.  I turn around to say "Good-bye" and get hugs and kisses (hopefully).  M is gone.  I look through the building.  No M. Huh?  Where did he go?  He didn't go outside.  The daycare worker and I both start looking again.  Behind doors, under desks, in closets......No M.  Finally, I give up and hope he will answer me when I call.

Me:  M?!?  Where are you?

M:  BOO!!!!!  You couldn't find me, could you, Mama?  (Grinning from ear to ear, giggling happily)

He pops out from BEHIND the piano!  How did he get back there?  How did he FIT back there? Where is his bad mood?  Never mind.  Forget I asked.  Let's not remind him.

He happily gives me bye hugs and kisses.  That's the thing about M.  He goes from mad to glad just as quickly as he goes from glad to mad.  It's amazing.  People don't believe me when I tell them M is moodier than any teenage female I have ever known (including myself as a teen).  But it is true!  Phenomenal really.

That night I marvel at my sleeping little boy tucked in bed.  This sweet little angel sleeping so peacefully is that same whining little demon I dealt with this morning.  And even though his sweet little hugs and kisses and unsolicited "I Love You, Mama" declarations make up for all sorts of misbehavior, I still maintain that M is my difficult child.  Lovable, sweet, tortuous, stress-inducing, mischievous, mercurial, mini-man M.

I wouldn't change him for anything.  He keeps things.........interesting, shall we say.  He keeps me on my toes.  I never know what he's going to say or do next.  And part of me loves him because of that very trait.

And in the end, I have to laugh at him and all of his quirks............because strangling is illegal, ha-ha.

As a Mother & Step-Mother

First, as a Step-Mother.......

H. went home last weekend.  We drove her the entire 7 hours home.  It was a long road trip.  But with her laughing in the back seat, telling us stories, clearly excited to be going home, it was rather short.  Bittersweet, but short.  Then we got close to home.  She got quiet.  Very quiet.  Sad.  So did we.  The 7 hours back home were much longer. And quieter.  And more bitter, than sweet.  Even if DH and I got to spend 7 hours without hearing, "Mommy, he touched me."  "Mommy, are we there yet?"  "Mommy, when are we going to be there?"

The house, too, is quiet.  It's amazing how one less child (with 2 still in attendance, and boys, at that), can make a house feel so empty.  There is no more giggling 12-year-old girl doing a funny walk across our living room.  There is no girl with puppy-dog eyes saying, "Daaaaad, may I pleeeeeeeeeeease stay up until 10:30?"  There is no girl asking me to play archery with her on the Wii and beat her dad.  There is no girl.  And I miss her.  There seems to be an empty place in my heart now.  Even though she is just a few hours away, she feels gone.  Even though I talk to her every night, she feels gone.  I feel her gone.  And I miss her.  I almost feel like a kid again wanting to know "When is Christmas going to be here?" because SHE will be back then.  And then I won't miss her.

Second, As a Mother.......

All of you parents are familiar with school color charts.  They all vary some, but in essence, Green is Good; Yellow, not-so-much (or "just a little bad" as M likes to say); and Red is REALLY going-to-get-a-spanking Bad.

Usually, M is my little Martian.  He stays on green.  He's sweet, lovable, mischievous, but he stays on green.  Not this week.  So far, we've had Red, Yellow, Green, Red/Green (Red in the morning, Green in the afternoon because his teacher is too sweet and took pity on him), and today.....well, today, I'm scared to ask.  All colors (other than green) are for being defiant and back talking his teacher.  He acts up, she calls him down, he say, "So?"  Why?  I asked him.  He said, "I like saying 'so.' " Huh?  Where did my little Green Martian go?  Could he be 7 hours North (see above) with H?  Is that what is prompting this bad behavior?  I hope so.  And I hope my little Green Martian will come home soon.  I miss him, too.  And I know his pre-school teacher misses him, too.

Z, is a different story.  He's more like Jekyll and Hyde lately.  And, no, it can't be teenage hormones because he's only 7.  We've seen Red, Orange, Yellow, Orange this week.  I cannot text his teacher and ask about his behavior.  Not that I really want to do that.  With his track record this week, I'm thinking I really don't want to know.  He has gotten spankings 4 days this week.  We took away all electronics -- Wii, DS, computer, everything except his TV which his little brother shares.  (It wouldn't have been fair to M to take away the TV.)  We've begged, pleaded, yelled (I regret the yelling), bribed, threatened......nothing is working.  I would say that his problems began with his sister's return home, but we had the same problems during the ENTIRE 1st GRADE.  Making noises (humming, tapping), not listening, consistent disobedience, playing in the bathroom (really? the bathroom?  can't you find a better place to play, son?), not following directions.  It's like Z is in his own little world, and will only open the door if he likes what his teacher is saying.  If not, oh, well.  Z seems to think if he ignores her long enough, she'll disappear.  Not happening.

Z is a smart kid.  I mean REALLY smart.  And usually well-mannered, polite, sweet.  A regular Dr. Jekyll.  Except at school.  Then Mr. Hyde comes out.  Loud, obnoxious, stubborn, rude, brat.  His dad and I are almost at our wit's end.  We hoped that the Talented & Gifted program he is in this year (see?  I told you he was smart!) would help with the behavior.  We hoped that Cub Scouts would help with the behavior.  We're still hoping.  And praying.  And begging, threatening, bribing, etc.  I don't like Mr. Hyde.  I want to evict him from my house.  Now.

So, that's my life lately.  Full little roller coaster, isn't it?  That's why this post is a day late (and I know you all waited anxiously with bated breath yesterday wondering why it wasn't appearing!  Yeah, right!).  We've had happiness, sadness, anxiety, anger, disappointment, confusion.  I'm tired of the roller coaster.  I WANT OFF!!!   I want my little Green Martian back.  I want Dr. Jekyll back.  I want H.  back.  I want all of my kids (even the one I just get to borrow) back at my house.  Under one roof.

So, if any of you wonderful friends and readers have any ideas on how to accomplish any / all of the above, then I await your suggestions, answers, and comments with hope and prayers.  Thank you all for listening to me rant.  Thank you for letting me borrow your shoulders on which to shed a few tears.  Thank you for just being there as once again, I lose my composure over my children.  Thank you for being my friends.

Teaching Children

As I'm sure I've posted before, manners are important to me.  I was raised to show respect and behave with manners in all situations.  You say "sir" and "ma'am" and "please," "thank you," and "excuse me."  You ALWAYS, and I mean ALWAYS address people with respect.  My husband and I are doing our best to instill this in our children.  They have lapses:  responding with "what?" when called; answering "yeah" when asked a question; but generally, they behave well -- especially when they are AWAY from us.

(Why do kids behave better away from parents?  But, if they are going to act up, I would rather it be with me, than with other people!  Anyway, I stray)

Which is why I was stunned when Z came home from school yesterday on Orange for being "disrespectful to another teacher."  What?  Z?  Oh, no!  I never did get the details, but I know he disobeyed a teacher, and continued to ignore instructions from said teacher.  Now I cannot allow this behavior.

Z got four licks with the paint stick.  Good licks.  Attention-getting licks.  I also made him write sentences since he said he didn't know the teacher's name and couldn't write an apology letter.  (He disrespected a teacher he doesn't even know?!?!?  The news just gets worse!)  I told him to write "I'm sorry I was disrespectful to you." on every other line of the front page of a piece of paper.  (The funny part is he evidently didn't know what "every other" meant, so he wrote the sentence down two-thirds of the page, but that's okay with me.  It helped send the message home. )  I also told him if he saw that teacher today, to apologize to her in person.  Maybe a little humility will help, too.

And then I wrote a note to his teacher detailing his punishment.  I want to make sure she know that this behavior will NOT be tolerated.  Not by me or my husband.  He is taught better.  He knows better.

All of the above was fine, right?  Necessary, right?  I am responsible for teaching my children right from wrong.  I am responsible for doling out punishment when they misbehave so that they know their actions have consequences.  Rewards and Punishments are part of teaching.  Right?

So why did I spend the next two hours trying not to cry because I had to spank my child?  Why did it upset me so much?  Part of it was disappointment, I know.  I thought we were past this part with Z.  I thought he had already learned this lesson.  Actually, I know he has.  So why did he behave so badly?  Why was he disrespectful toward an adult?  A teacher?  And why did I fight back tears?  I guess because I don't like punishing him.  He is a good boy.  He is a fine young man.  Most of the time.

Well, he got his reminder to behave himself, be polite, show respect.  And Mom got a reminder on what it's like to punish the kids since Dad's out of town and he normally does that.  I didn't much like it.  But I'm pretty sure Z didn't like it much either.  So we both learned something.  At least, I did.  I hope Z did, because I really don't want to do that again.

*sigh* Being a responsible parent really stinks sometimes!

Vacation Fun

My husband and I just got back from taking our two sons, and his daughter to the Alabama coast for a long weekend of fun.  It started off great.  I made a promise to myself and my husband that I was going to TRY (pay attention to that word -- it's important) to not yell at the children much.  Remember that word "try"?  Well, let's just say that some moments required more "trying" than others because the children were more "trying" at times than others.

I succeeded, which is a small miracle in itself.  We all had fun.  We went to the pool and the beach, we took the daughter shopping, we saw and toured a battleship and submarine, and we even rode a ferry.  We came back tired and sunburned, but I think that is a rule of vacations.  You MUST come back tired and sunburned or it wasn't a good vacation.  No one wanted to come back, so I take that as a good sign.

However, I learned a lot on this trip.  Not just about battleships and submarines, or to remember to put sunblock on your shoulders as well as your arms and legs (painful lesson learned).  I learned about the differences between boys and girls -- other than the obvious.

1.  Boys are messier.  You would think that as a pre-teen girl, H would have wardrobe calamities, or accessories tossed hither, thither, and yon, and just be a complete tornado.  Let me tell you, she was the NEAT one.  Yes, there was a little mess on her side of the room, but that was due more to lack of space than her.  The boys, on the other hand, covered the bathroom floor in dirty clothes (poor H had to step on them to take her showers).  I'm used to the mess at home.  After all, it only took 30 seconds after our return for the carpet in their bedroom to be covered in toys, clothes, shoes, and other things I'm scared to look at too closely.

2.  Boys are louder.  Again, you would think that a pre-teen girl would squeal and giggle and make all manner of noise to get her dad's attention.  Nope.  She was quiet, polite, and waited her turn to speak.  The boys?  Wouldn't / Couldn't be quiet if they were unconscious.  I swear they are even noisy asleep.  Seriously.  Z talks in his sleep (usually yelling at M to leave him alone), and M snores.

3.  Girls are more polite.  I know, this one is obvious.  But after the boys burping, snorting, yelling, and making other various noisy I don't even like to think about, H's politeness and good manners were SO appreciated.  She evens knows what to do with a napkin!!!!!

4.  Girls are cleaner.  She combed her hair.  Voluntarily.  We have to chase down the boys.  Her face was always clean.  The boys get dirt on their faces climbing out of the bathtub.  Her clothes were always neat.  The boys?  Let's not even think about it.

Yes, I have discovered many differences between boys and girls.  I'm sure most of you know these already.  I  actually KNEW them, it was SEEING them that was so amazing.  Startling, really.  It makes me realize what I'm missing having just boys.  NOT enough to make me think of trying to have a third child.  Nope.  Uh-Uh.  No way.  Not happening, unless God Himself decides it.  But it's nice having her around.  She helps even out the testosterone level at my house.  And she even sides with ME sometimes.

As a Mother.....

Most of you know that I have two boys.  Z is seven, and M is four.  Perfectly fun ages.  They are both joys and frustrations, laughs and tears, hugs and strangle-holds.

Z is my oldest.  He was my first and is the sweetest natured child.  He is just like his dad.  Even-tempered, calm (most of the time), smart -- WOW is he smart.  He is my easy child.  He can get his feelings hurt easily, so we're working on that.  We don't want him picked on by the other kids for his sensitivity, and, .....well, let's face it.  HE'S A BOY!  He's supposed to be rough-n-tumble, rowdy, running h--- for leather everywhere he goes, and mostly he does.  He just happens to be a little too sensitive sometimes.  He's a leader, yet he can follow.  He can run with the big boys or sit and watch television.  I think he's developing mine and his father's love of reading.  But he won't give me hugs or kisses if anyone is watching -- even strangers.  He's growing up.  I can see the beginnings of the man he will become.  I love him SO much.  He was born just last week, I don't care WHEN his age says he arrived. He's my baby.

M is the youngest.  He is my charmer.  He is just like me -- bless his little heart.  He is tempermental, high-maintenance, prone to temper tantrums, and just, well, like me.  I have no doubt he will stay in A LOT of trouble.  But he's a charmer.  When he smiles, everyone smiles -- even me, though I cringe also wondering just what it is he's about to do.  When he cries, everyone cringes.  He won't sit still for anything.  Even when he's watching Spongebob Squarepants or Scooby-Doo, he stays in motion.  He still happily runs to me every day after preschool like he hasn't seen me in a week.  He still gives me kisses and hugs whenever I ask, and sometimes when I don't.  He still snuggles.  He's my baby.  He was just born yesterday, at least in my mind.

They are my treasures.  My own personal miracles (okay, I admit, my husband did have something to do with them getting here.)  They are my little angels, especially when they are sleeping and not destroying their room, or asking 50 questions, or sneaking out of bed to play.  When I get hugs and kisses and hear, "I love you, Mama," I swear I see their halos (appropriately held up by their devil horns).  One day, maybe they will know just how much I love them.  How often I thank God for entrusting me with them.  How fearfully I pray I can do right by them and raise them to be men like their father.  One day.  Maybe.

Meanwhile, I'll love them, and hug them; yell at them then apologize; spank them and cry in my bedroom; then love them more.  I'll kiss them while they are sleeping and pray to God to watch over them, to make me a better mother, and to help me love them even more.  I will do things right, and I will do things wrong.  I just hope and pray in the end, I will have done MORE right than wrong.