Peace, Love, & Joy

Daddy-- a very beloved name in our home.  Even B, who is only 9 months old, can't seem to get enough of Daddy already.  Even at the sound of Daddy's voice, B's legs kick, the squeals begin, and the grin opens so wide you can barely see the rest of his little baby face.  When Daddy is finally in view, B can't get into his arms fast enough.  It is so sweet, but also so convicting.  Our boys already look to their Daddy to affirm them.

I was SO VERY BLESSED to grow up with a Dad who was very open with his affection and joy in his daughters.  I recall my Dad telling me almost daily how proud he was of me, how much he loved me, or how great I was at something.  I remember my Dad calling me at college sometimes just to chat while he was on his lunch break.  I always knew that my Dad found joy in me and valued our relationship because he SAID it and SHOWED it.

But, looking back, I also know that my Mom was the person who urged my Dad from very early on to form a deep relationship with us.  Let's face it-- most guys do not naturally talk about deep things or express their feelings easily (or well...). 

So, as we start this advent season of 2012, I decided to start a new tradition in our home between Brad and J (and eventually B when he gets old enough to understand).  After all, Brad is J's earthly father-- the person who should most effectively demonstrate our Heavenly Father for J's two-year-old heart.

It starts with a gift box on our kitchen table.

Every night of Advent, Brad is going to write a note to J telling him something he loves about him.  Every morning, J will get to open the box, read his note, and clip it on to the Advent countdown line I taped to his bedroom door (I'm still thinking of what to officially call this).  

Maybe I will need to move the line up higher...

J's Advent Countdown

 



At the end of the season, J will have 25 handwritten notes from his Daddy about how much Brad loves him and how much joy he brings-- just like our Heavenly Father feels about us.  And, when the Christmas decorations come down, I will take all of the notes and clip them together to save for J.  Hopefully, this will not just become a Christmas tradition-- I want to see it become a habit for my boys (ALL my boys) to express their love and joy in each other regularly.  

A few more pics of our Advent celebration and the start of some new traditions!

A couple of my favorite books to read to little ones about Christmas

Decorating cupcakes to start anticipating the birth of Jesus

Everyone gets a candle to celebrate

Even B got a taste-- first cupcake taste EVER!  He liked it.

Cupcakes are something J understands

Wounded Pride

May 15, 2012 (moved from a previous post)

Today, I had a less-than-stellar mommy-moment—really, it was a meltdown (on my part, not Jonathan’s). 

We were having a rough day from the start because we all have colds.  The only word I can think of to describe how Jonathan was feeling today is “cantankerous.”  He woke up saying, “No!” and cried because I put his breakfast on a plate instead of in a bowl…  Anyway, my part in the whole thing resulted from a pillow on the couch.  After a morning of battles, I lost it when he threw one of the couch pillows on the floor and adamantly refused to pick it up.  He looked at me with a huge grin on his face and declared, “No, Mommy!”  I spanked him and yelled.  He cried.  Benjamin is a sympathy-crier, so he cried because Jonathan was crying.  I felt bad, so I started crying.  Max ran to the door and howled to be let out of the chaos.  Yes, I’m sure the entire neighborhood could hear us.

So, why am I writing about this?  Why do I want people to know this about me?  I don’t.  My pride is very hurt in telling it.  I want people to see me as someone who has it all together, all the time.  But it’s not true.  I have learned in the very short time that I’ve been a parent that “Mothering” is “a sport”—a competition, to be exact.  Everyone always wants their kid to be the best, and we want to be the best at facilitating that for our kid.  So, we tell everyone about our triumphs as a parent.  We brag about all our kid can do.  We talk about all the wonderful things we do with and for our children.  But, not talking about our bad days—especially our own part in our bad days-- makes everyone else feel like they are the only ones who struggle. 

I realized this around the time that Jonathan turned one.  I was concerned about something with him (I don’t even know what now), and I was talking about it to my best friend.  One of the statements she made was, “I’m glad to know that you are unsure of some of these things too.  You always seem like you know so much about babies and kids because you’re an early childhood teacher.  You always have it so together.”  I will say that teaching early elementary school for the last 12 years doesn’t make a lot of things a surprise to me.  But, handling some of those things is a whole other story. 

I remember after Jonathan was first born, laying him screaming in his crib, taking a shower so I couldn’t hear him, and sobbing.  I felt so guilty.  I had an “easy” baby.  He ate well, slept “through the night” (6 hours in a row is not “through the night” to me) by 6 weeks, and rarely cried for no reason.  At the time, I thought I was the only person who had “an easy baby” that would do that.  Now, I know that pretty much everyone does that.  And, pretty much everyone loses it at one time or another (probably multiple times) with their kid.  

 Parenting is tough (it makes you appreciate your own parents a lot more).  It can be discouraging.  It definitely hurts your pride and reveals just what a jerk you can be sometimes.  It’s hard enough without trying to compete with all the other parents out there.  Yes, my kids are great, and I love them to pieces (even when they are difficult sometimes).  But, we do have bad days, and I AM a wreck sometimes.  I just want you to know that so you never look at me and think that I have it “together” and you don’t. 

Sometimes I can't control my children...

Sometimes my house is a (happy) mess!

It's The Little Things

May 9, 2012 (transferred from a previous post)

I took Jonathan to play at the play place in the mall today.  We met a friend and her kids there.  Since we both have infants, we figured it would be good to get our older children out to play and burn off some energy. 

I found myself getting so frustrated with Jonathan at different times of the morning.  It started even before we left the house.  He didn’t want his diaper changed—I had to chase his bare bottom around with a diaper in my hand.  He wouldn’t sit down to put his shoes on to leave the house—I had to chase him around with his shoes and socks in my hand.  He didn’t want to get in his car seat after he climbed into the car—I had to climb through the mini-van to catch him and strap him in his seat. 

Once we got to the mall, he had to hold my hand and walk to the play place because I only brought the single stroller for Ben.  I should have known that getting to the play area would take FOREVER.  As we walked into the mall through JC Penney, he had to stop and talk to every mannequin (which I informed him were not real people), wave at every person, and hold his hand out to make every piece of hanging clothing swing back-and-forth.  When we finally got into the mall-part of the mall, he stopped to look at every window display (“Lady, Mama!” at the Victoria’s Secret window, “Bike!  Kids!” at the GapKids window).  He periodically screeched (“I scream, Mama!”) when we would pass people. 

When we finally reached our destination, he wouldn’t stay in the play place.  I was sitting down to chat with my friend (whose children seemed to be pros at playing here), and Jonathan kept going out to play with the hand-sanitizer machine.  Why couldn’t I just sit and relax?  Why did I have to continue getting up to chase my child around a contained play area?  Why did my child try to climb out OVER THE TOP OF THE FOUR OR FIVE FOOT HIGH RAILINGS of the play area?!  AAHH!!!  I was so frustrated with him. 

As I ushered us back through JC Penney to go home because it was nap time, Jonathan suddenly slowed way down and started tugging on my hand kind-of funny.  I looked down at him to tell him to hurry-up, and he grinned up at me.  “I a pen-gin, Mama!”  He was walking with stiff legs and waddling back-and-forth while still trying to keep up with me and hold my hand.  Sometime in the last week or so, he has started to pretend play.  His silly grin seemed to be saying to me, “I’m growing up, and I’m learning new things all the time, and you’re going to miss it because you’re always in such a hurry and want things to be so perfect.  Let’s have fun and not worry if naps are a little late or if the house isn’t clean or if we eat leftovers for dinner two nights in a row.  Right now, I’m holding your hand.”