My Baby Thought I Could Quit

I’ve always wanted this. In high school I worked for an after-school childcare program and sometimes the kids would accidentally call me mom. They would get so embarrassed and turn red but I would be beaming with a huge smile. I didn’t have any kids of my own yet but I was already anxiously anticipating the day when I would be mom to someone. Everything I wanted for my future was to be married and have children (I like to think big). I knew that anything else that poured out of my life would be icing on the proverbial cake. I just wanted a family. Because being a stay-at-home mom is what I always wanted, a lot of the annoying things that occur when taking care of children all day just feel like another day at the office to me. Another poopy diaper? Yep it is 10:00a.m. so that sounds about right. You dumped out all the blocks and played with them for two seconds? Ahh typical. But there is one area of my job that plagues me because I cannot (and probably will never) win. No matter how hard I try, no matter how much effort I put into it, the kitchen will never (ever) be totally clean. Actually, I think the fact that I keep trying is the definition of complete insanity. 

Yesterday I was finishing up getting lunch ready while I tried to simultaneously put the clean dishes away. I threw some fruit on plates for my kids to serve as an appetizer until lunch was ready and hoped it would keep them occupied long enough to finally get caught up on the dishes. I had also given my son, Emmett, a bowl with a little bit of leftover smoothie from the night before. The kids were doing surprisingly well and every parent’s goal of having a clean kitchen was finally in my sights. We had spent the entire Fourth of July weekend doing every except cleaning, so with it being July 5th and the long weekend over, I was itching to get everything put back in its place. 

The stove which had endured more than five meals without being wiped off was sparkling. The crumbs in the microwave had been evicted and even the entire kitchen floor had been freshly swept. Ahh it was beautiful. I was about to achieve the miraculous feat that parents constantly strive for and rarely achieve; a clean kitchen. 

And then as my back was turned to my kids, I heard Emmett say, “Uh-ohhhhh. Sah-wee Mommy….” I slowly turned around to see that he had dropped his bowl and my freshly swept floor was now full of sticky pink smoothie. It was dripping down the counter and somehow had splattered in a 12-inch wide radius across the floor. I envisioned him playing around with his bowl and being goofy right before he dropped it and said, “Ugh. Emmett I am not happy about that.” He immediately dropped his chin onto his chest with an expression of total shame on his face. I realized almost instantaneously that I had been too harsh. With my super sensitive boy, a serious tone is enough to break his heart. I was just assuming that he had been playing around, I had no proof. Maybe he had been trying to hold the bowl while he climbed down from the stool with intentions of putting it in the sink for me. I honestly didn’t know, but I reacted with frustration because my spotless kitchen had once again, just been taken from me. 

I then told Emmett it was ok and I would like him to help me clean it up. I turned toward the sink to grab my cloth and as my back was turned I barely heard Emmett mumble, “Are you not gonna be my mommy anymore?” I froze and my heart sank. With no idea where he had heard that phrase, I did know that I must be sure he knew the answer to that question. I dropped the cloth and marched over to where he was still pouting on his stool. I sank down on my knees so that my face was level with his and gently pulled his chin up so that his eyes met mine. He was struggling to hold back tears and I smiled to show him I wasn’t upset. Then I took a deep breath and said, “Baby, I will always be your mommy. Always.” The second the last word left my lips he launched himself into my arms so hard I almost feel backwards. I hugged him tight against my chest and as he started to pull away I kissed his soft cheeks until he giggled and playfully squirmed in my arms. 

He must have heard that phrase from a movie or tv show and decided to use that moment to test it. I’m not even sure if he totally understood what it meant. But, even so I knew that I needed to affirm for him that being his mom is something I will forever be. It’s everything I ever wanted. Now that I do have the title of mom, it’s something that can never change. I will never not be their mom, and that makes me very happy. 

Maybe someday I’ll joke with Emmett about how when he was two he asked me the most ridiculous question anyone could ask me. Will I ever stop being his mommy? 

Absolutely, and positively, no.  

Blessings,

Shantastic

My Babies Totally Don't Get It

Everyone has those moments in life. When you have reached adulthood and you suddenly freeze because you realize you just did something that was EXACTLY like one of your parents. For some people this causes them to shudder and essentially freak out, but thankfully not for me. I never set out to purposefully not turn into my parents. They’re pretty amazing people. Many of the things I learned from having them as my parents were very easy to engrain into my own life because they are simply fundamental. Unconditional love, making family a priority, the importance of quality time and all that good mushy stuff just naturally came out of living life as their kid. 

A lot of the things they tried to teach me totally made sense, such as kindness and respect. Other things I didn’t quite comprehend because they were adults and I was just a kid. I remember I never understood my dad’s tradition of making my brother and I give him a little peck on the cheek if we wanted something. I would come bounding into the room blurting out a request and before he would start to get up from his chair he would just barely lean his cheek toward me and slowly reach up one finger to tap the side of his face. He didn't even have to say anything because we knew what he meant. In our childhood impatience we would sigh, run over and give him a quick kiss and then start bouncing again while we asked if NOW he would complete our request. Nearly every time we directly asked him for something, to get the sprinkler out or to have a snack, without fail he would just tap his cheek and we knew. I remember completely not understanding how in the world a kiss on the cheek from me could be payment for spending two hours chasing us around the yard with the hose while we hooted and giggled. 

As the kid, I didn’t understand it. Now, I do. 

This time I’m the parent. Once my daughter reached an age in which she knew and understood what kisses were, I caught myself doing the exact same thing my dad had done so many years ago. My little girl came sprinting over to me to ask if we could play with bubbles, and without even thinking I smirked at her, raised my finger up to my cheek and pointed. The moment my finger hit my cheek I paused and thought, wow, like father like daughter. In the case of continuing super sweet and simple family traditions, I was choosing to have my apple not fall far from the tree. As Grace stared at me with a very confused look on her face, I prompted her again with another tap to my cheek and said, “a kiss please”. She saw this as the quickest way to get what she wanted so she obliged and went on her way. She totally didn’t get it. But suddenly, I knew why my dad had done that for all those years.

Getting kisses on the cheek from your kids is pretty much the sweetest thing in the world. You spend what feels like forever with this baby that you love SO MUCH and the baby literally can’t do anything except eat, poop, and sleep. And then, one day that kid can magically give you a kiss and somehow your heart is filled to the brim just by feeling their little wet lips on your cheek. It’s the best.

So, I have continued my dad’s tradition with Grace and then even passed it on to Emmett when he got old enough. He has caught on to the point where he even includes the kiss in his request. “Hey MomMom can you get my down from this slide? I give you kiiiisss!” And obviously, sometimes they are just not up for my silly requests to get kisses on the cheek. And that’s ok. I’ll never force them to do it, but if they’re in a happy mood I want them to know how much I cherish their affection. 

Dad, I get it now. And I know now that you didn't need the kisses in order to motivate you to do those fun things for us (like chase us around the yard with the hose). You did it because you wanted to. And you asked for those sweet little kisses from your kids because you wanted those too. I promise Dad, I'll never be too old to give you a kiss on the cheek. All you have to do is ask. 

Blessings,

Shantastic 

I took this photo a couple months ago when my husband had gone out of town and my mom came up to visit. I’m pretty sure she would agree that Emmett gives some of the best cheek kisses in the entire world. I mean, look at those puckered lips. You definitely can never say anything bad about his level of commitment when it comes to kisses on the cheek. 

My Babies Have a Pet Alligator

So…I totally lied to my kids (by accident).

We moved into a new house back in September and our yard now backs up to a very small pond. When people have come over to see our new house, the very first question they ask is, “Doesn’t the pond make you a little nervous with the kids?” 

Of course, it does a little. But, they are still so young that we NEVER let them go outside by themselves. Even when we lived in the middle of a neighborhood, if we were playing outside and one person needed to pee, we all went to go pee. Plus, the pond has about a five foot wide layer of thick and spiky weeds, wildflowers, and thistles surrounding it. We knew that the owie-inducing brush would for sure help to be a deterrent and keep them from wanting to explore the pond ‘where the duckies live’. 

But then, as fall approached and the foliage everywhere began dying and wasting away, we realized that the secure layer of “pokey thingies” no longer existed. As I was playing outside with the kids on one of these brisk fall afternoons, I noticed they were getting a little more brave about stepping across the weed/wildflower threshold. I not only wanted them to listen and respect my instructions about not going near the water, but I hate to admit, I did want them to be just a teeny, tiny bit afraid of it. A little healthy fear never hurt anyone right?? (Please tell me I’m right because here comes the part where I turned into a liar with her pants on fire.) 

Really, I blame my daughter. My firstborn who came into this world with a firecracker sizzle would rather give the general concept of authority a big kick in the gut. She wasn’t being swayed by my steady warnings about staying on the grassy side of the yard. I knew that if I really put my foot down and we went through the whole consequences song and dance that we would achieve the same goal, but I was just. so. over it. As she stared me down and began to lift her foot ever so slowly up and over the weed barrier, I quickly blurted out, “Be careful baby. You don’t want to wake up Larry.” She immediately froze with her foot in the air and her eyes grew wide. “Who’s Larry??” she asked with a flash of worry on her face. “Oh hun, he’s the alligator who lives in our pond. He’s pretty cranky so you don't want to get too close to the water and make him mad.” After the words left my mouth I thought, ok, she totally knows I’m kidding right..? This is like that time when she said there was an elephant sitting with us at the dinner table and we all pretended to serve him dinner…Right? 

She slowly lowered her foot back onto the grass/safe side of the yard and then began grilling me with questions about Larry. 

How did he get here? The ducks pick him up and carry him here every spring and then in the fall they bring him down to Florida for the winter

What does he eat? All the food that Emmett wastes (He's a picky eater=lots of wasted food)

Who feeds him? (At night mommy carefully walks down to the pond and sets the food out for him. Larry only likes mommy but even mommy has to be careful because he’s such a cranky alligator) 

After about ten minutes of chatting about Larry I realized, oh my gosh, she totally 100% believes me. So, I decided I would just let it go and assumed that after a few days of not mentioning Larry, he would be lost and gone forever in her little mind. 

Over a week later when Grandma and Grandpa came to visit, Gracie started rambling on about everything that had been happening to her recently. Without any warning, she began reciting EVERYTHING about the alligator who lives in our pond. Even Emmett chimed in with important little details about him. My parents kept glancing at me trying to figure out what in the world she was talking about. I finally just threw my hands up in the air and sheepishly said, “Well..atleast I know they’re scared to go in the water…??” 

Now, months have gone by, Larry went to live in Florida for the winter, and my kids keep asking if the ducks have brought him back home yet. I keep saying, ‘No, not yet.” because I’m trying to decide if he will. Maybe he’ll stay south for the rest of their childhood and instead of using a fake alligator to keep them safe we’ll put up a fence.

Or maybe…I’ll buy a “Beware of Alligator” sign for our backyard.

Have you ever lied to your kids (by accident, of course) ? 

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It’s been exactly one month since I started up the blog again! If you’re here with me, thank you. Starting to write again has been very life-giving (and maybe just a little scary). Sometimes I write about deep and personal revelations I feel God has given me about motherhood, and sometimes I talk about the fake alligator I lied to my kids about. Either way, my brain feels less cluttered by having a place to let my inner-monologue run wild. Thank you for listening. And please don’t underestimate how much I enjoy hearing from you. I don't have to be the one doing all the talking :) 

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Hugs, love, and onward,

Shantastic