Just out of my reach! Letting go of expectations.

Today, I had a meltdown. Don't you lie to me! I can just picture you starting to put on the passive mask of indifference "oh really, a meltdown? That's too bad!" You know what I'm talking about... that day when all the little things that drive you crazy throughout the days/weeks/months come to a head and you lose it. It may be exploding in frustration, or crying into the porridge, or locking yourself into the school room with your coffee to "breathe". Or, if you were me today, all of the above.

I woke up early, good start! I felt good, not my usual exhausted self. I had coffee, made breakfast, cleaned the kitchen. It was 8am when everything started to deteriorate. It's the little things, throwing a load in the laundry and realizing that the dirty clothes have mixed with the clean clothes and laundry is all of a sudden doubled for the day. Then moving on to the school room to discover the kids got in to make you a "special craft" and it is utterly destroyed (as was my sanity at that point). After cleaning that up, I attempted to make an early lunch and all my kitchen cupboards had lost any semblance of the order they had been arranged in just a few weeks past. And I lost it. I vented frustration to the kids for not helping out, then I kicked them outside to finish lunch and cried into the muffin tins (a little extra salty tang in those bran muffins today). Then I took my sacred coffee to the sanctity of my school room and locked myself away, where I tried to understand the total spiral the day had taken. And to be brutally honest, I didn't get very far. But here are some of my many scattered thoughts.

It's just out of my reach: the answer.

That right curriculum that will work for the kids, for me, and fill all the gaps. The routine that will help me manage my home and build healthy habits to be more organized and on top of things. The ability to get up early and wear anything without an elastic waistband. I spend all my time searching for the answer to my problems, trying to find a way OUT of them, to fix them because I feel like if I don't I will crumble under the weight of my failure. But the alternative, letting go, seems just as unattainable to me.

The best I can figure is it has to be somewhere in between. Feeling like I can't operate in a disorganized mess, that's part of who I am. Letting go of that is just not in my make up. I really do think it is key to having a more successful day. However, finding that system, those bins, that bookshelf, that curriculum, to make our home schooling days idyllic... maybe that is not as practical of an expectation. Trying to blend my teaching style with 4 different children's learning styles, with four different levels, with everyone needing my help and only one of me... severely limits what kind of program I can do. It may not be the perfect fit for me or the kids, but it might be the only thing that works in our family until they can do their work more independently. And although getting up and doing my face and hair is a nice goal, I have to give myself grace for those rough nights or those mornings (um, seems to be every morning) when the alarm makes me want to crawl in a cave.

I have to change what I can realistically change in my environment, routine, supplies but also learn how to let go of "perfect".

A true perfectionist can look like a total slob. They are the ones who have the Martha Stewart meal in the oven with their perfectly organized bins and vintage dress and hairstyle one day, but the other 9 days you see them they are a total mess. The reason for this is that if they can't do it PERFECT, they don't do it at all. Anything less is unacceptable. And this is the hardest thing for me to let go of, being willing to do my best in the moment rather than living in extremes.

Well, dear reader, after this highly unpredictable day I can say that I finally do have the answer. I have found that perfect balance, I have written it down in a ten step plan for success that will revolutionize my home and create perfectly balanced children!

1. Wake up: time is not important, the important thing is that you got out of bed this morning! Give yourself a pat on the back and a verbal expression of your overall awesomeness

2. Start thinking about dinner, for TOMORROW: if you start thinking about dinner by 7am today, you are pretty much guaranteed to have an idea of what you want to make by the time 4:00 rolls around tomorrow! 

3. Shower: even if you look like a total hag afterwards, the important thing is that you will FEEL like you accomplished something and you are taking an important step forward into your day.

4. Eat a balanced breakfast: what you eat is completely inconsequential, but be sure to drink your daily allotment of caffeine, your kids will thank you!

5. Make it Fun! Dance and sing as often as you can for the kids, then if the day is a total bust and nothing gets accomplished, the kids will still think it was an epic day.

6. Make a very long list of embarrassingly simple tasks: ie. change the baby's diaper, make lunch, turn on the coffee maker, etc. Checking off each item will make you feel accomplished and give you a positive outlook on the day.

7. MUSIC: turn on inspiring and/or fast paced music loudly and often. This will help motivate you or at the least make you think about being motivated in a fond manner. In the very least, the neighbors will think you are doing something productive with all that Katy Perry. "Baby you're a firework!"

8. Blog: writing about your thoughts and dreams, although not actually doing them, is an excellent way to keep them in the forefront of your mind so you can do them another day.

9. Update social media: Take pictures and selfies each time you accomplish something in order to post them to social media sites throughout the day. Each virtual thumbs up you receive will make you feel like a winner and help validate you as a mother, homemaker, and woman. Try not to think about the time you are wasting doing this simple practice, soon it will become a complete habit and you won't even know you are doing it.

10. Lastly, if all else fails... do a ten minute tidy up before hubby gets home from work. Men are notoriously blind to detail and they will think you have had a very productive day. Fake it until you make it right?

Ok, so polite chuckles aside, I do NOT have the answer. Life never lets you get too comfortable and just when you start to think you have it, there's a new dynamic to adjust to. However, I feel like I have some understanding and will be working very hard to be more realistic with my expectations for myself, my home, homeschooling, etc.

Signing out!

Bedtime Battles

Who doesn't love a funny story? Especially when pertaining to family life. We can all relate to them, picture ourselves in them, and appreciate them. They make us feel a little bit warmer inside when we look at our own chaos and realize we're not alone, or better yet, not as bad as we thought.

So, dear readers, I am going to give you a big case of the warm fuzzies. You are going to walk away from your computer and face your world with a new sense of accomplishment and purpose. So pour yourself some creamer with a side of coffee and enjoy the ride.

Bedtime has become the most dreaded hour, nay 3 hours, in my day. I used to look forward to bedtime, yearn for it, count down the seconds until that blessed hour. Now I cringe when the clock says 6:30, I don't know if I am ready for this. Maybe I need a glass of wine before I start this war. I mean, come on people, its one against 5! I'm outnumbered, outmanoeuvred and simply put, outLASTED every darned night. By the time they finally submit, I raised the white flag an hour before. I have tried EVERY. LIVING. THING to get them to sleep. Routines, bath times with lavender, sitting outside their doors with the door open, switching beds around. The only thing that has had some semblance of success is the separation policy. Divide and conquer right? Each kid in their own room. The problem is that my house becomes a casualty of war and I can't go into any room in my home where there isn't a sleeping child to disturb. And honestly, my older three kids know better!

It didn't used to be like this. Bedtime used to be fairly simple. I don't know if it is having 3 kids in one room that has tipped the scales (who can sleep with that adorable squealing little girl vying for their attention???) or if it is just blatant disrespect. You might be thinking that 7pm is too early for bedtime, I have even been willing to concede on this point. I let Caleb and Selah stay up until 8 reading quietly in their room. It doesn't stop the complete and total gong show that is happening in the other room and "quietly" is open to interpretation on their behalf.

Aliyah still needs naps, but not every day. The days that she naps, there is NO way she goes to bed before about 10pm. She then keeps up Malakai and Janiah. Malakai just plays off the girls, enjoying every moment of this fun game in the girls room (we moved him from Calebs room in hopes of a better nights sleep, ha!). Janiah wakes up whenever we move one of our separation victims back in at 9 or 10pm and plays for a good hour thus waking up the others all over again.

Am I losing you yet? I think I lost myself a long time ago. We need more rooms in our house! I have a foamie permanently set up in my living room right now, seriously! I just explain to our guests that we are having bedtime battles right now. Yaaaaaa, they get it right????

Sigh, who am I kidding? We need to find something that works and soon! At this point I am ready to move caleb and selah into the laundry room and Janiah in by herself. I am so ready to just lay my kids down to sleep and have them…. wait for it…. OBEY! So ready for the whining all day long to stop because my kids are getting proper rest.

So this morning, think about how your bedtimes are going. I can almost guarantee they are going better than mine. And as you sip that warm, steaming coffee or tea in your hands, may the story of my nightly battles bring you a little smile and a proverbial pat on the back. You got this! I mean, as long as you are doing better than me, you got this ;)

Signing out

My Sunday Mistake

Today, I tried to have a nap. Why did I do that? With 5 kids you would think I had accepted the fact that those days are behind me. But in my everlasting state of exhaustion, I missed Sunday naps so bad today I couldn't resist the call of sweet sweet slumber. So I fed all the kids, got them watching a show, and poof! dreamland. It was epic, for the whole 10 minutes that it lasted. I was just breaking the surface of complete and total oblivion when "mom" collided with crying collided with "NO" at my door. With a sleeping night shift zombie beside me and a napping baby at the next door, I bounded out of bed a giant leap before my poor addled brain, to deal with the crisis at hand. After settling the drama, I forced myself to close the door to my room with a sense of finality accompanying the click and trudged to the kitchen. Here I sit, popping potty treat jelly beans like an addict to try to propel my lethargy to a general plateau of human existence. I don't even like these things! But its sugar or a giant pot of coffee, and Im sure the caffeine will not be appreciated in about 7 hours. The only thing that keeps resounding in my head is "WHY DID I DO THAT?!?!?!?!" Do I feel any better? NO! I feel worse, so so much worse. Tired beyond repair, frustrated, foggy, and just generally grumpy. The wrong side of the bed… I live over here right now. Who came up with that anyways? "Did you wake up one the wrong side of the bed???" Seriously, what is the RIGHT side? Because I can't seem to find it.  Every side I manage to clamber out of leaves me feeling incomplete, unrested, NOT READY to face the day. Deep breaths.

It's Sunday, the day of rest. Ha! My sour sense of humour mocks me with the reminder that with young children, it's really quite the opposite. Instead of staying in our pyjamas, doing school, relaxing all day. We have to wake up early, get everyone ready to go, pack up the van, show up late to church, try to keep everyone from becoming wild monkeys at the sight of other children to romp around with, just to pack them all back in and drive home. In a state of complete desperation everyone is hungry, tired, grumpy from a full week. No, Sunday is more like crazy day. I have tried to impose quiet time, put everyone downstairs, talk about how they need to stay down there. But when you put 4 kids in the same room, aged 2-7… who am I kidding?

The little angel on my shoulder reminds me that I went to church, listened to a nice sermon, I should be spiritually renewed and ready to face another week. But the OTHER me, the more skeptical, pessimistic side, laughs at the high hopes of a peaceful, encouraging Sunday. And reminds me that one day, in about 5-7 years, I can hope to have a relaxing Sunday come our way. Until then, buckle up my bootstraps, stop eating candy for pete's sake, and get going. Life doesn't stop for nothing around here, my biggest mistake was hoping for it.

From a jaded realist…. I truly hope that your Sunday has been more restful than mine. And if you have young children and your hubby is busy today: for heavens sake…. DON'T TRY TO NAP!!!! ;)

Quote of the Day #1

I had this idea that I would write 20 blog posts with "quotes of the day" from my adorable children. Whilst listening to their babbling and talking, the cuteness seemed to seep from them and I had a hard time choosing which irresistible tidbit to share with you all. And so it was, during one of my afternoon banters with my dear husband, that the quote of the day was sealed... not by my children, but by my criminally hilarious husband.

Insert dreamy picture here...

As I usually write about my children, I know this slight deviation may be confusing. However, I cannot help but write this ode to my husband, my best friend, the man who drives me crazy, makes me angrier than I have ever been, has the innate ability to make me laugh like no one else, my partner in parenting, and  (whimsical sighs everywhere) my soulmate. I know some of you are grimacing from the pure cliche of it all, but trust me, our story is not a storybook romance. It has been a rough, windy, crazy road, but I wouldn't trade a minute of it.


The Story


It all started about 5 and a half years ago. Jonathan and I met at a church function. And although we were inexplicably attracted to one another, we quickly ascertained each others age and that was that. I was dead sure he was far too old for me and he, in turn, was convinced that I was much too young for him. And so, we saw each other throughout the summer with an approving eye and not much else in the way of conversation... I had my sights set on a little bit... um, fresher meat ;)

A few months later, said hunk walked into the store where I worked all dressed up in his work overalls and I was flabbergasted. I mean, literally. I blushed like a school girl, my fingers turned to jello and I had the most embarrassingly impossible time dishing up his ice cream (to my credit, it was my first time... and it is much harder than it looks). Although my husband adamantly denies it, he did not help the situation, turning to full charm mode and enjoying my blushes far more than he should have. Needless to say, the tides had turned, and I could not get him out of my head. Long story short.... I found his number through more horrible embarrassment (I called around asking for the number of the "Jonathan with the black hair" um...... wow, it pains me to admit it). Within a year of calling him (nearly to the day), we were married. And I have spent the past 4 1/2 years with this incredibly complex person that I found I really didn't know at all.

We are dangerously alike. We are both stubborn, intense, passionate, determined, bull-headed. I suppose I thought that the golden rule would apply and that opposites would naturally attract. I remember thinking in our first year of marriage that surely there had been some sort of mistake... surely God wouldn't choose the two most stubborn ox's in the world and put them together... in a new career, with a new baby on the way, in a new town, away from family. SURELY not??!?!?!?!? If it looks like a recipe for disaster... you wouldn't be far off the mark. That first year both of us went through huge changes in ourselves. We grew, I grew, and through our clashes of personality... we somehow grew closer together. It was the hardest thing I have done. But both of us look back on those years with fond memories. Not because it was fun, but because we can CLEARLY see the road. We can clearly see the changes in ourselves and eachother. It is true that iron sharpens iron, and it isn't pretty, and it isn't comfortable but somehow, despite our similarities, we fit together so well. Not because it was natural. Not because it was easy. But because we have literally ground each other, through compromises, through letting go and giving in... into one. I know it isn't always the way it works. I know many couples have amazing honeymoon phases, I know that opposites often do attract. But I look at myself, and at my strong husband, and I think that I wouldn't change it for the world. I needed someone to push me, I needed parts of myself to die. I needed to soften in some ways, grow harder in others. In essence, I feel as though God has changed me and formed me into someone who is a little bit more pleasing in his eyes (and I hope, in my husbands ;)

Anyways, I went off on a bit of a tangent there. But, now you know a little bit about myself, my husband, and what brought us together. I suppose I can share with you the quote of the day:

(in reference to picking up dog crap in the backyard)

"It's like it's alive and when you reach down to pick it up, it gets angry--and releases its pungent odour"

May this post give you a little glimpse into the inner workings of our family, our marriage, and the man that I call husband and friend. He can make me laugh like no one else and I am so thankful to have him in my life.

Sunday Seranade

"Eat your cereal, stop throwing food!"

My kids just smile and think 'mom's in a mood'

Pushing my buttons, stretching the line

They push and they push, they cry and they whine

My mood turns serious, they know and recant

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry" they begin their rote chant

Closing my ears to their half-hearted pleas

I go to my room and get down on my knees

"God, I'm losing it, I'm blowing my top"

"Give me some patience, just help them to stop!"

I come out of my room, prepared for the worst

But my kids are sweet angels, my heart wants to burst

All day long I battle, they push till I drop

And then, only then, will they think they should stop

And just when I think my strength is waning

God gives me some more and my kids stop complaining

I had no idea, I had not a clue

That life as a mother could be such a zoo

A ride of emotions, a maze of the heart

And the scary part is... this is just the start!

Morning Musings

A baby is crying. I try to open my eyes but find them closed... indefinitely. Sitting up in my bed the cold hits me like a slap in the face and I shiver and shake as I make my way, blinded and dizzy, to the kitchen. Bottle, liner, formula, water, a little shake and I can go back to the glorious splendor of my bed, or so I tell myself. Malakai smiles up at me as I pop the bottle into his mouth and hope beyond all hope that he goes back to bed. He doesn't. He coos and squeals and Caleb starts to wake up, I look at the clock in a state of denial, 5:50am. Sighing, and fully awake, I decide I may as well go on my morning walk to clear the cobwebs that have taken up residence in my foggy head. The crisp morning mocks me for a day in August and I pull on a hat and gloves as I walk out the door. I walk, purposefully, determined. I no longer know how to walk any other way. No more meandering, I am a mom and I mean business! As I walk I think, I breathe in the cool fresh air, and I pray "God help me to come home to a quiet house, let me at least have a coffee in peace!" I come back home prepared for the worst and enter the house to silence. How great is my God! I make myself a coffee, and as I finish the last sip in my cup Caleb wakes up... how humorous is my God! Knowing I have no right to complain I greet my son (at 6:45am) with a smile and bundle him up against the cold (time to turn on the heat?!?!?!?!).

It is 7 o' clock. My son eats his breakfast and slyly asks (with a mischievous grin on his face), "what are you doing Rebecca?" Ah son, where do I possibly begin???? He asks for his mouse, a cat toy he found last night and has promptly given a home and a little water dish that he must cart around everywhere he goes. I sit at my computer, hoping to find some portal to the outside world, some connection with some other mom out there who is awake and wishing she was in bed. They are out there, somewhere. The moms who desperately pour themselves a cup of coffee hoping the caffeine kicks in before they have a meltdown. And somehow, without knowing who or where they are, I feel a sense of community with these moms and find I have the strength to turn off my computer and greet the rest of my little family.

HAPPY MORNING EVERYONE!

Midnight Mobilization

I went to bed in a state of sheer exhaustion. The effects of a long day with the children was wearing on me and washing the floor on my hands and knees was my undoing. Checking on the kids in one last attempt at 'grown-up responsibility' I finally collapsed on my bed. Allergy medication running through my veins, sending me to a place of distant awareness, I slept.

I was awakened by a squawk from my son in the wee hours of the morning. Let me clarify, that I wasn't just hearing the noise from a groggy distance, no, I was awake. I wasn't sure I understood when parents talked about waking up at your child's every sound. Probably because I was always so sleep deprived with newborns that I was never rested enough to truly wake up. Well, last night, I officially joined the ranks of alert parents everywhere.

I JOLTED awake. It was not a scream, not a sound of need or even a drawn-out cry. Rather a sound of annoyance. And every nerve in my being jumped at the sound. I sat up in bed with a start and wondered where I was and what I was doing. My mind may have been still half-asleep, but my body was not. Adrenaline coursing through my veins I knew I had been woken up for a reason. Once my sleepy thoughts caught up with the rest of me, I determined that it was Malakai and sneaked in to his room to discover the problem. He lay there, wide awake, sucking his fingers. Now, the great debate. He wasn't crying, he can easily make it through the night without eating, so what do I do? I decided to leave him to his own devices, he looked like he would just soothe himself back to sleep.

Crawling back into the warmth of my bed and trying to slow my still beating heart, I attempted to fall asleep once again. No, this is not a story of any great occurrence. Before I fell asleep, it happened to me at least two more times. I would be just starting to doze and he would give another squeak and the adrenaline would jolt me back awake. I swear, it was better than a cup of espresso! 

Needless to say, I am tired this morning. But taking it all as a sign that I am overall rested enough to be very aware of what is normal and what isn't.  And so I sit: looking at the sunshine, drinking my cup of coffee, and held captive by these three little kids I have. Enjoy your Sunday everyone!

A Mother's Musings

I'm feeling a feeling and I don't know why
I can't decide if I would rather eat or clean or cry
I have a list of things to do, it's getting rather long
But my interests are divided and my motivation gone

I dabble once in everything without one thing completing
And what the heck is wrong with me? I simply can't stop eating!
After pumping out a child, I thought I would be smaller
But somehow now I weigh myself and I just want to holler!

I watch a show or read a book and feel myself inspired
But is it worth the trouble when I just feel so darn tired?
It sounds like I do nothing and that really isn't true
In fact I clean and work all day, it seems like all I do

And so I'll stop complaining, for it isn't all that bad
I'd rather live in constant mess than be a mom that's mad
I'll bite my lip and hold my tongue and with my children play
For life's too short to dwell upon the hopes of yesterday!

Daily Duel

DAILY DUEL

The morning starts, the day is here

I roll over, my duty is clear

Pressing snooze I start to doze

But 10 minutes later, my rest is deposed

I sigh, I groan, I shake my head

And my weary body I force out of bed

"Try to be brave, try to be strong"

My mantra runs through my head like a song

I shower, I wash, I go to the sink

And there I mix up my favourite drink

Coffee in hand, my hair in a towel

My kids start to stir and call my foul

I look at the clock, disbelief on my face

My kids must think this a marvelous race

They must know, they must sense, they must have a hunch

To irritate mommy, they'll beat me to the punch!

I try to tune out the sounds that I hear

At least it's not crying, a few minutes so dear

I sit at the table and squeak out a prayer

"Oh God help me not to pull out all my hair!"

I pad down the hallway and open their door

Their faces light up, and I know this is war

It starts off with smiles and cute little antics

And then there's the screaming 'til one of us panics

My heart in my throat in anticipation

I make them some breakfast, with great expectation

They look at my meal and snub down their nose

And on the floor their disdainful food goes

I take them downstairs and cleanup with a sigh

And think to myself: "how will I get by?"

I turn on the TV for a moment of peace

And but for a minute the fighting does cease

We color, we play, we frolic outside

They scream and they fight and their time they bide

Until, of course, their father walks in

Somehow they are perfect: they squeal, laugh and grin

I try to explain the day that I've had

He looks at their smiles and says "it can't be that bad"

And so I trudge my way to bedtime

And flop on the couch with a feeling sublime

The day is over, the deed is done

Now I just wait for another one!

I try not to think of the trials ahead

  As I sit and relax with my husband instead

Morning Monotony

Laying in my bed, my sleep was disturbed by a muffled cry in the distance. Far, far in the distance. Perhaps, I thought to myself, it would go away if I could only go back to sleep. But it was no use, I was awake, and the 'cry in the distance' was in fact only coming from the room next door. My children beckoned and another day was upon us. Groaning as I lugged my ever-increasing girth from the bed, I went to save my daughter from the melancholy of her room. Diaper changes, morning hugs, more diaper changes, a routine I know well. Selah and Caleb greeted each other in the normal fashion: squealing and laughing and occasionally screaming as the other invades their "personal boundary" of the day. And I yawned as my body defied the action I was forced to impose upon it. Ah yes, another day at the Spooners was now in full bloom...

As I prepared breakfast I tried to distract my son from the 3 minute wait that to him, seemed an eternity. Dancing, singing, and eventually pulling out the morning Flinstone Vitamin from its hiding place. Ah, there we go, a moment of silence as Caleb consumed his morning treat. And as I continue on with the drama of my day, I was interrupted once again by his insistent pull at my leg. "Yes, son" I say for what already seems like the millionth time, my patience beginning to wane. "Mama, dyo haf gut sweeeeep????" My sleep-deprived brain takes a minute to log in the information being thrown at it. Crazily searching for something by which to reference the gibberish that I should, by now, be able to interpret with ease. And all at once, it comes to me. My 2 year old son is asking if I had a good sleep! Wonder of wonders. "Yes Caleb!" I cried as I swooped him into my arms for a snuggle. "Did you have a good sleep too???" "Ya mama" he sweetly replied.

As I continued my morning preparations, my day seemed a little brighter. The monotony a little fresher. I was faced with a glimpse at the man that my little boy will one day become. And I can't help but fall a little bit more in love with this "job" of motherhood to which I have voluntarily been assigned. 

cookies, candies, and chocolate...

I call it a slump. After a peak of energy and busyness, the lull becomes nearly mesmerizing. I have been running to clean and organize and chase two little rugrats all over my house, and spend as much time as possible with Jonathan on his days off. And at the end of it all, I am exhausted. And the urge within me, as I look at my tornado of a home, is to crawl into bed with as much junk food as I can fit beside me and eat, drink, and be merry with my good friend the television. Some would judge this inevitable side-effect of pushing myself too hard for too long. But I revel in the simplicity and console myself with the weak excuse that "I deserve it." Hmmm, do I indeed? Yes, I am pregnant and feel like a whale. Yes, my feet hurt, my back aches, and lack of sleep makes my eyes feel like lead. But does the world simply stop for me just because of these things? No, if anything, it seems to spin out of control on a path that I must follow or be destroyed.

Kids beckon, cat calls, husband wants me to sit and relax with him (so that he doesn't feel too guilty about doing it himself I suppose), and house silently begs me to ceaselessly pick up after the growing destruction. And round and round it goes. I cannot simply raise my hands in defiance and yell, "quiet!" I cannot lock myself in my bedroom where time stands still... (well I could, but I can guarantee you that what I would find upon leaving would be a disaster indeed). No, I must go on. For without me, the running of this tumbleweed household would stop turning and instead lurch back and forth in a most disorganized fashion.

And it is because of this explicit "need" for me: mother and wife and homemaker, that I continue to move at my tireless pace. Even when I know the dishes can wait, I can't sit down and relax. It is becoming a part of me, etching itself into my being. And the urge is almost too strong to resist. For this, I am thankful, it has given me a new sense of purpose and pride in my home. And because of this, I cannot complain. I cannot sit and stew in my mound of junk food. First I must prepare my home for the next flurry of activity that will invade it again come morning. Who knows, maybe when I am done my "duties" I will find a spare moment to 'slump' as my nature suggests. Now if only I could get moving :)

Just Survive until Bedtime...

The day dawned cold and crisp. No glorious sunshine awaited my sleep-deprived eyes, instead they were greeted with the gray-blue of a fall dawn and I could hardly wait to get out and enjoy it. Rolling over (a task which my growing abdomen greatly opposes), I groped to find the alarm clock, surprised to find that it was only 5:30. "What kind of person gets up at 5:30?" I questioned myself as I fluffed my pillow and attempted to fall back asleep. Only it was to no avail. The morning beckoned, and I could not stand idly by when there was so much to do. Getting ready as quietly as possible so as not to awaken my "super-sonic hearing children" I tiptoed down my squeaky hall determined to go out for a walk before they got up. I opened my door to freedom. Briskly putting one foot in front of another, I looked around me at the sheer silence and it was nearly overwhelming. What do I do with myself? I prayed, I thought, I planed, and I cut my walk short simply because I was bored and couldn't stand the silence. Shivering and feeling revived, I hopped into the shower, shocked that my house was still quiet and I was allowed the simple and yet mind-boggling freedom to perform this routine act--alone! And then, it began...

The eggs I make as an appeasement gift for my children (who are growing endlessly tired of eating cereal for breakfast), is thrown in my face. The house I have slaved over to clean, is destroyed in mere minutes. Caleb hangs onto my leg and cries, "Mommy sick", Selah follows me everywhere I go declaring my name in her whiniest voice, and I want to go back to bed. The diapers overflow with things to which I will not name, the cat I so vehemently insisted we have decides his litter box is too far and manages to fill my sons bed with his early morning offering, and the crying continues. Really, why did I get up? If you are thinking that my day proceeded to improve, you would be drastically wrong. Instead it was a sheer cliff to which we were fast approaching. A toilet drain going round and round of screaming, crying, pooping, runny noses, fevers, more screaming... By mid-afternoon, I had run squat out of ideas. No food was accepted, and yet they cried for food. No toy was good enough, no cuddle sufficient... they all ended in the same result: fussing, whining, crying. And I was at my limit. It is here that I insert my motto as a mother of children so closely tied in age... "just survive until bedtime." And survive I did. Because here I sit, in a house torn apart by both my children and myself in a desperate attempt to quiet them, in peace. And I am, indeed, alive. And as my swollen, aching self sits in denial and shock at the drastic change in pace, I realize that the freedom I strove for in the early morning hours of dawn are upon me once again. So I resign myself to another fateful day of sickness tomorrow, knowing that tonight is mine. And hoping desperately that the small tidbits of freedom I experience will give me the strength I need to face it all over again in the morning. Until next time!

A Modern Mother's Day at the Spooner's...

7am- woken up by the screech of a child in need...

GOAL: Let Jonathan sleep in a bit before you get him up.

8am- wake up Jonathan, he forgets to wish you a happy mothers day. Sigh, and the day of "appreciation and honor" begins.

8:30am- get ready for church.

9:00am- decide church is not going to happen unless you skip the shower today and try to cover your imperfections with a few layers of makeup.

9:15am- realize you are going to be late, and that the bags under your eyes are most definitely a permanent fixture.

10:00am- go to church, make your own row at the back where the kids will cause the least amount of disturbance.

10:30am- Caleb begins screaming when I ask for a prayer request, guess he doesn't like hearing mommy's voice on the speakers. Quickly finish speaking and try to calm him down.

10:35am- prayer begins, Caleb continues causing a collossal disturbance, send Timothy out with him to keep him quiet.

10:36am- hear Caleb's screeches carried through the sanctuary. Turn red in embarressment and a minor hint of pride as you realize that he is calling for his mama. Awww.

10:37am- call tim back in and hold Caleb throughout the remainder of the service, realizing that despite the days scattered beginnings, holding your almost 2-year-old in your arms as he whispers love and cuddling affection to you is, in fact, a wonderful way to feel honored and appreciated.

Happy Mother's Day!

A Covert Operation

Silence. Ahhh, my mind floats and concentration evades me. Where am I? I don't care. All I know is that the house, yes I believe I am in a house, is quiet and peace prevails. Wait a minute, peace? My calm and blissfully ignorant state of mind is shattered as I come upon the rapid realization that something is elementally wrong with this picture. I have an 18 month old, nothing should ever be quiet. Frantically, I pull myself out of my hazed stupor and proceed to search high and low for my busy little boy. "Caleb!" I call out, nothing. I search his room, the toys sit in wild abandon, mocking my futile efforts. "Caleb, come to mommy!" The bathroom... perhaps he is playing with the toilet paper! Running in that direction, I come upon definite signs of his presence, but my son is nowhere to be seen. The toilet paper has mysteriously been emptyed off its roll and haphazardly discarded into the toilet; which upon closer examination, now has the appearance of being hopelessly clogged. Yup, he was here all right! I close the door behind me to ensure no more damage ensues and continue looking. Selah's room is next, but the door is still closed, and she is still sleeping. No signs of toddler trouble here. The living room is empty as well. Cautiously arriving at my last resort I slow my pace and very carefully peer into the depths of the kitchen... nothing? Wait, that cannot be! There is no where else in this little house for him to hide! And then I hear it... "crinkle, crinkle, crinkle," he has to be here somewhere. Upon closer examination, I see my little monkey... under the table. He has geniously discovered his "potty candy" from the bathroom, and retreated to his hideaway to devour it in utter secrecy. Aha! Carefully assuming my "stern mommy" face, I step into the kitchen with my hands on my hips. "Caleb, what are you doing?" I watch as my son goes absolutely still, obviously under the misconceived impression that if he doesn't move, I can't see him (has he been watching too much jurrasic park with daddy???). As I begin my descent to his level, my ingenious son quickly realizes his precarious situation, and hastily shoves the remaining stash into his mouth. From here, he looks up at me apologetically as he preforms the sign for 'sorry' in a most convincing manner. I, being the all-knowing mother, have seen this act one too many times and proceed to lovingly and strictly direct my son towards his appropriate punishment. Afterwards, he grins up at me and runs away, mouth still brimming with candy. I sit down on the couch with a sense of wonderment. For despite doing all the right things, I have the uncanny impression that my son has just won the: "Battle for the candy." Oh well, there's always next time right?

Sleepless in the Spooner house...

The radio is blaring, or maybe it is a siren, I can't tell. I painstaikingly claw my way to consciousness, only to discover that it is Caleb's screaming and headbanging (yes, I said headbanging) that woke me. Laying in bed, I toss and turn, going through the "great debate" of what to do. Is he teething? Did he have a bad dream? Should I let him cry? What if he wakes Selah? Should I give him medicine? And on and on it goes. Finally deciding on a course of action, I crawl out of the warmth of my bed to confront this little powerhouse of a boy, my boy. Oy vey. From 12am-2am I drag myself out of bed no less than 20 times. Back and forth, back and forth. Only to have it start again at 6am when the motrin wears off. This pretty much describes my WEEK. One night, selah will sleep through it all, other nights it wakes her up. Take last night for example. Starting to get the picture of this whole "teething" thing. As soon as he woke up, I gave him motrin and took him to bed with me. After about 20 minutes (just long enough for the medicine to catch) I toted him back off to bed, and it worked!!!!! For a while anyways. He fell back asleep, selah woke up, I fed her and got her back to sleep, and.... you guessed it! Caleb woke up! A game of ping pong, in which I was forced to run from one end of the table to the other, this resulting in NO sleep at all. After a week of this, I feel worse than I did after Selah was born. And I thought the molars were bad! My son was joyfully awake and ready for the day at 5am, and no, he did not go back to bed (I even caved and gave him food in his bed, just to get a few more minutes of sleep). So here, I sit, awake half the night and up since 5, downing coffee as though my life depended on it. And yet, as I got Selah up for the day, I walked her out to where her brother was chowing down in his chair, explaining, "Yes, that's your brother. Brother was up half the night screaming like a maniac!" Of course, I say all of this in a sing song voice, and my adorable little son looks at her with his fake little grin on his face and nods his head dramatically... "yaaa selah, yaaa!" Oh my gosh, how can I be mad?????

So, choosing to take on an air of indifference to the nights in the Spooner Household, I am instead assaulted by the trials of the day. Spilling coffee all over, tripping on the mat, dropping food on the floor... yes, that's right, it is going to be another "one of those days". God help me. Literally.