Monthly Confessional

Time: my most precious commodity. At the end of each day I am left with a lingering sense of lost moments, discarded opportunities, forgotten promises. With three children under three, every day is condensed to the simple objective of survival. However, those wasted seconds, minutes, and hours will one day come back to haunt me. I suppose at the end of all things, we will always be left with the fact that it was not enough. We could have done more. We could have tried harder. So I do not pretend to subject myself to unrealistic expectations that steal my joy... I am human. I fail. I make mistakes and won't do it right all the time. But the reality is this: I don't want to survive. I don't want to make it by. I don't want to sit down at the end of the night feeling as though I had a 'productive day' because my to-do list is smaller whilst my children spent the afternoon in front of the TV or playing in a room. I want to do it right. I want to be engaged with my children, enthralled by them. I want to use every opportunity to teach them and hug them and praise them and delight in the goodness they represent in my life. 

I hereby confess my attempts to occupy my children with things so that I can get my chores done. I confess to wasting away whole days with trying to keep them busy so that I can accomplish my tasks.

I sincerely hope that this merely portrays me as human rather than an awful mother. I do try. In fact, I spend my evenings after the kids are in bed pining away at what could have been and regretting the poor decisions I made that day. I go over my catalogue of confrontations with the children and dissect them in infinite detail wondering how I could have handled it better. And through this daily 'recap' if you will, I hope that I am becoming a better mother. I hope that next time I don't make the same mistakes or fall into the same pits. I am learning every day and my children delight in teaching me and challenging me with new and brilliant strategies to test my knowledge!

I like to think I am a good mother, even when I don't do it all right. My kids keep me young and bring a fresh vibrancy to my life that I would be lost without. They are my light, my sunrise, my bouquet of very wild flowers! Many would tell me that I 'am a wonderful mother' and I would believe them :) But the reality is that I could always do better. And it is this unattainable goal of perfection that I will strive towards. I will never make it there, it will be disappointing each day when I fail, but my kids are worth the effort. For them I will get up each day aiming to be the very best, engaging, delightful, ever-praising, cheerful mother that I can be and pray for the strength to do it!

Who, me?

The sun is shining, the birds are singing, I have fresh stew simmering in the crock-pot and kids screaming in the background. And I think to myself: How will I find the creativity to write today? My mind feels like a nice pot of mashed potatoes. Trying to pick out coherent thoughts is possible, I am sure, but the question is, is it worth the trouble? You see, this is one of those days. You know the ones where you just seem to float on the sweet wisps of indifference? I am floating. Finding the will to focus is far from my sight and I feel like I simply pass through the motions one by one. Somewhere, in the deep, dark crevices of my mind, I know I should care... should devote myself fully to my tasks. But sadly it all comes down to the majority. And the majority vote is in, I'm too tired to be vibrant today. The rainbow is gone, the sparkle in my eye must have been carelessly misplaced. Today I am just me. Today, I just try to get by and do what I have to do. Not to say I am discontent. Neither am I faced with the bleak prospect of unhappiness. Instead I am simply plagued by the familiar pit of complacency and the effort it takes to climb out seems hopelessly out of reach. 

And so I sit at my kitchen table, watching the sun move its way painstakingly across the sky, and pining away for yet another cup of coffee. The house waits in utter disarray and I choose to be an innocent bystander in this game of "house".  I claim the right to wide-eyed naivety! I can do my work, I can watch the kids, I can make dinner... and at the end of the day when I look around at the things I failed to accomplish, I will boldly ask the question, "who me?" And so, don't point your fingers at me today! Please reserve your judgement for tomorrow. Because today... I claim ignorance!

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

The Spooner Clan: post baby

Well, it has been a long time since I have written down my thoughts and I figured it was time to share with you a glimpse of what it is like to be outnumbered!

I'll be honest with you. For all those well-meaning individuals who assume we have gone of the deep end having our kids so close together, three is not much different than two. For now that is. I am quite certain that once Malakai is crawling and interacting and able to fight with his brother and sister, that will change. But for now, all it means for us is one more person to be aware of. One more diaper to change. One more mouth to feed. One more cry to listen for. I mean, we already do that all day long, so it honestly is not that different.

However, there are of course moments when I am busy nursing or changing Malakai and my older two take advantage of my busy hands. And those are the moments that I will hereby document.

Exhibit A

A moment of neglect in which I got Selah dressed after the bath and was feeding Malakai while Caleb played. When I returned, Selah had apparently decided to go in for a second dip. Wow, that was a great night! 

Exhibit B

A moment of silence. Have I not learned that this is a BAD SIGN????? Caleb and Selah went into the bedroom and shut the door. They were playing so well, I let them at it while I enjoyed a moment of serenity. Let's be honest, I knew they were too quiet, I knew trouble was imminent. However, it was too good an opportunity to pass up. I thought, "how bad can it be, they are only in the bedroom." Sigh. Live and learn. Or in my case, don't learn.

As you can see, my kids are much too smart to not take advantage of my busy hands. They know that I am busy and they know they can pretty much do whatever they want when I am nursing. This makes for some interesting scenes to come upon when Malakai is done. But, so far it has not been anything dangerous, and for that I am thankful. A mess is fairly easily undone. And if you can believe it, those things haven't been happening lately thanks to the fact that Jonathan is on paternity leave. We may be outnumbered, but life is a lot easier when he can watch them when I am busy with Malakai!

Anyways, other than typical meltdowns and such, life is progressing as normal. And because I don't leave my house without Jonathan, disaster is, at the moment, nearly obsolete. So until the next imminent household disaster...

Not Alone

It was a cold, blustery day. A typical fall morning that begins with a foreshadow of the snow to come and blossoms into a crisp, sun-warmed afternoon reminiscent of days gone by. A day that reminds me why this season holds my heart ransom to its ever-changing moods and blatant disregard for consistency. Safe and warm in the shelter of my home, I wrapped a sweater around me as my mind flittered in a most disorganized fashion over the coming days. Dreaming, planning, wondering what the week will bring and what surprises the days might hold. It is not to be however, for soon I hear... like a bear rustling in its cave after a long, lonely hibernation... the stirrings of my children. A fuss, a squeal, a song sung in the distance, a foot banged against the wall. And without a doubt, I know that the time for daydreaming has gone and the time for action has arrived. Sighing, I make my way to Caleb's bedroom. He beams up at me from his bed and sweetly sounds his "goot-moning mama!" As I make my way to Selah's room, he runs after me laughing in anticipation as he barges in with a cheery greeting and familiar attempts to climb into her crib. The squealing, the smiles, the pure joy of being alive fills my kids faces and I cannot help but be swept up by their sheer enthusiasm. And so my days oft begin.

My days are a colourful hodgepodge of fun and laughter, tears and sadness, and even monotony of a routine practised too diligently. Suffering through yet another tantrum, guessing over the interpretation of yet another cry... they are a daily ritual that I have become so accustomed to it hardly bears reason to comment. And yet they, these moments of perhaps drudgery to some, are what makes up the very substance to my days. And it is because of their vast significance to me that I find myself greeting my husband when he gets home and waylaying him with countless stories of the particular happenings in our household. A stranger on the road does not care that my daughter said a new word, or that my son told me he loved me. These small details can easily become 'information overload' for those who are our dear friends and family when told in a rambling fashion. And this brings me to recount the significance of marriage. At least part of the significance of marriage as it stands with me.

My husband is many things to me. But of all the mantles he may assume, my friend is the most prestigious position he holds. Our children are a product of both of us. He can get caught up in the story of Caleb's antics or Selah's tantrums alike and smile fondly at their stubbornness so familiar in our own lives. He can listen to what we ate that day or how many times they threw up that day, or how they fought that day and genuinely be disappointed that he was not there to share in the upheaval of it all! He is my partner and for this, I love him with all of my heart. Parenthood, friendship, these are not the things that hold us together. But they bind us together in a way that nothing else can. Being a mom is everything I ever imagined it would be and more. It fulfills me and completes me and makes me crazy some days! But without someone to share it with, without someone to care... let's just say it wouldn't be the same. Somehow it is worthwhile to go through the "screamfest" of a day, when I get to come home and lean on my best friend and we can laugh together and I know that I am not alone.

Simon: terrorized and adored.

A persistent meowing in the distance causes me to pause for a moment and consider: where is Simon? Simon is our kitten. He spends much of his time in the garage or outside where I can walk without him whining at my leg and where he is safe from the loving "attentions" of my children. When he spends time indoors, things invariably get messy.

He either "marks his territory" on our beds, or in some dark, hidden corner. Or perhaps the kids grab him by the hair or the tail rather than the body. Caleb is very taken with throwing him in the running bathwater. Which, to be honest, he (being the cat) actually doesn't mind so much... but makes a mess and a lot of work for me. And tonight, the meowing. Somewhere. It struck me as so odd because our little kitten can be very persistent and very noisy, and this sounded too far off to be normal. I knew he was in the house, so why wasn't he meowing at my feet as usual. Something in me, some instinct deep inside caused me to turn to my son and demand: "Where's Simon???" Sure enough, my son had decided to try out a new experiment: Putting the cat in my side-table drawer. The poor cat. I think if he had known what he was getting himself into, he would have run the other way when we walked into that house to pick him up. And yet, we wanted a pet so that our kids would learn to be gentle and loving and responsible (perhaps too much to ask at the tender ages of 1 and 2) and if nothing else, Simon does provide endless entertainment and is relatively good to the kids. He still comes and purrs at their leg and lets them pick him up. Either he is a glutton for punishment or he realizes that the few gentle "pats" from the kids may be the only affection he will receive that day. I don't have time to sit and pet him, so he has at least resigned himself to tolerate and even seek out the littlest ones in the house.

All I can say is that despite feeling sorry for him, I can't help but laugh at some of the crazy experiments my children preform. And even his placid reaction to what is heaped upon him is amusing. Hmmmm, maybe I will read my book with my poor, terrorized kitten on my lap. Perhaps it is the least I can do.