Who Can It Be Now?

Something about the door closing makes the children swarm outside of it like moths to a flame. And the more they want to come in is in direct proportion to how busy I am on the other side and how much I don't want them to come in.

Tonight I was going to take a shower. My children had looked through me all night, barely acknowledging my existence. But, when I shut my bathroom door to take a shower, there was a knock.

"Yes?" I sighed.

"It's me," Amy called.

I flung open the door. The children are well-aware of my frustration of being interrupted while trying to have the tiniest bit of "me" time in the shower and in the bathroom.

"Hi," Amy smiled.

"Hello," I said curtly.

"What are you doing?"

"Taking a shower. Like I said I was going to. Before I came in here. And shut the door."

"Oh."

"Did you need something?" I sighed.

"No," she shrugged. "Okay. Well, 'bye."

"Goodbye. I'll be out in a minute," I said, waving while I closed the door.

I took off my make up and began undressing. Predictably, there was a knocking on my door.

"What?" I hollered.

"Mom?" Amy called through the door.

"Yes?"

"When is daddy getting home?"

"I don't know, sweetie. I'll be out in a minute."

"Okay," she said. Then after a minute, "Mom?"

"What?" I snapped.

It was dead silent outside my door, but her shadow moved back and forth. I opened the door.

"Amy? What?"

"You're naked," Amy observed.

"Yeah. I'm taking a shower."

"Why does your tummy poke out like that?"

I looked down self-consciously. Then I glared at her.

"Amy, I'm taking a shower. Please give me a few minutes to take a shower. I'll be out in a minute."

"Okay," she sang.

I closed the door behind me and turned on the water. I let the warm flow down my back and face. It felt wonderful as I began to let the grime of the day wash away.

Then there was a knock on the door.

"WHAT?" I screamed.

"Momma?" Amy hollered.

"I. AM. IN. THE. SHOWER!" I screamed in my if-you-don't-stop-it-I'm-going-to-yank-a-knot-in-your-tail voice.

"Jeez. Never mind," Amy snorted.

I got done with my shower in about two minutes and got out to dry off.

There was yet another knock on my door.

"Yes?" I sighed, wearily.

"Momma?" Emma asked timidly.

"Yes?" I asked.

"Can I please come in?"

"Give me a minute. I'm naked," I said, pulling on clothes quickly. "Okay. Come in."

"Are you wearing that to bed?" Emma asked, nodding at my bed attire.

"Yes, why?"

"Hey, Mom," Keith said, coming in.

"Mommy?" Amy asked, poking her head around the corner.

"Okay, guys. It is way past time for you all to be getting ready for bed. Please go."

They chatted as they left, and I shut the door once more to go to the restroom. Suddenly I heard a fight break out on the other side of the door.

"Guys!" I hollered.

All three began telling their side of the story through the door.

"Guys! Stop! Go away. Let me pee. I just want to pee.  That's all. Really," I begged.

Finally, it was quiet on the other side. I came out and washed my hands- with the door open. I brushed my teeth- with the door open. And I cleaned the bathroom up a little- with the door open. And with no interruptions.

When I went out to the kids, they were sitting together talking and getting along. I told them goodnight and tucked them in. Then I went to my room- with the door open- and began writing.

Now they are sleeping soundly. But I would bet money that if I closed my door they would somehow know it, wake up and come knock on it.

Say Aaaaaahhhhh

Keith has been one sick puppy.  He has had his tonsils in such a twist, he has missed just at 23 days of school in his last period class.

The doctor finally said, "Let's yank 'em."

So, we went to the surgery center and I watched them roll my baby away on a gurney.  After a bunch of nervous twitches in my seat, some pacing back and forth and storming heaven with prayer, a nurse finally came out to tell me he was in recovery and was doing well.

I went back to see him, and he was groggy, whiny and pitiful.  He made me cry.

We got him home and poured him into his bed.  He slept for several days in a row, waking up only when I shoved a spoon of medicine in his mouth.

Around the clock, I woke him every three hours to make sure we stayed ahead of the pain.  And it worked.  The day after surgery, the child asked for and ate a Wendy's hamburger.  Hubby and I felt awful!  We concluded that he had felt so utterly miserable prior to the surgery, that this was actually preferable for him.

Three days after the surgery, we ran out of the fantabulous narcotics the doctor had prescribed.  While Keith was really feeling better, he had really been leaning on his meds as a crutch.  Without the security of the meds, he spiraled.

Suddenly, he was waaaayyyyy whiny, his throat was killing him, he was going to "die".  By the time Easter rolled around, I was ready to kill him.

He is now to the point where he is happily bopping around... until you ask him how he's feeling.  Then he remembers he is supposed to be sick, and he crumples into a pitiful little ball of "oooooowwwww...."

If we make it through this, I will be handsomely rewarded:  Hubby goes in for surgery to repair a severely deviated septum Thursday...

The fun just never stops...

Get Ready to Rumble...

Tonight my oldest and youngest held another battle of wits that went something like:

"Unh-uh!"

"Uh-huh!"

Back and forth, back and forth, until I was screaming like a crazy lady, waving my arms around, screeching, "Just SHUT UP!"

If you asked them, I don't think they could even tell you what the argument was about.  The main goal, as it always is for them, is to be "right".

If I can catch their spats just as they begin, I can sometimes cut them off at the pass.  But, if I wait too long, like I did tonight, nothing short of catching them on fire and dangling them off the side of a building will interfere with their incessant need to make sure the other one is "wrong".

By the time I finally get them to pay attention to me, I have had to take away every privilege other than breathing.  After they've had the chance to calm down and re-group, they come to me abashed, apologizing and teary-eyed.

I wonder what life would be like if they put this much energy and emotion into something like, oh, keeping their rooms clean.  Or making straight A's on their report card(s).  Or becoming a pro in their chosen sport or hobby.  Part of me thinks about all the great things they could accomplish and achieve.  Part of me cringes at the idea of their driven, one-track, hyper-focused, Type A, perfectionist personalities pointing their laser beams at anything with that kind of intensity.

I can tell you something for sure, though:  whatever their chosen profession is when they become adults, I would want them on my team.  You would have no better lawyer arguing your case, no better doctor tracking down your symptoms and curing your illness, and no better spouse/parent working with you on a family.

My middle child?  She is the peace-keeper.  She is the one who will balance out the other two.  She is the one who calls them out when they are being petty, mean, selfish, prideful, or just plain stupid.

I love them all dearly.  And I wouldn't change them for the world.

It would just be awfully nice to have a "mute" button every once in a while...

I Love Being "Mom"

From the time I can remember, I have always wanted to be a mom.  I played with babies and barbies for hours on end.  I was always the grown up, and I always, always had babies.

That yearning never stopped.  As I became a young adult, I decided I wanted to be a Teacher.  That career choice, for various reasons, did not happen.  I ended up falling into Marketing and Sales, which I enjoy.  But, through it all, I wanted to be a mom.

Hubby and I were very blessed in that having children was never an issue for us.  And within a short time, our family of two grew to robust, happy family of five.

I have enjoyed my children beyond measure.  And I love sharing their stories, my joys and tears and our every day life with friends, family and here, on my blog/diary.  I try to infuse humor wherever I can.  Because I feel humor warms the soul.

I am always frank, candid and honest with my children.  I try to treat them as much like "adults" as is appropriate at the time.  I love to be silly and funny with them.  And they have grown up realizing that sarcasm can usually fight through even the most ugly of childhood meanness.

I have always felt like my job for this life is to prepare my children to be happy, well-rounded and productive members of society.  God has great plans for them.  And my job is to get them ready for them.

However strong and convicted I feel about everything I've written above, there are certainly moments of doubt.  Did I say the right thing?  Did I do the right thing?  Last night was one of those moments that gave me pause.

Emma and I were finishing up her homework together.  She yawned and stretched and murmured, "I have a headache," while rubbing her temples.

I looked at her through my own very sleepy eyes and confessed, "I do, too."

She looked up at me without missing a beat and said, "You always have a headache.  You have kids."

The humorist in me was is stitches.  I immediately tweeted and Facebooked her fantastically funny quip, and called my parents to share what an immensely funny grandchild they had.

Then... this morning I woke up, and her words were ringing in my ears.  But they were no longer funny. Instead, they were haunting me.

Is that what she thinks parenthood is about?  Having one long, continuous headache?  My heart ached and tears sprung to my eyes.  I wanted to run to her and say, "Oh no!  You have it so wrong!  Motherhood is a blessing, a joy, the very best thing that has ever happened to me in my life!  YOU are the reason God put me here!"

But I managed to reign in my inner drama queen and go about my day without accosting her with drippy, sappy words of love and devotion.  Instead, I will will try to infuse everything a little at a time, like I do the rest of my "teaching" and "love."

And I will try to show her that parenting is more than just headaches...  It's also backaches, sore muscles and all sorts of other problems....  Yeah, I just couldn't help it....

They Like Me, They Really Like Me!

"Mother of the Year" is a title that I gain and lose on an hour-by-hour basis. 


 When I ask them to clean out the dishwasher and reload it, I'm told that none of their friends have to do that, and they conspire in the corner trying to figure out how to turn me in for abuse.  When I tell them they have to go to school, despite the fact that they sneezed once while getting ready, I am sending them to their death, and they are certain I don't love them at all.


These proclamations used to hurt my feelings, and even make me angry.  But then I realized that these little people are more fickle than the media, and what is bad today is good tomorrow, and vice versa.


I'm also amazed at the pettiness of the things that warrant such a display of emotion.  If I were to actually tell them I hated them and then shackle them to the shower head and make them clean the toilets, I could understand their passionate stances.  But asking them to change their shoes surely isn't reason to want to run away from home, is it?


Today I felt the other side of their rants: the good side.  


My teenaged son said I was, "A to the MA to the Zing."  


My daughters said, "Thank you, mom!  You're the best!"


Had I purchased them a home worthy of being featured on MTV Cribs?  Had I brought home a personal assistant for each child so that they wouldn't have to clean their room?  No.  I had bought some yogurt-covered snacks to include in their lunches.


The praise and accolades continued on for a while.  The children drew me pictures and made up songs about my greatness.  My husband stood by amazed.


I just laughed, and took it in stride.  I know tomorrow I'll be back on their "naughty" list for something.  But for today, it was nice to be like Sally Field's accepting her award, when she said, "You like me!  You really, really like me!"