My Mom Isn't Perfect

My mom isn’t perfect. She has some faults. She’s addicted to tall glasses of whole milk, ice cold cola (which she likes to drink out of double barrel straws), and all kinds of chocolate, which makes her waistline a little bigger than it probably would be otherwise. She loves to shop at thrift stores a little too much and her home isn’t nearly big enough to house all her treasures. She talks too loudly and too long, and sometimes the only way to stop her is to rudely interrupt. She’s overly sensitive to what others think of her and will cry at the drop of a hat. She’s sometimes bossy, often stubborn, and always opinionated.

My mom isn’t perfect, but I still love her.

She may not be perfect, but she tries hard. My mom always gives everything her all. She is the most selfless person I know. She gives and she gives and she gives, past the point when she couldn’t possibly give any more. She and my dad both had to work full time jobs in order to support their large family, but it was her utmost desire to stay at home to raise all five of her children. It breaks her heart to this day to talk about the pain she felt when she left for work every morning, handing her little ones over into the care giving arms of another. She made that daily sacrifice for me, my brother, and my sisters so that we could have the priceless gift of each other. As we grew older and money stayed scarce my mom always made sure her kids had more than they needed, all the while never keeping anything for herself.  If she was given a gift certificate for her birthday she would use it to buy something for someone else. And on the rare occasion that she’d be lucky enough to squeeze a box of Hostess Ding-Dongs out of the grocery budget, she would graciously dole out the treats to us kids until the box was empty. Looking back, I wish I’d never begged for one and let her enjoy those snacks all by herself.

My mom isn’t perfect, but she is giving.

She may not be perfect, but she means well. My mom has a heart of gold. She does everything with the greatest intentions and always wants the best for her family. My mom has showed me nothing but unconditional love. When I was five and I decided that I wanted to be a tomboy, she loved me through it. She let me wear boys’ shorts to school and cut my hair short and she bought me dinosaur toys for Christmas and threw me a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle birthday party. My childhood was filled with love. I remember the day I was cut from the high school tennis team and I came home in tears, sobbing all the way to my bedroom. I was afraid that my mom would be disappointed in me since she was a big tennis star in her high school days, but she found me in my room and scooped me up into her embrace. She assured me that I would find a different way to blossom, and the next day she took me to join the high school marching band (in which I made many treasured memories and lifelong friends). That kind of encouragement, support, and love is always in abundant supply in my mom’s heart. My life is filled with examples of ways she fostered my interests and ambitions. She genuinely desires for her kids to know happiness and does everything in her power to help us find it.

 My mom isn’t perfect, but she is loving.

My mom isn’t perfect, but neither am I. As moms, we do the best we can with the gifts that the Lord gave us. After that, all we can do is pray that others will show us mercy and grace to forgive our shortcomings. It took me becoming a mom to understand. I fall short in many ways, on many occasions, and for many reasons but I try hard every day to show my children abundant love and strive to teach them how to love abundantly in return. I hope that one day my kids will appreciate the good I’ve done in their lives and forgive me the bad.

My mom isn’t perfect, but she taught me how to give and how to love. I couldn’t ask for anything more.

My mom isn’t perfect. She’s addicted to chocolate and her waistline is a little bigger than it would be otherwise, but it makes her hugs that much more soft and warm. She loves to shop at thrift stores too much, but it makes her the right person to ask for help in finding a good deal or a rare treasure. She talks too loudly and too long, but it makes her the perfect person to call when I’m feeling especially lonely. She’s overly sensitive to what others think, but that is exactly why I knew it would mean a lot for her to read this. I want her know how much I appreciate everything she is, and everything she isn’t.

My mom may not be perfect, but she’s the perfect mom to me.

Our Adventurous Camping Adventure

If there’s one thing I’ve learned as a mom in recent years it’s that everything is adventurous when you do it with three kids- even something as simple as a quick stop at the grocery store. So, by all accounts, when you go on an adventure with three kids you are actually embarking on an adventurous adventure. That’s adventure multiplied by adventure. Which equals? An exponential amount of adventure….Heck, yeah, that’s a lot of adventure…. Challenge accepted!  I’m sure that when some people heard I was taking Josie, Jamie, and Johnny on their first camping trip, while 24+ weeks pregnant, they thought I was nuts. But clearly I’ve never been one to shy away from a good adventure…. Adventurous adventure, that is.

I may be crazy, but I’m not stupid. I would never attempt an adventure of this magnitude on my own. Rather, our weekend camping trip was well planned out and thoroughly coordinated in advance with my sister, Joanie, and her husband, Daniel. They found us a nice camping spot within a two hour drive at a little place called Thousand Trails that was well equipped with family- friendly amenities. Joanie and I spent all of last week swapping phone calls, making sure we weren’t forgetting anything. Joanie and Daniel made the reservation and provided the tent while I brought the food and fire wood, and so forth. After all, the secret to a successful adventure is preparation.

Feeling fully prepared and ready for whatever adventures awaited us, we arrived at our camp site on Saturday afternoon. The best part about camping with young kids is that, in their eyes, everything is exciting:

Stacking fire wood and building a fire,

sleeping in a tent (which Jamie lovingly referred to as “my hideout”),

The "hideout"

Afternoon tent nap

washing with a pump and bucket.

The boys spent a lot of time at this water pump

Most of our time was spent accomplishing these rudimentary activities. There was also a lot of sitting around,

Coloring with Aunt Joanie

 lounging,

Hanging out with Uncle Daniel

 and playing in the dirt going on.

Getting dirty!

 Probably the kids’ favorite activity of the weekend was our two trips to the campground’s swimming pool.

Maybe it’s the pregnant woman in me thinking with my stomach, or maybe its for the sake of nostalgia, by my favorite part of the weekend was roasting s’mores.

Enjoying a delicious s'more (and looking quite pregnant)

Ooey, gooey, goodness!

It all sounds like fun and games, but remember what I said about doing even the most simple things with kids? Yep. Adventurous, to say the least. Over the 48 hour period that constituted our camping endeavor we managed to amass quite an array of “incidents.” Each one has it's own story, but for sake of time I've been forced to summarize. There were three bloody noses and two vomit clean-ups, two minor burn injuries and three tick removals- the worse of which was a tick that had to be removed from Jamie’s scrotum- also two blisters and another two thorn removals, not to mention all the bug bites that were too many to count. To top it all off we had a camp chair catch on fire, I had to have my car battery jumped twice, and our tent almost collapsed on Josie in the middle of the night. Nobody ever said that adventures aren’t dangerous.  

But, needless to say, we all made it home from our adventure alive and well… except for the burnt camp chair, of course. We’re all scratching our bug bites like crazy and still recovering from two nights of sleeping on the hard ground, but I think in a couple days, after all the “boo boo”s are healed, we’ll look back at this adventurous adventure as a successful one. There’s no doubt that it was filled with picture perfect moments!

Good Days

Every once in a while I need a good park trip to remind me how much I love being a mom. All that fresh air and those wide open spaces bring out the best in my kids, which brings out the best in me. 

There’s nothing like a trip to the park after days and days of rain. Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday last week brought us a lot of rain, which is rarely welcome in a house with three crazy kids. I started to lose it after the tenth episode of Curious George on Netflix, the fifth time being asked for a snack, and the third dump out of the super hero basket of toys. It’s always that same basket of toys!

At this point, when I’m bending over and piling Spiderman, Thor, and Captain America back into the basket AGAIN, my patience begins to run thin and, for the life of me, I can’t remember why on earth I ever thought I enjoyed motherhood. So I was praising the Lord when the rain let up on Thursday, just enough to make a trip to the park possible.

The boys were just as excited to get out as I was. (Josie had to go to school.) I could see it in their faces, plastered with ear to ear smiles and mile deep dimples.

Another advantage of going to the park after three days of rain is that all the bugs are out. Jamie and I discovered some clusters of bugs (worms? caterpillars? I don’t know. They’re all bugs to me) hiding in the nooks of a climbing rock wall. Jamie felt like he’d discovered buried treasure. He cuddled and coddled the bugs for the next hour, even taking a handful with him down the slide and trying to feed them a piece of his bologna sandwich when we took a break for lunch.

After we exhausted the play power of the swings, the slides, and the worms, we set off on a little nature walk. Much to my amazement, Jamie and Johnny actually did most of their own walking. Jamie led the way like a brave adventurer and even stopped me a few times, insisting he check to see if it was safe so that I wouldn’t get a “boo boo.” Johnny waddled happily behind his big brother, often stopping to admire the sand and sticks in his path. They seemed as if they could walk ‘til they reached the ocean.

We did eventually have to call it a day, but ironically we found ourselves back at the same park again on Saturday. It was nice that Josie was able to join us the second time around.

It is such a joy to be a mom to happy kids. Those smiles and dimples are the jewels in my earthly treasure chest. When we drove away from the park on Saturday and Josie said from the back seat, “We had fun at the park. That was a really fun day!” and Jamie shouted, “Yeah!” in agreement, I felt filled with love and blessings. My cup runneth over. I need good days at the park like these to cling to on those other days when being a mom feels less joyous and more mundane; on days when I am bending over, piling the super hero toys back into their basket for the fourth, fifth, sixth time. In fact, it’s raining right now and….yep, there it goes….I just heard Iron Man hit the floor. Thank God for good park days!

Room for Four

As most of you know, I grew up in a family of seven: my mom and my dad, my three sisters, my brother, and myself. That’s five kids! And we all shared a tiny two bedroom house. That’s right.  For most of our childhood, my four siblings and I all shared one bedroom. Granted, it was a large bedroom- large enough to fit one single bed and two sets of bunk beds. It may sound a bit cramped and crowded, and by the time we grew older it did start to feel that way, but none the less I LOVED IT! Some of my most treasured memories are of staying up past bedtime, concocting ridiculous midnight rendezvous in the closet, talking in silly voices in hopes of convincing my baby sister that we were her ‘conscious’ so that she would do our bidding, and planning all the crazy adventures we would have the next day. I wouldn’t trade those precious moments of sibling togetherness for all the personal space in the world.

So, to me, making room for a fourth child in our three bedroom home now is no problem.

No problem. But still a question in need of an answer. Where will our four children sleep?

Room arrangements have been constantly fluctuating around here for a few months. When we first moved into this house last June we decided to make the smallest bedroom into a girl’s room for Josie and the bigger bedroom into a boys’ room for Jamie and Johnny. It worked well enough. Josie appreciated the novelty of having her own room for the first time and I was able to decorate the boys’ room in the vintage football theme that I’d been dreaming about. But complications soon arose. Johnny is a rather loud sleeper (he reportedly spent one night moaning, “Mama, mama, mama, mama…” for two hours straight) and he was continually waking up his brother. Whenever I asked Jamie why he wouldn’t stay in his own bed he would put his hands over his ears and say, “Non non (John John) loud!”  Jamie inevitably ended up climbing into bed with either Josie or me at one point or another during the night, every night. We continued in this way all through the fall and winter months. Soon Josie disliked sleeping alone and started to ask if she could sleep with the boys. Night after night she and Jamie were sharing one twin bed, with their heads at opposite ends. But Josie is a tosser, a turner, and a kicker. Jamie was being pushed out of bed and, again, finding refuge in the master with me. All of this was becoming too much nighttime drama for a pregnant, sleep-craving mama to handle. So it brought me to the decision that a bedroom change was needed.

The change began a few weeks ago.

Step 1: Combine Josie and Jamie’s beds into a single bunk bed set. Not as easy as it sounds! But after a couple trips to the hardware store and with the help of a good friend with some heavy moving and lifting, the beds were sturdily assembled.  Now Josie and Jamie both have their own bed to sleep in, but in close enough proximity to each other to make them happy. In the past few weeks the bunk has proven itself useful in more ways than one. It’s not only a convenient sleeping quarter, but it makes a great play area. I can actually manage to get laundry put away while the kids are happily pretending to be on a tall boat, safe from the bad guys below.

Step 2: Remove the crib and acquire a toddler bed for Johnny. A ten minute search on Craigslist found me a like-new toddler bed with white finish (exactly what I wanted) for only $30. I took the boys with me to Virginia Beach the next day to pick it up and I had the bed put together by bedtime that night. Johnny was more than ready for the transition out of his crib and into his big boy bed. He lays his sweet little head down on his pillow, says “nigh night,” and then pretends to snore “shew.. .shew…” Now, instead of a girl’s room and a boys’ room, we have one big kids’ room.

Step 3: Turn the empty room into a nursery. Now that we had some available space, it seemed only natural to make the extra room into a nursery for Jeremy. I hadn’t planned it this way (we originally assumed we would put Jeremy in the crib in the boys’ room) but now that a nursery was a valid option, I was excited to throw myself into the project. I love a good project! Especially when my husband is gone and I’m looking for distraction, and when I’m twenty-something weeks pregnant and filled with the nesting urge. It was mostly a lot of furniture assembly and re-arrangement with a couple purchases in between. Josie, Jamie, and Johnny all helped in their own ways. Josie stayed up late one night to help me paint the wooden letters to spell Jeremy’s name on the wall. Jamie and Johnny gave the crib mattress a good test with their bouncing. I added my own handiwork by painting a collection of wooden wall plaques with animals to match the new bed set that I picked out. And… viola!

So now we have room for four! I am feeling very happy with the way our new bedrooms came together. The past few nights I have tucked Josie, Jamie, and Johnny into their beds and given each of them a kiss and then I have walked down the hallway and into the nursery. I sit in my glider, glancing around the room, and I can’t believe that in a few short months I will be nursing a tiny newborn boy in that exact same spot. And while I sit there with sweet baby dreams dancing in my head I also listen down the hall at the hushed whispers of the other three kids chatting to each other.  And I can’t help but wonder, “what wild adventures are they plotting?”

Dressed in their PJs before bed

Testimony of a Cloth Diaper Convert

My name is Jennifer and I am a newly converted cloth diaper-er.

I first started diapering in 2006 when I had my first baby. At the time, using disposable diapers seemed like the only logical choice. As far as I knew cloth diapering meant wrapping a white rag around a baby's butt and fastening it closed with a safety pin. It sounded crude, complicated, and, surely, not for me. So for years I utilized the services of Huggies, Pampers, Luvs, and various other generic brands, with little regard for that mysterious cult of mothers who did it the old fashioned way.

It wasn't until four years later, in 2010, that I first became exposed to the true world of cloth diapering in its modern form. A young mother named Christine came into my life (and eventually became a very, very dear friend) who was in the throes of using cloth diapers on her one year old son. I will admit that when I first learned that she was a dedicated cloth diaper-er, my eyes just about popped out of my head and I thought, "she must be out of her mind!" But as our friendship progressed, and as I saw that she was in fact quite sane, I had more and more occassions to watch her in action. And she made it look easy! For the first time the notion of using cloth diapers entered my mind as more of a realistic idea as opposed to some sort of ridiculous, antiquated, motherhood legend. Still, I thought, "Good for her! But its not for me."

The next stage of my progression from skeptic to believer happened slowly and subtly, so much so that I barely noticed it was happening at all. I woke up one morning a few months ago and it seemed that half the moms I knew were cloth diapering. All of them are moms who I highly admire and respect. I found myself asking questions. If they could do it, then why couldn’t I? The more I learned, the more intrigued I became. Maybe it was the peer pressure that got to me. Or, if I’m being honest, maybe it was the sheer thrill of the matter. After three babies I’ve become pretty confident in my skills and most of the matters of infant care have lost their challenge. So why not spice things up a little for baby number four? Plus, there was no denying the financial benefit. Come September we will have two boys in diapers and are bound to save buckets of money if we can scratch ‘diapers’ off the grocery list before we even start shopping. The writing seemed to be on the wall.

So I took the plunge and placed an order for two dozen bumGenius 4.0 cloth diapers. A week later they arrived at my doorstep in a beautiful array of blue, green, and yellow. Filled with excitement, I couldn’t wait to 'try them on for size.' Thus, on May 8^th, 2012 I became a cloth diaper convert.

It’s been six days since our household went cloth and I have no intentions of ever going back. I’ve changed approximately 30 diapers and done 3 loads of diaper laundry. It’s been quick and easy and, seriously, the only time I give it any thought is when I’m admiring how cute Johnny’s butt looks in that big, soft, fluffy diaper.

When Josie realized that something was different and I explained that Johnny had a new type of diaper that was made out of fabric and not paper she said, “Wow, that’s cool! I love it.” Jamie has no opinion as far as I can tell. I can’t be sure if Johnny notices the change. He’s always been a happy baby, but I like to think that he’s just a smidgen happier now in his comfy, cozy bum wear. I did have to loosen the waistband in all his 2T shorts to make room for the extra girth. Thank goodness for Gymboree’s adjustable waist feature! Ha ha. I take pride in knowing that Jeremy will be raised in cloth diapers and I plan to stock up before his arrival. But you know, the thing I am loving most about my new cloth diaper conversion is that it makes me feel good about myself (and mothers have far too many opportunities to feel badly about themselves these days). Several times this week I sat down on my couch to stuff clean cotton inserts into freshly dried diaper pockets and in those precious moments I was filled with satisfaction at the good work I was doing. Good for the environment, good for our pocket book, good for my baby. Now how can anyone possibly argue with that?

So if you’re one of the people who thinks that I’ve lost my mind, don’t be so quick to judge. If you’re a mother with young children then I suggest you give the idea of cloth diapering a chance; it’s not as crazy as you think. And if you’re one of the women who helped me make this leap of faith and opened my eyes to the beauty of cloth diapers, THANK YOU!

Instructions Not Included

Holding newborn Josie in my first moments of motherhood

It is common knowledge that children do not come with instruction manuals. If you’re a parent then you know that from the moment you first held your tiny babe in your arms and looked down at their helpless face, you have been asking yourself, “How…?” No amount of preparation or education can fully equip us as mothers and fathers and, in those moments of sheer panic when the weight of parental responsibility pushes down heavily on our shoulders, we find ourselves praying. Praying for guidance, for answers, for remedies, for solutions. We yearn for that legendary instruction manual. If only such a thing existed…

I’m no expert. But with three children and a fourth on the way I at least know enough to have an idea of what that manual might look like. Bound with a thick woven cover and printed on heavy paper, it would intimidate most readers. In size it would rival even The Good Book itself. When we opened the binding we would be overwhelmed with that unmistakable smell of a book that has been passed down for generations, creased by innumerable hands. With care we reverently turn each page, awed by the wisdom to be found within. We flip through the first few chapters on bonding, breastfeeding, sleep training. We skip forward past solid foods and teething, past crawling, walking and separation anxiety. We keep skimming through the chapters and see a section on How to Tame a Tantrum. That’s a good one, but not what we’re looking for. Next is How to Scrub Crayon off Every Surface Imaginable. Another good one, but we keep going….How to Make a Picky Eater Eat. Oops, we went too far. Flip back a few pages. Ahhh, there it is- the chapter I was looking for.

I’m trying to find an answer to a question that continues to plague me: How much should a mother play with her children?

Play is such an important part of childhood. Arguably it is THE most important part. As a mother, I realize that I have a vital role in fostering healthy play time. I want to participate in this important aspect of my children’s lives as much as possible. I love being a part of pretend, and playing in their games, and leading crafts. But I also see the value in encouraging them to self-perpetuate their own play. I want them to learn how to entertain themselves. And I also know that practically a mother cannot play with her children at all times- there is housework to be done, after all. Plus there are times when a woman just can’t muster one more high-pitched, goofy character voice or take one more sip of make-believe tea. At least not if she’s going to keep her sanity. I constantly find myself weighing the pros and cons of participating in my kids’ play, most often in an attempt to fight off the guilt that follows those days when I haven’t made time to play with them at all. But there’s no Instruction Manual so there’s no easy answer. Most likely it boils down to finding the perfect balance. I work continually toward maintaining such a balance for my kids in our household.

All last week I looked forward to taking the kids to the beach on Saturday. It had been a long, busy week and I felt like I’d done too much supervising and not enough interacting. Going to the beach has become a new favorite activity of mine. For the short time that we’re there I can leave all my other obligations behind and focus solely on my kids. On the beach, Josie, Jamie, and Johnny have my full, uninterrupted attention. I admire their seashells. I help them dig holes and look for crabs. I splash with them in the waves. I wrap them in their towels and cuddle them dry. On the beach, having fun comes easy.

Parenthood is filled with unanswered questions. We’re never completely sure if we’ve done enough and we’re always feeling guilty about falling short. But some days- the really special ones- leave us feeling one step closer to satisfied. I’m no expert but I’m pretty sure that if there was an instruction manual for parents and if it contained a chapter on how much parents should play with their kids, it would probably have at least one paragraph about going to the beach and no less than one sentence about building a sandcastle. I’m happy to say that that’s one box I can put a check mark in!