The Devil Made Me Do It.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“….for, though Tommy was one of the best-meaning boys who ever adorned knickerbockers, events of the most direful nature were always happening to him, no one could exactly tell how.” 

Little Men, Louisa May Alcott.

*Sigh*.  It’s one of those moments  you hope will never befall you.  The one where your child says something utterly horrifying, in public, to your great chagrin.  Yes.  One of *those* moments. 

Until now the worst it had ever gotten was our oldest daughter once crying out in great three year old anguish from the back seat for someone to help her with her “bloody seatbelt.”  I stopped using that word then and there in moments of frustration, I can tell you that right now. 

How was I to know things could be so much worse?  Immeasurably. Worse.  As the story goes, as my children would tell it, my 5 progeny were seated around the supper table last night with the prim and oh so proper Miss Shawna presiding.  Everyone was apparently enjoying their ravioli and the prospect of an evening of fun and games and crafts with the sitter.  When all of a sudden the devil entered my three year old Rugrat (hyperbolically speaking of course that kid’s got enough mischief in him that he really doesn’t need any help from the devil) and caused him to look innocently at Miss Shawna, open his adorable little mouth and say; “You son-of-a-gitch” and then have the audacity to laugh.  And say it again.  And again.  Like five times in a row.

My older children sat there stupefied.  And apparently my five year old Hero blushed, and ducked his head in a most telling manner.  (Should I really be reading Huckleberry Finn and Tom Sawyer to these two?)

Are you kidding me???  No.  No.  I kid you not.  I think we need to wash some mouths out with soap around here, and the most humbling part of it all is that it won’t be only little mouths. 

Oh, Lord.  Have mercy.

Now I Lay Me Down To Sleep

It's late.

Very late.

Late enough that Prairie Guy and I are in bed, quietly praying together (Yes!).

Suddenly we hear a little voice coming from the room next door, giving thanks and making petitions to his Father in heaven.

"Dear Dod. Tank you for dis day, and for my mommy and daddy, and Shay-shay and Joo-Joo. Tank you for Hightning Maquine and Spiderman and kitties and chocolate. Tank you for my wight. Help me not be scared my wight is off...."

at which point Prairie Hero (5) grumbles, "Oof.... can you pray in your HEAD??"

at which point The Rugrat (3) answers decidedly, "No... God can't hear my head."

Family Council Meeting

Sunday nights. After supper clean up. We call for family council meeting and the kids come running (joyfully) to the living room. They think it's a "fun" meeting. It ends up being fun, because they make it fun. No hum drum speeches in monotonous voices. Just one simple question, poised to our little "union". One opportunity per week for them to poise their frustrations and brainstorm for a better environment. The question....

"What is the biggest problem robbing us of peace and causing us to live in frustration in our home and towards one another this week?"

This week, since I dealt with kids yelling ALOT I thought that would be the hot ticket item. But no. Prairie Hero (5) stretches his had eager and high.... eyes large... pick me, pick me.

Prairie Guy nods at him.

"The mess."

I smile. Yes. Touchdown.

I ask; "So what can we do about 'the mess'"?

Prairie Poppet's (8) hand pops up. "Each person should have to put away whatever they take out as soon as they are done with it." (I'm sure I must have said that a million times in my short parenting career)... she didn't come up with that on her own genius, but at least it's a comfort to know they are not completely deaf.

Prairie Guy, "And if they don't....?"

Pause. Long pause.

Prairie Girl (10); "If they don't, then they will have to pay Mommy a dollar for everything she finds."

Hmmm.... good idea, but not good enough. I hate being the one to have to "supervise and enforce" the rules. I like enlisting my kids to hold each other accountable.

"How about this." I suggest. "How about, whoever finds someone else's mess and puts it away gets one dollar from the person who LEFT the mess?"

This idea was met by extreme enthusiasm, and I have to say that our house has never been less messy than the past two days! I love my kids. Tell 'em and tell 'em till your blue in the face, and no results. Let them recognize the problem and brainstorm a solution and watch them rise to the occasion. That's my kind of parenting.

Her Children Rise Up and Call Her Blessed

I had a rough night last night. Wednesday nights are often crazy with the stress of getting supper on the table and cleaned up before heading out to teach at our local kids club. It's kind of like the pre-church chaos where everything in the world seems to be working against you.

Last night was particularly trying. I have been working really hard to try to create a peaceful environment around here, and seem to be fighting a losing battle. I realize that I can't do this on my own. I had talked to the girls numerous times and told them I needed them to start taking care of their own messes. Earlier yesterday I had warned them that if they didn't take care of their messes before club, I wouldn't be taking them. Lo and behold, time to leave arrived and chaos still dominated.

I was not happy about having to enforce the consequence, but I knew I had to. I told them to go and talk to their father and ask him what he thought should be done, and he said it was between them and me, so I had to decide. I put my foot down, in the midst of many tears, and left with a few tears of my own but not without having promised them consolation prizes if they showed me they could do a great job and we could make things right.

Well... let's just say we had a conflict in the parenting department and when Daddy heard girls wailing upstairs and saw me driving away he called me up and wanted me to come back and get them. Let's just say that the timing was bad, the communication was poor and the phone call ended very badly ie "click".

When I got home the manure hit the oscillating device in every sense of the word and about every single person in the house had an emotional breakdown. Don't you just hate it when that happens? I won't go into all the gory details, but the beautiful part of the story is this. When I was crying my eyes out, tired and spent and feeling completely misunderstood and unsupported, my little girl snuck off with her bible to look for a very special passage, copied it out on notepaper with hearts and xoxo's, and came to kiss me and tuck it into my hand.

I unfolded the paper and read;

"May the Lord bless you and take good care of you. May the Lord smile on you and be gracious to you. May the Lord look on you with favor and give you PEACE." Numbers 6:24-26

My daughter blessed me in the true sense of the word. In the midst of all that hurt and frustration, I received a verbal blessing, and it washed over me and strengthened me with grace and peace. I think I can learn alot from her.

Magical.

After a hard afternoon’s play on one of the first really beautiful days of summer I told you to come with me, I was going to rinse your hands in the rain barrel before we went inside.  As you trucked along beside me your eyebrows furrowed as you looked quizzically toward the sky. 

“But where *is* the rain bow, Mommy?”

Darlin’ o’ mine.  Thinkin’ your Mamma was going to rinse your hands in a rainbow on a sunshiny day.  Now that’s just magical. 

What Can I Say?

   

You are amazing.

A young lady.

Sweetness personified.

A huge help in every way.

With the gentlest hands and the softest heart,

the sunshiniest eyes and the sweetest smile.

Thank you for being such a thoughtful, helpful, beautiful daughter.

For weeding with me, cleaning with me, laughing with me and putting up with me.

Young Love

 

Trouble

Your father came home to find you washing walls in punishment for using "unclean" language.

"What are you doing?" asks Father.

"Washing walls." you say

"Why?" asks Father.

"Because my mouth is dirty."

"I see."

"You want to help me, Daddy? It's FUN!"

*sigh*. I'll have to think of another punishment because you really did think it was terribly fun to have a pail of soapy water, a cloth and the job of "playing" with them. Stinker.

You Float My Boat

I love you in summer.

I love you in a wet suit

I love you driving the boat with spray in your face and a sparkle in your eye.

I love you laughing like a lunatic, tubin’ with your crazy friends

I love eating your fish and I love the fact you catch and clean them and I just get to eat them

I love the warmth and smell of your tanned skin, and I'm even kind of crazy about your farmers tan. (is that copyright infringement?)

I love that I get to enjoy His gift of summer with you.

Snurt

As a mother I learn something new every day. 

Like the fact that “Mommy, wipe my snurt” coming from a 2 year old does not mean “wash my shirt”.  Although if I am not quick to wipe the snurt I will inevitably be washing the shirt…

*sigh* 

A Tattle Tale

“Mommy!  (The Poppet) broke my gun!!!” Wails that greet me as the front door opens and slams.  Tired of this bickering between siblings I respond quickly without digging to understand, never wise. 

“Alright, you tell Poppet that since she was careless with something of yours she will need to take care of your room (ie clean your messes) for the rest of the week.”

The Hero’s eyes get large with wonder.  “Okay.”

He turns to go and then his shoulders slump and he turns back slowly with a dejected look on his face.

“There’s more to this story?” I ask.  I’ve seen that look before.

“Well…..” very slowly, “She didn’t actually break it….” then gaining momentum as the confession draws nigh, “but she provoked me to throw it and THAT made me break it!”  and the wails begin afresh.

I didn’t know whether to laugh or sigh.  I think I sighed and then laughed.  Silly boy.  He knew darn well no one else could take the fall for that but him.  And truth be told,  the broken gun was fall enough. 

Incidentally I also cracked up over his use of the word provoked.  I don’t know how many times in a day I must use that word in relation to my kids interactions.  *Sigh*.

It’s All Good.

“Lord you gave your rules to be obeyed completely, I wish I were more loyal in obeying your demands.”

Words that wring a mother’s heart.  Overheard being recited by my five year old littlest hero up in his room after a gentle reprimand for unwieldy behavior that while innocent could have seriously hurt someone.  As I passed by his room where he was changing into his pj’s I heard him quote this part of our Psalm 119 memorization 3 times and then go straight into singing, “Do to others as you would have them do to you, do to others as you would have them do.” 

Gotta love a tender heart like that, no matter how exuberantly violent his limbs may be.

Unprintable Words

We started a new family read aloud tonight. Cheaper by the Dozen by the Gilbreths. The first two chapters had us howling although I had to do a couple quick edits of sacrilegious language on the fly. I’m quite good at this and the kids don’t usually realize any different. Tonight there was a cute little exchange though when I read this;

“Once a neighbor complained that a Gilbreth had called the neighbor’s boy a “son of an unprintable word”.

All of my kids routinely put their hands over their mouths and smirked and snickered and the Poppet’s eyes got round as she admitted “I know that word.”

Silence all around.

“You do?” this from the woman who up until this moment believed her 7 year old daughter still possessed an untainted vocabulary thanks to a rather sheltered existence.

“Oh yeah.” eyes still wide.

“Well, how do you know this word?” I ask hesitantly.

“Oh MOMMY. EVERYBODY knows that word.” with a little roll of her eyes.

“And that word would be….?” I ventured, still refusing to believe the worst.

Eyebrows raise. Head pulls back. “You want me to SAY it?” she queries.

“Um. Yes….?”

“Well…. I won’t say the exact word, but I will say a synonym.” (on one hand I am thinking YES. My first grader has a working handle on what a synonym is. Whoot Whoot! On the other hand…. )

“Okay…”

“Son of a PISTOL!” she exclaims.

Now, why didn’t I see that coming? Seriously.

Long Time Coming

The Punkin’s first cut. 

The Punkin’ Turns One

Favorite Color: I’m going with white based on the way you react to the sight of a freshly made bottle.

Favorite Food: French Fries or McDonalds soft ice cream cones.   Not that we feed you either of these on a regular basis but if you get a taste of either of them there is no stopping you.           

Favorite Drink: Milk.  Okay, so you really like Root Beer too.  Don’t ask me how I know this.

Funniest Moment from Year One: When I let you loose for the first time this spring and you went wildly racing around the yard (on all fours).  I was seeding planters on the porch, and turned around to see you had gone right up to the page wire at the horse corral and Peso was on her way over to check you out.  You were not in a position to see her coming up behind you and only looked up when you heard her snort.  You let out this holler of absolute shock that had me doubled over and shaking with laughter as you high tailed it away from that fence faster than the Roadrunner doing the whole “look back to make sure the monster is not on my tail” act.  And I was lucky awful enough to have my camera within reach.

Saddest Moment from Year One: Being weaned?  I don’t know buddy, you’ve got it pretty good!

Favorite Thing to Do: Dance with Mommy.

Favorite Book: Brown Bear, Brown Bear

Favorite Toy: anything with wheels. 

Hero: Mommy. 

Why? Because she makes me milk

Favorite Family Activity: Tickle fests on Mommy and Daddy’s bed.

Hobby or Interests: Eating, sleeping, swinging, dancing.

Want to be: A Momma’s boy.

I Think Your Tractor’s Sexy.

  Well, not really, but YOU plus a tractor equals be still my heart =)  I am so thankful for all the hard work you do around here after hours.  You are amazing.  Thanks for humoring me and helping me clear out the orchard and fulfill my dreams for my special place.   And thanks especially for teaching me to drive the backhoe and for taking over the grunt work on the ground! 

Five Times the Laughter

“Hello…. anybody in there???”  And that is not just a cute caption.  That is precisely what you were hollering into a hollow in the apple tree when I snapped this picture. 

“You take kangaroo out of my shoe?”  Thankfully we were talking playschool Noah’s Ark kangaroo.  Thankfully you didn’t say “frog”.

In response to my, “Can you say please?” without batting an eyelash and in your best little soldier tone;  “YES please, THANK you, YESSIR, maam!”

In response to “How are you?”    “Nice!”

“My have hit-a-bug?” Translation: Can I have the fly-swatter? That one really took some figuring on my part!

All Is Forgiven.

You were a whiny little bugger jigger today, but after 5 minutes of watching you play hide and seek with The Hero, I’m holding no grudges.

Boys Rule

   Overheard.

Prairie Poppet; “Girls rule.” 

Me; “What?”

Prairie Poppet; “Girl’s rule!”

Me; “And where is this coming from?” (My kids are relatively sheltered from shallow pop culture lingo making this a valid question he heh)

Prairie Poppet; “Her shirt.”  Pointing to Prairie Girl’s new sweatshirt, a hand me down from a friend at church.

Indeed, that is what the shirt had to say.  I toy with saying something, and don’t.

There is never an absence of words in this house though and conversations are not prone to die quickly. 

Prairie Hero (5) pipes up between mouthfuls; “BOYS rule.” 

And we enter into one of those 6 part repetitive, argumentative, bantering exchanges that are so predictable between 5 and 7 year olds. 

I interrupted with; “Hold on a minute.  Let’s think about this carefully.  Who rules?” 

Prairie Girl (9) is primed and ready.  “God rules.”  Ah.  We’ve raised that girl well.  No idea where we went wrong with the ones that followed but…. (joking!)

Wait for it now, because The Hero didn’t miss a beat.  Without hesitation he retorts.  “Yeah.  That’s what I mean.  God’s a boy, so boys rule.” 

Don't CRUSH those....

Wrestling around with your little brother on the floor yesterday I hear you "oomph" and call out "Watch my crush!"

And therein begins the tale of you trying to keep your first boy secret from me. Apparently B-Boy had told you a new word. When I asked you, perplexed, what you were referring to, you went deadpan right away and I saw your Adam's apple do a doubletake.

"Oh yeah. I forgot. That's a word for boy ears only." you informed me.

"Oh really? Well, I don't think there are any words that five year old boys should be saying that Mommies shouldn't be hearing."

"Okay."

"So what was the word, anyway?" (bad of me I know, but my curiosity had the better of me).

"No, Mommy. I really can't tell you."

"Oh come on. You can."

Embarassed giggle. "No, Mommy. I *really* can't."

*The Look* from me.

"Al-right...." blush, blush, giggle, giggle.

"THIS...." pointing at your groin... "is a CRUSH."

Snicker from me. "A crotch?"

Blank stare, then a lightbulb. "Oh yeah. That's it."

"Yeah... that's it."

I Smile…

when I find you crashed on the couch in a position like this.

        

or this.

        

when I say “Good Morning, Munchkin, how are you?”  and you answer, “nice.” 

When I told you “Just leave that”

 

and you innocently asked “just eat that?”  *grin*

Whenever I talk to you about being kind and gentle to other people (or pray something about us being kind to others) and you can’t resist pulling back the collar of your shirt and reminding me that your little buddy “cratched you there”.  Oh, those grudges, they sure start young.

I love the way you heave a sigh when I ask you to help me catch up with read alouds and then can’t bear to stop at the end of a chapter.

I love hearing you chuckle as you lay beside me in bed reading “Old Yeller” and the way all three of us keep trading it around to keep up with each other.

I love it when I ask if you need me  (for all practical intents and purposes) and you say; “yep, I need you bad.  I need you to come sit right here on my lap.”

I love it when you talk to me about things that matter.  About choices we’ve made and choices yet to be made.  I can’t imagine being in this with anyone else.  I trust you completely and you know how much that means.

I love the way you *gasp* when you look at the grocery bill, say “You paid HOW much for beach towels?!” and then look up at me and chuckle.

I love the way you send the girls to call me away from preparing supper to “help” you.  How in your mind it would be easier for me to make supper while holding a 10 month old than it would be for you to take a 2 year old to the potty while holding said 10 month old.  And how when I asked you, “How do you think *I* manage every day? “ you replied “I have NO idea.”  LOL.

In short, I love YOU.. 

Live and Learn

The other morning we awoke to the sound of The Punkin’ banging on his door.  He had pulled a rail off his crib, somehow managed to squeeze his way out and make his way over to the door.  Dying to know how he did that, if he came out head first or feet first but alas, only God knows.  And I mean that quite literally.  He was, to say the least, prouder than a peacock and happy as a lark that he was FREE and in control of his own morning destiny.

The next day, the crib having been safely secured, The Punk had to come up with an alternate plan.  The little monkey managed to climb OVER his rail and land (see above, observe forehead) smack on his forehead.  Needless to say he was NOT happy as a lark over THIS turn of events. 

He’s a smart little cookie for 10 and half months though.  He doesn’t even stand up in his crib anymore.  I wish I could say the same for his high chair.

Coolest Job Ever

You have now decided belongs to the police officer. He's a numchuk toting, pistol holding super hero who gets to drive fast cars and not have to stop at stop lights. Does sound about perfect for you.

When Your Hips Hurt.

You came to me earlier today and informed me “My hips hurt, Mommy.”

Strange. I wouldn’t have thought you would have known to identify your “hips”. Just yesterday when I asked you to identify your “neck” by saying, “what’s this?” you said… “that’s tickle.” heh heh.

All became clear when you held up the little capsule of Burt’s Beeswax. “Put dis on my hips mommy?”

Don't Take Your Guns to Town.

Today was the mad dash to get to P-Girl's skating class by 3:45 and I'm usually so preoccupied with getting the Rugrat and the P-Punk ready that I pretty much expect you to fend for yourself. You are pretty good about it for the most part. The odd time I will have to turn around 1 minute up the road to hurry back and get you mittens, but usually the worst of it is that your boots may be on the wrong feet.

Speaking of boots. No sooner had we arrived in the change room at the arena and you proceeded to strip off your coat, reach down, yank up your snow pants, pull up your pant leg, slip your hand down inside your boot and pull out.... your pistol. It was all at once disturbing and hilarious. Love you bud.

My A to Z

I love the way you.... amaze me. believe in me. compliment me. delight me. excite me. forgive me. goad me. humor me. infuriate me. joke with me. kiss me. love me. miss me. need me. ogle me. provide for me. quieten me. relate to me. spoil me. trust me. understand me. value me. want me. okay, so it's A to W. Which makes me think of A&W, which makes me crave a root beer float. Whaddya say babe? Here's to one more year of romance under our belts and a better, sweeter year to come.

The Poppet Turns Seven

If I had to paint your personality it would be a conglomeration of sunshine and flowers, leprechauns and musical notes. You light up my life with your smiles and silliness and your "smarts" continue to knock my socks off on a daily basis. I am forever proud and grateful that I get to be your momma.

Favorite Color: Violet
Favorite Food: Apple Pie
Favorite Drink: Crabapple Slush
Funnest Moment from Year Six: When Nonna came to stay with us
Saddest Moment from Year Six: When Nonna left
Favorite Thing to Do: Go to the lake
Favorite Movie: Dennis the Menace
Favorite Book: The Boxcar Children
Favorite Toy: Teddy Bear
Hero: Jesus
Why? Because He always tells the truth
Favorite Family Activity: Go to the circus
Hobby or Interests: Figure Skating
Want to be: a figure skater

And while last year you preferred going by your girly nickname... this year, you inform me that you prefer going by your more sophisticated given name.

Poetry from The Poppet

Wen it is nite
the sun and the moon have a fite
and they both start so soon
and then it is noon
because of the sun
and the sun won
and the moon failed

Your explanation...
the sun wants it to be day, and the moon wants it to be night, so they fight a battle.
"so soon"... no dilly dallying here. This is serious sword fighting ala Vader and Skywalker
"It is noon" because the sun is kicking some lunar butt...

I love that this is what you do in your spare time. Create, imagine, read, write. Reading your creative thoughts never fails to bring a HUGE smile to my face and a chortle to my throat.

Rugrat

I laughed… when I was snuggling The Hero and smoothing his hair (because he is sick and all) and you came pattering over and climbed up next to me with a pathetic “My sick too, Mommy.” Milk it.

I thoroughly enjoy… watching you dress up in girly wigs

and sunglasses .

I can’t believe you called your sister *stupidhead*. Where did I go wrong and who has contaminated your 2 year old innocence?

I find it amazing that you choose to spend hours pouring over The Hero’s handwriting workbook and refuse to be bribed away from it even with a Marvel Heroes coloring book.

I adore it when you get that twinkle in your eye and tell me
I……

love....

You!