A has become quite the comedienne, so I thought I 'd share some of her words of wisdom.
While playing Hungry Hippos one day, A decided she would be the pink and orange hippos and mommy could play the green and yellow ones. About two minutes into the game, A puts her hand on the green hippo and says, "Mommy, the he's not hungry anymore."
A has been taking Spanish at her new pre-school. One day after school, I was asking A if she was learning any Spanish, yet. I said, "Have you learned hola, como esta, bien?" She interrupts me and says, "Mom, I'm not Dora."
We were watching a commercial for the SpinBrush, and A says, "Look at that, mom." "It's a toothbrush," is my response. Without missing a beat, A says, "That's not a toothbrush, it's a teethbrush." She's got me there; it does brush more than one tooth at a time.
After church, I was asking A what they talked about in her new Sunday school class. "Did you read about Isaac, Abraham, Moses?" I asked. "Moses," she replied. "From the liver Bible." "The liver Bible? You mean the Living Bible." "Yes, Mommy. The Livin' Bible."
After our morning run, A is sitting in her carseat singing Veggie Tales, when she stops, and says, "You're huge, mommy." "I'm huge?" Her response, "That's okay. I like my big mommy." Later that day, though, out of the blue, she says, "You're not huge anymore, mommy."
Later that day, she told a clerk at Wal-mart that she was a "hoot." I tried to exlpain that she meant she was funny but realized that probably wasn't much better, so I finally just assured her that it was not an insult but a compliment.
I can't wait to hear what she'll come up with next!
Monday, August 31, 2009
A Day in the Life of a Stay-at-home Mom
At 6:00 a.m. I hear C whimper. By 6:15 it is a full-fledged cry. I stumble into his room, pick him up, and carry him back to my bed, where I attempt nursing while sleeping. I drift off and worry about dropping him, so I give up on trying to get 10 more minutes of sleep. T gets up and turns off the alarm, why we actually set the alarm, I'm not quite sure. He trudges down the stairs and within minutes my sleepy little girl wanders into our room, her blonde hair ruffled from sleep and her hands full of books, blankets, and teddy bears. "I want pancakes, mommy, after I watch George."
"Okay, sweetie," is my reply. I grab a few of her books with one hand and walk downstairs holding C with the other. I turn on Curious George and put C in his exersaucer, so I can prepare breakfast. My son looks up at me like I have placed him in prison instead of a wonderland of toys. Dell, our retriever, looks longingly through the sliding glass door. Perhaps she and C can communicate somehow about how mean mommy is for trying to eat breakfast. T comes downstairs, says his good-byes, and leaves for work. After A eats, I sit down beside her as she watches Sid the Science Kid and eat my oatmeal. After breakfast, we get dressed, load the car with snacks, juice, books, and head off for our morning jog.
At least today, I will be jogging with a stroller that has both tires inflated. I discovered just how difficult it is to run with a flat tire last week, not one day, but two. A and C both try to out-whine each other for the first 2 1/2 miles and then both settle in for the second-half of our run with C even drifting off to sleep. I even get a few comments about how cute A looks reading her book.
After our run, it is back home to prepare lunch to take to T at work. We drive to the office, where I prepare lunch then sneak away for a few seconds to check my email at T's desk. T has to get some work done, so A, C, and I go home. I put C down for his nap and A and I play a game for about five minutes, when Connnor begins to cry. I attempt to get him back to sleep but to no avail, so I give up and A, C, and I read books in A's room until they begin to fight over the one must have book out of about five hundred. "Do you want to go to the park or the library?" I ask A. "Where is the park library?" she asks. Trying not to laugh, I explain that I meant we can either go to the park OR the library.
She chooses the park, so we go to the playground, then to the grocery store, where again, A and C enter into a whining contest. C wins, so I unbuckle him from the stroller and carry him. My cell phone rings as I am checking cartons for a dozen eggs that are all intact. My boss is calling to see if I can be on stand-by to tutor in two hours. I call T who still has to mow our lawn and the office lawn, but he says to tell my boss okay. I call him back and go home to unload groceries and prepare dinner. Fortunately, I don't have to tutor, so I feed C, give A and him baths, and start dinner. A plays happily with Thomas the Train, while C tries to scale the barstools or pull all of my cookbooks off the shelf. I distract him about 30 times when T finally comes in the door about 6. He tells me he needs to go to Lowe's after dinner to get something to fix a leaky toilet. I try not to scream. We eat, T leaves, and C finally falls asleep in my lap.
I put C in his crib, and A and I find the Country Music Festival on television. Sugarland is singing and A says, "Let's dance, mommy." I want to say, but I just sat down for the first time today. Instead, I get up and twirl and jump and dance with my little girl. Travis walks in the door and goes upstairs to fix the toilet. A and I continue to sing and dance until we realize we've waken up C. I rock him back to sleep, brush A' teeth, and let T take over the bedtime routine. It is after 8 p.m. I clean up the kitchen and try to catch five minutes of alone time before bed, where I will spend fifteen minutes studying the bible and fall asleep while saying my prayers.
Despite the chaos, the exhaustion, the feeling of never getting anything accomplished (things like basic hygiene), I have never regretted my decision to leave my teaching job to stay home with my children. Because I know that while my daughter's face lights up when we race at the park or play Chutes and Ladders for the 1,000 time today, that in about a week, she'll be too cool to hang out with mom. And while I grow weary from keeping C away from the stairs, from chewing on flip-flops, and from pulling his sister's hair, I know that my little crawler will soon walk, then run, then in a few months may possibly be suiting up for the Auburn Tigers.
Like what I think the Proverbs 31 woman shows us, life is a series of seasons, and right now, I am in the season of mommying two precious little babies, and too soon, I will be in a different season, the season of parenting school-age children, then middle schoolers, then high schoolers, and then I'll be letting go. Already, my infant boy is an eight-month-old crawler on a mission to explore every corner of his world. I love watching him examine an object, spot something else, crawl eagerly to that object, and before he even reaches it, he's already eyeing the next adventure. And A is learning so much, so quickly, I can barely follow her excited chatter as she talks about school, friends, and her new Sunday school class. I'm crying just thinking about how quickly the seasons pass, so with that perspective, I cherish the twirling, the building of pillow caves to be crashed in by little brother, the races at the park, and reading the same book one million times because so soon, they won't ask anymore. They'll be too big. So even though I sit here exhausted, I thank God for blessing me with this parenting season and look forward to each one and what joy it will bring.
"Okay, sweetie," is my reply. I grab a few of her books with one hand and walk downstairs holding C with the other. I turn on Curious George and put C in his exersaucer, so I can prepare breakfast. My son looks up at me like I have placed him in prison instead of a wonderland of toys. Dell, our retriever, looks longingly through the sliding glass door. Perhaps she and C can communicate somehow about how mean mommy is for trying to eat breakfast. T comes downstairs, says his good-byes, and leaves for work. After A eats, I sit down beside her as she watches Sid the Science Kid and eat my oatmeal. After breakfast, we get dressed, load the car with snacks, juice, books, and head off for our morning jog.
At least today, I will be jogging with a stroller that has both tires inflated. I discovered just how difficult it is to run with a flat tire last week, not one day, but two. A and C both try to out-whine each other for the first 2 1/2 miles and then both settle in for the second-half of our run with C even drifting off to sleep. I even get a few comments about how cute A looks reading her book.
After our run, it is back home to prepare lunch to take to T at work. We drive to the office, where I prepare lunch then sneak away for a few seconds to check my email at T's desk. T has to get some work done, so A, C, and I go home. I put C down for his nap and A and I play a game for about five minutes, when Connnor begins to cry. I attempt to get him back to sleep but to no avail, so I give up and A, C, and I read books in A's room until they begin to fight over the one must have book out of about five hundred. "Do you want to go to the park or the library?" I ask A. "Where is the park library?" she asks. Trying not to laugh, I explain that I meant we can either go to the park OR the library.
She chooses the park, so we go to the playground, then to the grocery store, where again, A and C enter into a whining contest. C wins, so I unbuckle him from the stroller and carry him. My cell phone rings as I am checking cartons for a dozen eggs that are all intact. My boss is calling to see if I can be on stand-by to tutor in two hours. I call T who still has to mow our lawn and the office lawn, but he says to tell my boss okay. I call him back and go home to unload groceries and prepare dinner. Fortunately, I don't have to tutor, so I feed C, give A and him baths, and start dinner. A plays happily with Thomas the Train, while C tries to scale the barstools or pull all of my cookbooks off the shelf. I distract him about 30 times when T finally comes in the door about 6. He tells me he needs to go to Lowe's after dinner to get something to fix a leaky toilet. I try not to scream. We eat, T leaves, and C finally falls asleep in my lap.
I put C in his crib, and A and I find the Country Music Festival on television. Sugarland is singing and A says, "Let's dance, mommy." I want to say, but I just sat down for the first time today. Instead, I get up and twirl and jump and dance with my little girl. Travis walks in the door and goes upstairs to fix the toilet. A and I continue to sing and dance until we realize we've waken up C. I rock him back to sleep, brush A' teeth, and let T take over the bedtime routine. It is after 8 p.m. I clean up the kitchen and try to catch five minutes of alone time before bed, where I will spend fifteen minutes studying the bible and fall asleep while saying my prayers.
Despite the chaos, the exhaustion, the feeling of never getting anything accomplished (things like basic hygiene), I have never regretted my decision to leave my teaching job to stay home with my children. Because I know that while my daughter's face lights up when we race at the park or play Chutes and Ladders for the 1,000 time today, that in about a week, she'll be too cool to hang out with mom. And while I grow weary from keeping C away from the stairs, from chewing on flip-flops, and from pulling his sister's hair, I know that my little crawler will soon walk, then run, then in a few months may possibly be suiting up for the Auburn Tigers.
Like what I think the Proverbs 31 woman shows us, life is a series of seasons, and right now, I am in the season of mommying two precious little babies, and too soon, I will be in a different season, the season of parenting school-age children, then middle schoolers, then high schoolers, and then I'll be letting go. Already, my infant boy is an eight-month-old crawler on a mission to explore every corner of his world. I love watching him examine an object, spot something else, crawl eagerly to that object, and before he even reaches it, he's already eyeing the next adventure. And A is learning so much, so quickly, I can barely follow her excited chatter as she talks about school, friends, and her new Sunday school class. I'm crying just thinking about how quickly the seasons pass, so with that perspective, I cherish the twirling, the building of pillow caves to be crashed in by little brother, the races at the park, and reading the same book one million times because so soon, they won't ask anymore. They'll be too big. So even though I sit here exhausted, I thank God for blessing me with this parenting season and look forward to each one and what joy it will bring.
Saturday, August 22, 2009
A Little Encouragement
I love being a mom for millions upon millions of reasons. One of the many joys of parenthood are the sweet little voices of my children as they encourage and affirm. Like when A sees her daddy running and excitedly cheers, "Go, daddy," then turns to me and proudly says, "My daddy runs fast." Today she encouraged her mommy, who does not run fast.
The Hill looms before me like Everest. I have no idea how long this hill really is; I just know when you stand at the bottom with a desire to run and a double jogger filled with two children and books, it is quite intimidating. "I can run this," I tell myself. I haven't run a hill since having C, so this is my first time in over a year and a half to run up anything steeper than a speedbump or maybe the curb to TCBY. I begin to push and slowly trudge up the bottom quarter of the hill. Maybe I can't run this, yet. My legs are already aching from an attempt to do Tae Bo a few days earlier.
"All right, Pumpkin. Mommy's going to need your help getting up this hill." A understands Mommy needs encouragement and does not intend for her to get out and help push the stroller. "You can do it, Mommy," she says. I begin to run again all the way to the half-way point. I stop and look up. The hill is steep and I can feel my heart beginning to pound. "Keep running, Mommy. You can do it," my daughter cheers from the stroller. "You're right, sweetheart. Mommy can do this."
I take a deep breath and with determination try my best to sprint the last half. I can only imagine what I must look like. I can't seem to get my heels down and am running mostly on my tip-toes. A car passes by slowly and the driver rolls down the window and shouts what I think is, "What a feat!" That's what I hear at least. Of course, he could have been shouting, "Pick up your feet." But I am encouraged nonetheless. I finally crest the hill and hear A shout, "You did it, Mom." We both say, "Yea," then I add a, "thank you, God and thank you, A for encouraging mommy." We run back down to the bottom of the hill; C sleeping soundly through our entire run. I look back up and realize that the hill probably isn't more than a quarter of a mile but for A and me, today, we conquered Everest.
The Hill looms before me like Everest. I have no idea how long this hill really is; I just know when you stand at the bottom with a desire to run and a double jogger filled with two children and books, it is quite intimidating. "I can run this," I tell myself. I haven't run a hill since having C, so this is my first time in over a year and a half to run up anything steeper than a speedbump or maybe the curb to TCBY. I begin to push and slowly trudge up the bottom quarter of the hill. Maybe I can't run this, yet. My legs are already aching from an attempt to do Tae Bo a few days earlier.
"All right, Pumpkin. Mommy's going to need your help getting up this hill." A understands Mommy needs encouragement and does not intend for her to get out and help push the stroller. "You can do it, Mommy," she says. I begin to run again all the way to the half-way point. I stop and look up. The hill is steep and I can feel my heart beginning to pound. "Keep running, Mommy. You can do it," my daughter cheers from the stroller. "You're right, sweetheart. Mommy can do this."
I take a deep breath and with determination try my best to sprint the last half. I can only imagine what I must look like. I can't seem to get my heels down and am running mostly on my tip-toes. A car passes by slowly and the driver rolls down the window and shouts what I think is, "What a feat!" That's what I hear at least. Of course, he could have been shouting, "Pick up your feet." But I am encouraged nonetheless. I finally crest the hill and hear A shout, "You did it, Mom." We both say, "Yea," then I add a, "thank you, God and thank you, A for encouraging mommy." We run back down to the bottom of the hill; C sleeping soundly through our entire run. I look back up and realize that the hill probably isn't more than a quarter of a mile but for A and me, today, we conquered Everest.
Thursday, August 13, 2009
First Day of School
Stomp. Creak. Stomp. Creak. I hear A 's footsteps on the stairs. "Good morning, Pumpkin!" I exclaim. "It's the first day of school."
Thud; Something (I think her blue bear) hits the ground; Stomp; Stomp; Stomp; Door slams: This is her response. Uh-oh. Not the response I was anticipating. I walk upstairs with C on my hip and open her door. A is sitting on her knees with her head laying on the bed. "I not going to school."
"Why not, sweetheart? I thought you wanted to go to school." The tears begin to flood, and I watch a tantrum unfurl. I truly have no idea what to do.
"I'm not going to school. I not wanna go to school," she sobs, heavily. I walk over to her closet and pull out a few dresses.
Thud; Something (I think her blue bear) hits the ground; Stomp; Stomp; Stomp; Door slams: This is her response. Uh-oh. Not the response I was anticipating. I walk upstairs with C on my hip and open her door. A is sitting on her knees with her head laying on the bed. "I not going to school."
"Why not, sweetheart? I thought you wanted to go to school." The tears begin to flood, and I watch a tantrum unfurl. I truly have no idea what to do.
"I'm not going to school. I not wanna go to school," she sobs, heavily. I walk over to her closet and pull out a few dresses.
"Hey, sweetie, why don't we pick out what you're going to wear today?" A opens the drawer and begins to throw all of her clothes out into the floor. I put C on the floor with a toy, sit down next to him, pull A to my lap, put my arms around her, and begin to rock her, while stroking her hair. "Calm down, deep breaths, big breath," I say. "Why don't you tell mommy why you don't want to go to school?"
"No," is my response. This isn't exactly how I pictured the first day of school, but things don't usually tend to go the way I picture them. I say a small prayer for wisdom and try to remember if I've read about how to dissolve back-to-school fears in a magazine article or book. Can't recall.
Ah-ha. A loves Chick-fil-A as much as mom. Sure it's not textbook, but hey, it might work.
"Pumpkin, do you want to go to Chick-fil-A for a special first day of school breakfast?" She turns to look up at me and stops crying.
"Chick-fil-A" she musters pitifully. "Umm-hmm," I say. "You know, A , it's okay to be nervous about school. That's how you feel, nervous. You aren't sure what to expect, are you? That's scary." How profound is mom?
"I want chicken rolls, mommy." So much for my profound wisdom. I help her get dressed, pick up C , and walk downstairs. A follows us, in a much better mood. She almost seems excited. She even lets mom take some first day of school pictures. Maybe she just needed to express some fear and frustration the only way she knew how. Of course, I would have preferred expressing frustration without completely emptying the drawers, but I try my best to empathize with my baby, I mean, big girl.
After a trip to Chick-fil-A, we head to carpool, where we eat breakfast while waiting in line. I point out the playground, some people we see that A knows, and talk school up in a big way. A is growing more excited, and I breathe a sigh of relief. And, yes, I'll admit it; I wouldn't have been devastated if she had just refused and we'd waited until next year. But as I watch her get out of the car and walk into the school, I know how much fun she has waiting for her in the classroom, and I am filled with an enormous amount of pride, proud that she expressed frustration, took a big breath, and went to school despite her apprehensions. That's my girl. I can't wait until I can tell her just how proud I am of her when I pick her up in four hours. I look back at my sleeping baby boy and know it won't be long until his first day of 3K. Sigh...
"No," is my response. This isn't exactly how I pictured the first day of school, but things don't usually tend to go the way I picture them. I say a small prayer for wisdom and try to remember if I've read about how to dissolve back-to-school fears in a magazine article or book. Can't recall.
Ah-ha. A loves Chick-fil-A as much as mom. Sure it's not textbook, but hey, it might work.
"Pumpkin, do you want to go to Chick-fil-A for a special first day of school breakfast?" She turns to look up at me and stops crying.
"Chick-fil-A" she musters pitifully. "Umm-hmm," I say. "You know, A , it's okay to be nervous about school. That's how you feel, nervous. You aren't sure what to expect, are you? That's scary." How profound is mom?
"I want chicken rolls, mommy." So much for my profound wisdom. I help her get dressed, pick up C , and walk downstairs. A follows us, in a much better mood. She almost seems excited. She even lets mom take some first day of school pictures. Maybe she just needed to express some fear and frustration the only way she knew how. Of course, I would have preferred expressing frustration without completely emptying the drawers, but I try my best to empathize with my baby, I mean, big girl.
After a trip to Chick-fil-A, we head to carpool, where we eat breakfast while waiting in line. I point out the playground, some people we see that A knows, and talk school up in a big way. A is growing more excited, and I breathe a sigh of relief. And, yes, I'll admit it; I wouldn't have been devastated if she had just refused and we'd waited until next year. But as I watch her get out of the car and walk into the school, I know how much fun she has waiting for her in the classroom, and I am filled with an enormous amount of pride, proud that she expressed frustration, took a big breath, and went to school despite her apprehensions. That's my girl. I can't wait until I can tell her just how proud I am of her when I pick her up in four hours. I look back at my sleeping baby boy and know it won't be long until his first day of 3K. Sigh...
Tuesday, August 11, 2009
Back to School for the First Time
When they handed me my beautiful baby girl and I cradled her gently against my heart, I never imagined how quickly that sweet infant would be a sweet three-year-old. Well, here we are, and A is getting ready to start 3K. Mom has mixed feelings; A has one emotion: ready. I didn't plan on sending her to school until 4K, but when she heard all of her friends were attending school, she wouldn't hear of it. She must be in school, too, mommy. So, I caved and signed her up. Today, we met the teacher and needless to say, we were memorable.
I unload A and C from the car, and we walk up the stairs to the church that houses A 's school. We are met by the school's director, who is a friend and the director of our own church's nursery program. "What's wrong with C 's face?" she asks. Oh no, what is wrong with C 's face? I look down to see him rubbing his eyes, he removes his hands, and I see welps around his eyes and nose. Dell! "He touched a toy the family dog had been playing with then touched his face. Dell's dander makes him itchy." Not even in the classroom and I have one child who looks like he's broken out in hives. The other is hiding behind my leg.
We get to the door of her classroom, and A plants herself even more firmly behind my leg. "Come on sweetheart, let's meet your teacher." She doesn't say anything, but quietly walks over to the book case. Some other parents and children are already in the classroom playing. A 's teacher comes over to us and kindly introduces herself to A . Without saying a word, A makes her way over to some matchbox cars and begins playing quietly. I talk to a few parents and explain why my son's face is so red. I make my way over to the sink and rinse the Dell residue from C 's face and hands. The redness starts to diminish, so I try and find something for him to play with while A meets her new classmates.
"She took my green car!" A wails. I never really know quite how to handle this when it isn't a close friend or her brother, so I offer, "Why don't you let your new friend play with it for two minutes, then you play for two minutes. Let's take turns." Her "new friend" offers A a green truck, which quickly goes flying across the room. "A ! She was trying to be nice. Please pick up the truck and say thank you." A 's new friend and her mom get up and move to the table to speak with some other parents and their children. I will not be expecting a play date call immediately. I let A continue playing and grab a plastic hammer from a bin for C to play with. "I don't know how she keeps things clean." I overhear then notice some parents watching my son put the toy in his mouth. Seriously? I take the hammer from C , grab a wipe from my purse, sanitize the hammer, and put it back in the toy chest. I stand and walk around with C trying to make conversation with other parents. So A 's throwing cars, C r, whose face looks like he has a frightening disease is chewing on toys, and I want to ask, "Can we go out, come in, and start over?"
Many of the parents leave and I give A the "we leave in two mintues warning." Her teacher and I talk for a few minutes and she asks if the visit has alleviated any of my apprehensions. "It has for the most part. I just worry a bit about how A is going to interact with the other children at first. She can be so empathetic, but she doesn't love to share. Of course, she's three." I repeat "she's three" just to remind myself that her behavior is completely normal. Her teacher nods and agrees that A will do just fine. What mom doesn't worry about her child's first time in school?
C begins to grow impatient, so I take A by the hand, direct her to say good-bye and we head to the car. A doesn't even acknowledge her teacher, but once we walk out the door, she begins to talk excitedly about the mural on the hallway wall, and by now, C r's sweet eyes are almost back to normal. We get to the car, and she really opens up about her room and her teacher and when she gets to come back. And I know once A is comfortable and school begins, her teacher and classmates will begin to see her as I see her: sweet, kind, brilliant, funny, loving, thoughtful, assertive, and wonderful. I take a deep breath and realize that although, I'm not quite ready for her to begin school, she can't wait to start, so I brace myself for lesson 1 of one million in letting go.
I unload A and C from the car, and we walk up the stairs to the church that houses A 's school. We are met by the school's director, who is a friend and the director of our own church's nursery program. "What's wrong with C 's face?" she asks. Oh no, what is wrong with C 's face? I look down to see him rubbing his eyes, he removes his hands, and I see welps around his eyes and nose. Dell! "He touched a toy the family dog had been playing with then touched his face. Dell's dander makes him itchy." Not even in the classroom and I have one child who looks like he's broken out in hives. The other is hiding behind my leg.
We get to the door of her classroom, and A plants herself even more firmly behind my leg. "Come on sweetheart, let's meet your teacher." She doesn't say anything, but quietly walks over to the book case. Some other parents and children are already in the classroom playing. A 's teacher comes over to us and kindly introduces herself to A . Without saying a word, A makes her way over to some matchbox cars and begins playing quietly. I talk to a few parents and explain why my son's face is so red. I make my way over to the sink and rinse the Dell residue from C 's face and hands. The redness starts to diminish, so I try and find something for him to play with while A meets her new classmates.
"She took my green car!" A wails. I never really know quite how to handle this when it isn't a close friend or her brother, so I offer, "Why don't you let your new friend play with it for two minutes, then you play for two minutes. Let's take turns." Her "new friend" offers A a green truck, which quickly goes flying across the room. "A ! She was trying to be nice. Please pick up the truck and say thank you." A 's new friend and her mom get up and move to the table to speak with some other parents and their children. I will not be expecting a play date call immediately. I let A continue playing and grab a plastic hammer from a bin for C to play with. "I don't know how she keeps things clean." I overhear then notice some parents watching my son put the toy in his mouth. Seriously? I take the hammer from C , grab a wipe from my purse, sanitize the hammer, and put it back in the toy chest. I stand and walk around with C trying to make conversation with other parents. So A 's throwing cars, C r, whose face looks like he has a frightening disease is chewing on toys, and I want to ask, "Can we go out, come in, and start over?"
Many of the parents leave and I give A the "we leave in two mintues warning." Her teacher and I talk for a few minutes and she asks if the visit has alleviated any of my apprehensions. "It has for the most part. I just worry a bit about how A is going to interact with the other children at first. She can be so empathetic, but she doesn't love to share. Of course, she's three." I repeat "she's three" just to remind myself that her behavior is completely normal. Her teacher nods and agrees that A will do just fine. What mom doesn't worry about her child's first time in school?
C begins to grow impatient, so I take A by the hand, direct her to say good-bye and we head to the car. A doesn't even acknowledge her teacher, but once we walk out the door, she begins to talk excitedly about the mural on the hallway wall, and by now, C r's sweet eyes are almost back to normal. We get to the car, and she really opens up about her room and her teacher and when she gets to come back. And I know once A is comfortable and school begins, her teacher and classmates will begin to see her as I see her: sweet, kind, brilliant, funny, loving, thoughtful, assertive, and wonderful. I take a deep breath and realize that although, I'm not quite ready for her to begin school, she can't wait to start, so I brace myself for lesson 1 of one million in letting go.
Thursday, August 6, 2009
Obstacle Course
Once you've run a marathon, it's hard to stop. (Running marathons in general, not that specific marathon.) Something about the thrill of training and pushing your body to its limits drives you to keep striving to complete more races, faster. After a 1 1/2 year training hiatus, I have decided to run a half-marathon in December in honor of C 's birthday and a half in February in honor of A 's birthday. Two halves make a whole, right? I realize this endeavor, though, will be met with challenges not faced in my last training regiment; challenges like training with two children and a double jogger.
Challenge # 1 Getting to the track
"All right, Pumpkin, let's go." I coax A out the door, while holding C on one arm and my purse on the other. I have just finished loading books, snacks, a sippy cup, my water bottle, and sunscreen into the car.
"It's too sunny."
"Then get your sunglasses." I walk out the door to put C into his car seat. A comes out onto the porch. "Come on, sweetie, let's go."
"It's too shiny," she musters in her most pitiful voice.
"How about you close your eyes, and I'll carry you to the car? That way you won't see the sun so much."
"Okay." I start the car and back out the driveway. One mile later, we arrive at the track. "No, don't turn off Veggie Tales." I refrain from rolling my eyes and whining myself and wait patiently for "Message from the Lord" to end. I unload the stroller then load it down with at least five books, snacks, my cell phone, Walkman, sippy cup, water bottle, and a toy for C . Then I buckle A and C into the stroller.
And....we're off......and make it at least three feet when I hear, "I want my snack." I hand A her snack and start to jog.....and make it three more feet when I hear, "I want my juice." I try to hand A her juice while running without falling and decide to play it safe. I stop the stroller, hand her the cup, wait for her to drink, put it back in the stroller and start my run. By the time we get to the half-mile marker, C is snoozing and A has settled into a book. I just hope reaching into the storage section of the stroller 50 times for books, water, and snacks counts as ab work.
Challenge # 2 Connor's nap
When I resumed running after giving birth to my sweet boy, he didn't immediately settle into a stroller nap. No, I was usually the woman sloooowwly pushing the double jogger with the howling baby. Once I made it to the half-mile marker, if C were still awake, I'd take him out of the stroller, place him in the front carrier until he fell asleep, then I'd ease him back into the stroller and finish my run, A waiting sweetly and patiently the entire time.
Now naps are routine, but there are no guarantees. Take, for instance, two days ago, when running down the trail, my little ones and I were greeted by the clink-clink-clink of a jackhammer. Of course, a jackhammer. Why wouldn't there be a man with a jackhammer in the middle of the Greenway? C , jolted awake, began to whine. Big sister, though, came to the rescue with entertainment (silly faces), and he was occupied until we got back to the car.
Challenge #3 Rainy Days and Detours
When it rains, the trail floods. When the flood recedes, there is mud, lots of mud. After a particularly rainy stretch, I give it a few days then decide to attempt running the trail, hoping to find ways to avoid the really muddy areas. We park in a new spot, which A noticies immediately, and enter the trail from a drier area. I jog down onto the path, where I am greeted by a woman walking. "The trail is under water up there." "Really?!" I exclaim, surprised. That particular area never floods. "Yes, but you can go see for yourself if you want to," is her curt reply. "Thanks," I respond. It's not that I didn't believe her. My "really" was more an interjection of surprise. We turn around and run through the parking lot of an office complex, which happens to be next to a fire station.
Now, we detour by the fire station whether it's muddy or not. Even when I try to keep on the trail, I am usually halted by a voice shouting, "Fire truck, mommy." What can you do? I just count it as extra training.
Challenge # 4 Heat
Really, what else can you say but, it's hot in August in the south. Real hot when your running. Fortunately, not so much when your lounging comfortably in the shade of the stroller.
Benefits
The benefits of hauling twenty pounds of books, snacks, sippy cups, and water bottles to the trail and hoping that my two sweethearts will sit or sleep patiently certainly outweigh the burdens of the challenges, though. While taking detours, I've shared with my daughter the amazement of seeing a flock of geese waddle around before taking off in beautiful flight. Her face shining with excitement as she exclaims, "Goose, mommy, lots of goose." We've seen the brook babble quietly on water stops. A , C , and I have watched firefighters wash the fire truck and new puppies test the limits of their leashes. While running, I've leaned over the stroller and read to A her favorite books, albeit a little winded. Me, not the books. I've overheard A and giggling as A 's silly antics entertain her brother, so her mommy can finish a 45 minute run. And, I continue to be amazed by how what I so often perceive as inconvenient stops are really opportunities for God to reveal small jewels of wonder.
And through this all, I am hopefully teaching my children small lessons about setting goals and accomplishing them and am teaching them a lot about discipline, faith, and perseverance. And they, too, are teaching mom; teaching me about patience and finding joy in the "little" things.
Challenge # 1 Getting to the track
"All right, Pumpkin, let's go." I coax A out the door, while holding C on one arm and my purse on the other. I have just finished loading books, snacks, a sippy cup, my water bottle, and sunscreen into the car.
"It's too sunny."
"Then get your sunglasses." I walk out the door to put C into his car seat. A comes out onto the porch. "Come on, sweetie, let's go."
"It's too shiny," she musters in her most pitiful voice.
"How about you close your eyes, and I'll carry you to the car? That way you won't see the sun so much."
"Okay." I start the car and back out the driveway. One mile later, we arrive at the track. "No, don't turn off Veggie Tales." I refrain from rolling my eyes and whining myself and wait patiently for "Message from the Lord" to end. I unload the stroller then load it down with at least five books, snacks, my cell phone, Walkman, sippy cup, water bottle, and a toy for C . Then I buckle A and C into the stroller.
And....we're off......and make it at least three feet when I hear, "I want my snack." I hand A her snack and start to jog.....and make it three more feet when I hear, "I want my juice." I try to hand A her juice while running without falling and decide to play it safe. I stop the stroller, hand her the cup, wait for her to drink, put it back in the stroller and start my run. By the time we get to the half-mile marker, C is snoozing and A has settled into a book. I just hope reaching into the storage section of the stroller 50 times for books, water, and snacks counts as ab work.
Challenge # 2 Connor's nap
When I resumed running after giving birth to my sweet boy, he didn't immediately settle into a stroller nap. No, I was usually the woman sloooowwly pushing the double jogger with the howling baby. Once I made it to the half-mile marker, if C were still awake, I'd take him out of the stroller, place him in the front carrier until he fell asleep, then I'd ease him back into the stroller and finish my run, A waiting sweetly and patiently the entire time.
Now naps are routine, but there are no guarantees. Take, for instance, two days ago, when running down the trail, my little ones and I were greeted by the clink-clink-clink of a jackhammer. Of course, a jackhammer. Why wouldn't there be a man with a jackhammer in the middle of the Greenway? C , jolted awake, began to whine. Big sister, though, came to the rescue with entertainment (silly faces), and he was occupied until we got back to the car.
Challenge #3 Rainy Days and Detours
When it rains, the trail floods. When the flood recedes, there is mud, lots of mud. After a particularly rainy stretch, I give it a few days then decide to attempt running the trail, hoping to find ways to avoid the really muddy areas. We park in a new spot, which A noticies immediately, and enter the trail from a drier area. I jog down onto the path, where I am greeted by a woman walking. "The trail is under water up there." "Really?!" I exclaim, surprised. That particular area never floods. "Yes, but you can go see for yourself if you want to," is her curt reply. "Thanks," I respond. It's not that I didn't believe her. My "really" was more an interjection of surprise. We turn around and run through the parking lot of an office complex, which happens to be next to a fire station.
Now, we detour by the fire station whether it's muddy or not. Even when I try to keep on the trail, I am usually halted by a voice shouting, "Fire truck, mommy." What can you do? I just count it as extra training.
Challenge # 4 Heat
Really, what else can you say but, it's hot in August in the south. Real hot when your running. Fortunately, not so much when your lounging comfortably in the shade of the stroller.
Benefits
The benefits of hauling twenty pounds of books, snacks, sippy cups, and water bottles to the trail and hoping that my two sweethearts will sit or sleep patiently certainly outweigh the burdens of the challenges, though. While taking detours, I've shared with my daughter the amazement of seeing a flock of geese waddle around before taking off in beautiful flight. Her face shining with excitement as she exclaims, "Goose, mommy, lots of goose." We've seen the brook babble quietly on water stops. A , C , and I have watched firefighters wash the fire truck and new puppies test the limits of their leashes. While running, I've leaned over the stroller and read to A her favorite books, albeit a little winded. Me, not the books. I've overheard A and giggling as A 's silly antics entertain her brother, so her mommy can finish a 45 minute run. And, I continue to be amazed by how what I so often perceive as inconvenient stops are really opportunities for God to reveal small jewels of wonder.
And through this all, I am hopefully teaching my children small lessons about setting goals and accomplishing them and am teaching them a lot about discipline, faith, and perseverance. And they, too, are teaching mom; teaching me about patience and finding joy in the "little" things.
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