No Whining

Kids fall down and get hurt, they will cry but they need to figure out how to get back up and get on with life. Life is messy and sometimes sucks. I can't crawl under a rock and give up when things get tough and I don't expect my children to do so either.

I'm not a bitch. I don't just ignore them if they are hurt, but I will walk away from a tantrum. 

I bandage boo-boos, dry tears and give kisses. I love hugs and snuggles and a good tickle fight! I hate to see my kids hurt or struggling but I know that those struggles are what will make them stronger. 

I also love playing games with the kids but I don't let them win on purpose. When they beat me at Uno, it's fair and square!

I am not the type of person who over-mother's my kids. I am not a helicopter parent and don't deal well with people who manufacture reasons to worry. 

I've always known that when I had children, I was going to raise them to be independent, self-sufficient respectful, productive members of society. 

It's the way I was raised and couldn't imagine doing it any other way.

But...once I became a boy mom it became even more important to raise good future husbands.

Seriously, I hope to have daughters-in-law someday and I don't want them to hate me because I raised a couple of momma's boys who couldn't do anything for themselves! 

Besides, I'm not a coddler. I despise whiney anything. I don't care if it's a cat, dog, fish or child. Whine and I don't want to be anywhere near you.

Both Glenn and I have encouraged the boys to do things for themselves at very early ages as well as have them help with tasks around the house. These could include anything from scrubbing toilets to helping put the mulch in the gardens.

They are in third grade now but have been getting dressed, getting their breakfast and brushing their teeth on their own since first grade. Initially I would assist but they handle the bulk of it.

I will give time prompts like, "30 minutes to bus!" but they handle the rest.

After the pandemic hit and we were forced into quarantine, I bought Uncrustables, snacks, juice packs, etc. and showed them where everything in the fridge was. At lunchtime, they'd grab their stuff and either sit inside if it was cold or rainy or outside in the sun to eat lunch.

Raising self-sufficient kids isn't hard. It just takes commitment to let them do things on their own and resist the urge to micromanage. Most of the time they do not do things the way I would, (they are, afterall only 9) but, in the grand scheme of things, that doesn't really matter if the job gets finished. 

I want them to make their own way in the world and that requires them to figure stuff out on their own. 

We believe in chores.

They help with the laundry, empty and reload the dishwasher, help with the trash and recycling, vacuum, mop, dust and scrub toilets.

If I have a crazy week and life gets ahead of me, they can, and do, pitch in.

Having independent kids paid off in spades while I was going through chemo. There were days that I literally, could not lift my head off the pillow.

During the summer it wasn't a really big deal but once school started, they had to fend for themselves in the mornings. They would get breakfast, brush their teeth, pack their snacks and get dressed by themselves. I would give my usual time prompts but they handled everything else.  I would message a neighbor asking her to let me know that they got on the bus safely but that was about all I could handle. 

Chemo ended in September and our busy lives continued with gymnastics, karate, business, etc. 

Then Glenn and I caught Covid at Christmas. 

Not a style of holiday celebration I recommend for anyone...by the way. 

We didn't get the easy, get over it in a few days’ variant. We got nailed!

The boys were fine but Glenn and I were down for the count...for days. More than a week really.

Once again having independent children who could fend for themselves paid off.

Neither Glenn nor I were able to get up. We had lots of leftovers in the fridge that the kids could eat and I would order food to be delivered so that they weren't always scrounging to find something.

Hubby and I joke about the kid’s week of "self-parenting" but they really did. With covid in the house no one could go anywhere anyway so iPads, pillows and forts were the tools of choice.

I got better, Glenn did not.

We got him to the hospital where he stayed for 19 days.

I did my best to keep life as usual for the kids. Thanks to some wonderful friends we were able to maintain the status quo. But I am thankful that my kids can and do the chores we taught them. 

Glenn was discharged on Saturday, January 29...in a snow storm because, why not?

It was great to have him home.

He was still exhausted, and we had soooooo much to learn about the diabetes but we have wonderful friends who have jumped in to share their knowledge and experience that we also had peace of mind knowing that we had back up if we needed it.

The kids were just happy to have him back in the house.

They were pretty chill through the whole hospital stay but dad's return was an obvious relief.

Glenn is doing much better. Unfortunately, we recently had a major scare that sent Glenn to the ER via ambulance.

To say that it was terrifying for me was an understatement. Blowing a kiss goodbye to the man I love as the ambulance doors closed will forever be one of the toughest moments of my life.

Sending him off with a major pain in his chest and still filled with blood clots was terrifying because I had no idea if I was going to see him alive again. 

The cause of the pain was never diagnosed but all the things that could have killed him were ruled out. So that was good-ish. I try to focus on the positive but it's so difficult sometimes. I feel like I'm constantly waiting for the other shoe to drop...thank goodness I'm not a centipede! 

I struggle with the unknown.

Even when something is bad I can usually deal with it as long as I know what it is. Trying to maintain my faith when I have no clue what is happening (like mystery chest pain) is something that I struggle with.

My friends know this about me. Three different people sent this to me in the past 48 hours. 

“And the peace of God which surpasses all understanding, 

will guard your hearts and minds in Christ Jesus.” 

Philippians 4:7

All it takes is faith and really cool kids. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Boys...

I happen to love having a history with someone. Ours is short. We've only been together for 5.5 years but have managed to cram a lifetime into what amounts to a smidge more than half a decade.

Hubby refers to them as "adventures." We've had many.

I used to travel a great deal for work and from time to time hubby would join me to both help out and get in a little sightseeing. We have been to AZ (multiple times), Tennessee and Colorado to name a few. We always bookended the trips with personal time that included things like visiting the Grand Canyon, Beal Street and Zip lining in Vale!

We might not travel now but our days are no less exciting.

Rather than gazing at the grandeur of the Grand Canyon we now gaze upon the faces of our boys. We no longer risk life and limb zip lining across gigantic ravines. Instead, we risk our lives changing toxic diapers. Seriously! It's amazing how bad the end product of a grilled cheese sandwich can smell. We no longer dance to the sweet, soulful music on Beal Street but do silly dances with the boys on the playroom floor.

Our days are filled with bumps, bruises and boo-boos that need kissing and occasionally an ice pack.

The other night the stuntman took a header off the back of the sofa onto the hardwood floor. While he was screaming he kept putting his hands in his mouth and, I swear, I saw blood on his tongue. So I applied an ice pack to his mouth and he stopped crying.

About ten minutes later hubby and I noticed that he had a lump on the top of his head...his mouth was fine. Evidently icing his mouth was simply a diversion that caused him to stop crying...probably because he was trying to figure out why mommy and daddy were putting that cold thing on his face?

There are many times that the kids go bump that I don't react at all. I don't want wimpy kids that cry at the drop of a hat or every time they bump into things. They are going to bump into an awful lot of stuff in the next couple of years and need to learn that not everything is "cry worthy."

Granted I am not really an expert here, but I can say from my 17+ months of experience that they clearly look to us to see how they should react. I have even seen them fall down, pause, look at me, whine, wait for a reaction and, when they get none, get up and walk away!

I snap at people who freak out or make a big deal out of it when they fall.

Don't do it!

There are enough whiney kids in the world...I don't want mine on that list!

Much of their reactions to things are learned but there are somethings that you can neither teach nor prevent...Boys will be boys and there is nothing you can do about it!  

We live behind an Amish farm. They are a lovely, kind, God-fearing, hard-working family who welcomed their sixth child into this world last November.

Every day the older kids cut through our yard to get to their school house. It's a really long walk by today's standards and even involves traveling down a road a very busy road.

A couple of weeks ago I headed out to the store at about the same time the Amish school let out for the day. Seeing the kids walking down the road I slowed so that I could leave plenty of room when I passed them. As I neared them the oldest of the boys, in his adorable little straw hat looked at me, smiled and then did the 'Miley Cyrus tongue face' as I drove by!

I almost drove into a tree!

Aaaah boys!

I would be happy no matter what I had, but I have to say that I am beyond grateful that I have sons and not daughters. As one friend put it "I will forever be the queen of my castle."

There will be no PMS drama in this house unless it comes from me and as another friend said, "When you have a son you worry about that one boy, when you have a daughter you worry about all the boys!"

I was never a girlie-girl to begin with and the thought of having daughters brought on nightmares and anxiety attacks the likes of which were paralleled only by my PTSD from a car accident!

I have enough friends with daughters and enough nieces of my own to know that the drama can be painful beyond words and was truly terrified of the thought. Besides, I prefer tree climbing to Barbies any day of the week!

Don't Put That in Your Mouth!

I have mentioned in previous posts that hubby and I have our usual chores around the house. I do the laundry and cleaning and he does the guy stuff like taking out the trash. One morning a few weeks ago, after harvesting the pumpkins and squash, before leaving for work, he decided to empty the diaper pail in the playroom.

To be honest, it was really stinky!

I love that he takes out the trash and does the "hubby jobs" around the house. I hate that he has this really annoying habit of forgetting to put a new bag in the can.  As was the case this particular morning.

I didn't notice this until I rushed one of my boys to the diaper changing table with a massive blowout in his footie pajamas.

Not good!

Hmmm...well, I thought, I'll just put the diaper at the end of the changing table and dispose of it when I was finished. In theory this should have worked out really well.

There was a fatal flaw in my thinking.

At 11 months he is pretty long and his feet come to the end of the diaper changing pad. I couldn't leave him on the table to go get a new bag, I couldn't set him on the floor covered in poop and couldn't put the diaper on the floor because my other son was now standing between my legs.

I removed said diaper and placed it at the foot of the changing pad, hoping for the best, and tackled things with the wipes. Lots and lots of wipes. I piled them up on the offending diaper and grabbed a new diaper to put on him.

That's when the trouble started.

The boys' desire to squirm or rollover is directly proportional to the amount of crap on their butts. The bigger the poop, the more they want to squirm.

When I prevented him from rolling over he got really mad and slammed his feet down...right into the poop filled diaper.

I screamed. Yeah really actually screamed. It sort of...splashed!

My scream startled him and he began to cry, then in a show of some sort of twin solidarity, the other one started to cry too.

Greaaaaat!

Not only do I have a colossal friggin mess but now I have two screaming children to deal with, one of whom was also naked and covered with poop!

When all was said and done, the baby had a new diaper, tears had been dried, the pad on the changing table had been changed and, most importantly, there was a new bag in the diaper pail. Of course I handled it like a pro but then again I am here alone, it's not like anyone else was going to do it. It's just another poopie experience to add to the list.

But...what I am proud of is the fact that I didn't call my hubby and rip him a new one. I didn't even send him an obnoxious text message. Mostly because one of the boys fell down again and needed his boo-boo kissed and by the time I finished dealing with that it was snack time. Ranting at him about something like a trash bag just seemed so menial at that point.

Falling down is the norm around here. They are constantly hitting their heads...usually on the floor. They have learned to avoid the coffee table and the bottom of the kitchen hutch but they trip...when crawling no less, and face-plant. Either or both have been known to have pretty good bruises on their foreheads at least once a week.

I've gotten used to the sounds of their playing...and falling. Depending on the sound of the thump, I've learned to respond appropriately. Sounds in general tell me what's going on but more importantly, the sound of silence is even more telling.

Last week, during our morning ritual, I was enjoying a cup of coffee in the rocker in the bedroom while the kids played in the hallway. They like to crawl around in the hallway, the bathroom,  their room and our closet.

It suddenly dawned on me that it was completely silent.

Not good!

I left my coffee and headed down the hall to find that one of the boys had unraveled most of a roll of toilet paper, which was now piled up in the middle of the floor, and the other was happily chewing away on a wad of it that was so big it would make a professional baseball player jealous.

About the time I walked into the bathroom the one that had been doing the unrolling, discovered this little handle thingy on the toilet tank.

Flush!!!

Unfortunately, he liked the sound. Fortunately, it takes about 35 seconds to refill the tank on the toilet. Which is approximately the amount of time necessary to gather up the toilet paper, remove the disgusting pulp from the one's mouth and move both boys out of the room and close the door.

The bathroom door is now closed all the time and, just in case one of us should happen to leave the door open, the toilet paper is now located on the edge of the sink.

I draw the line at removing the flush handle.

As I've mentioned, I like to start my day slowly with a cup of coffee and the boys like to play upstairs. We now keep all doors upstairs closed with the exception of the master bedroom and the master closet.

They love to play in the closet.

Chewing on shoelaces is a favorite pastime as is, evidently pulling dirty clothes out of the laundry basket that serves as our hamper.

This was discovered one morning as I sat happily rocking away, sipping my coffee and reading the news. I noticed that the boys were a little too quite. As I was getting up to head into the closet to see what they were doing, one of them came crawling out of the closet with a pair of my panties in his mouth like a lion dragging home a kill!

Eeeeeeeeeew!!!

Nobody saw it and if I didn't write about it, no one would even know...but I was mortified! They carry stuff in their mouths all the time...just not my underwear. I don't even think it would have been ok if he had had a clean pair in his mouth. Somethings you just don't put in your mouth...period!

This no doubt will not be the last time that I am completely grossed out by something that one of my boys' puts in his mouth. I am sure the words, "Don't put that in your mouth!" will be said at least a million times but hey, that battle's got to be better than dealing with a flailing, poop-covered baby...Right?!

Calm, Cool and Collected...Sometimes

I have never considered myself to be the overprotective type. Oh, I can be a momma bear when it comes to someone hurting someone I love, but I know that our kids will get boo-boos. And not all situations require 911. 

I truly believe in the concept of "boys will be boys” and fully expect to end up in the emergency room some day.

I have seen children freak out and cry when they plop down on their butts (not a cry-worthy experience as far as I am concerned) simply because their parent's overreaction. 

Not only do I not do the, "Oh my gawd, are you ok?!" over-the-top reaction; I tend to go the other way.

I laugh. 

I fear that I am warping my children.

I'm not a monster. If one if them seriously bangs their head or really falls, I give them the proper boo-boo attention that includes kissing and rocking but if we are talking about a small bonk or slight crash, when they look to me to see how they should react, I simply laugh. 

This might be having an adverse effect.

In the evenings my hubby and I each take a kid and play on the sofa. They crawl around and bounce on the pillows. Well, one night we were doing our regular bouncing routine and one of the boys face-planted into the pillows. The other one laughed...hard. 

Who knows where this will lead down the road?

Knowing that the boys will get boo-boos and having them do so are two entirely different creatures. 

Recently, while washing bottles one afternoon, I heard a weird noise in the playroom (formerly the formal living room AKA the Tea Room). I dried my hands and rounded the corner to discover that one of my boys was painting on the wall with something. Upon further inspection I discovered that it was blood! 

Holy Hell!!! 

I scooped him up and ran to the sink to wash his hand off and see where it was coming from. It seems that he had managed to stick his tiny little fingers into the air return vent for the A/C and slice the tops of his fingers.

Once washed off, I called my neighbor, a retired EMT, to come check him out. I tried desperately to be calm and explain what had happened and ended with, “CAN YOU COME CHECK HIM OUT!”

I was far from calm and now I was crying.

My son on the other hand was not crying and was simply concerned with trying to eat the paper towel that I had wrapped around his fingers.

My neighbor arrived within seconds and declared that my son was fine. The bleeding had stopped completely. The cuts were the equivalent of paper cuts. He even advised me not to put Band-Aids on his little fingers, as he would just try to chew them off and then choke on them.

Hmmm good thinking.

So much for the calm, cool, collected mom that is not overprotective and knows that her kids will get boo-boos huh?