oh be nice!

Every once in awhile someone guilts me with that saying:

"For every unkind thing you say about someone, you must say to nice things."

What I said about Eli's nasty habit wasn't exactly unkind but for the sake of a healthy mother-son relationship I thought I'd follow up with two nice things about Eli. And what are blogs, if not for bragging about our children? Heaven help me I hate bragging.

Anecdote #1: Yesterday the boys were quietly dozing during naptime and I settled on the couch to read. I found my own eyelids feeling heavy so I relocated to my bed. The very moment I relaxed and shut my weary eyes I heard Eli's cries. Not wanting him to wake Cameron I went and retrieved him from his bed. Now the NICE part of the story. I rocked him in the rocking chair until he fell back to sleep and then sat back down on my bed and let him sleep on my chest and bulging belly. He is such a cuddle-bug, which I consider a great blessing. He smelled of sunscreen and sand from our day at the "beach" and they were precious moments. Pardon the cliche.

Anecdote #2: The other day while doing dishes Cameron and Eli were playing cars on the kitchen floor. Cameron kiped one of the cars Eli was playing with which resulted in screams of fury. Discipline followed and Cameron returned the toy. But Cameron wasn't done. He pestered Eli relentlessly with the hope of bullying him into returning the car. (Cameron clearly underestimates Eli's stubborness.) This pestering led to more screams of fury and Cameron was banished to his bedroom. Upon his release and without any prompting from me, Eli approached him directly and with a pleasant smile handed over the matchbox car of dispute. At first I was frustrated that after all his naughty behavior Cameron ended up getting exactly what he wanted. But I didn't want to discourage Eli's act of generosity so I let it be.

exhausted

7:32am: Four year old at the side of my bed. "Hi mom."
"Good morning Cam."
"Can I have chocolate milk and watch cartoons?"
"Yeah. Go potty first."

7:56: Kids have sucked the sippies dry and are engrossed in "Marsa" as they call it. (Show about a talking dog, we'll save that for another post.) Are all kids obsessive about a morning routine, or just mine?

8:00: Office calls. "Chris is sick, can you come in?"
"No, I can't find a babysitter on this short of notice."

8:10: Scripture study interrupted by unrelenting guilt. Chris is a hard worker and desperate for hours. He must really not feel well.

8:11-8:20: Thinking, thinking, thinking. I am totally handicapped when it comes to making a decision and then forgetting about it and moving on.

8:21: Call a friend. She can watch the boys. Wednesdays are short days, it is only until 2:00.
Call the office back.

8:58: Showered, dressed. Kids are dressed. Off we go.

9:35: Arrive at the office, put on my scrubs. Sit on the couch in the lounge room and brace myself. I haven't worked three days in a row in awhile. (Quit your whining Jo.)

2:11: Leave the office, stop by Laura's to pick up a bag full of veggies from her mom's garden.

2:40: Pick up the boys.

3:00-3:34: Sit in front of the computer with a bag of chips and french onion dip. Skipping naps for the boys.

3:40: Return some items to a friend, wish I could stay and talk but I have a visiting teaching appointment at 4:00.

4:07: Shoot. Late for the appointment.

5:12: Get home from appointment. (We chatted a long time. It felt good to chat amidst the chaos of six boys ages six and under. )

5:30: Dinner

5:42: Eli falls asleep at the table.
6:37: Jo falls asleep writing this blog post.

Five minutes ago: Reader fell asleep reading it.

Doesn't your tongue work?

Every once in awhile an obstacle comes along in parenting that leaves me at a complete loss. For example, the time during the darkest hours of night when Cameron was inconsolable because of the "hills" in his sheets. They are the kind of problems you won't find a solution for in your parenting books.

But this time it is Eli who is pushing me to the precipice of my patience. He has developed a nauseating habit of chewing his food and refusing to swallow it. He will sit in his chair stubbornly allowing drool and chicken sediment to pour over his bottom lip. On good days he will give in and choke it down after a period of time sufficient for digestion if he had only let it down in the first place. On bad days it slowly drips from his chin and becomes decoration on his clothing.

In the beginning I let him spit it into a napkin. But then it started to happen so frequently that I committed to the power struggle and now I offer no depository for his masticated messes. I stand there, desperately trying not to lose my cool, insisting that he swallow it. I use bizarre gestures to demonstrate how to swallow.

Then the irrational/paranoid mother instinct kicks in and I start to wonder if he has a "problem". Is it possible that he has a physiological issue that prevents him from properly eating? But I know this can not be true because he never has a problem getting ice cream or potato chips down his pipe. If only Mrs. Piggle Wiggle were REAL.

Today at work I overheard a woman saying that her children bring out the worst in her. My immediate reaction was "Oh that is so sad." But tonight I can completely relate.

my first official local meal

I've read a couple books and a few blogs about eating locally. I've even blogged about it myself. Sunday I finally cooked a "locally grown meal". Nothing fancy, a pasture raised chicken with carrots and onions, and corn on the cob, all from the CSA I'm a member of. It was all very tasty.

I've come to believe, or at least be more aware, that knowing where the food on my plate comes from contributes a great deal to the extent to which I can enjoy a meal. It is especially satisfying that when I pick up the produce from the farm the leaves haven't even wilted yet because it was plucked from the Earth only minutes before.

If you haven't read In Defense of Food, I hereby recommend it. If you can't make it through the first two "sections", as they are a bit tedious, AT LEAST read the last 60 pages. I know that people in this camp have a reputation for being a bit nutty, but don't let that keep you away.

If you are like me, you are worried that reading the book will motivate you to change, but not enough to ACTUALLY initiate change, thereby just making you feel guilty because you haven't changed.

Try it anyway.

that luckie Duckie

On our Hall Family Getaway my dad put together some questions that we used for mealtime discussion. One of the questions went something like this.

Is there a book/song/movie that can always cheer you up when you are feeling down?

A few days ago, although I wasn't exactly feeling down I was certainly cheered by the wit of Dr. Seuss. In fact, I can always count on his nonsensical words and imaginative characters to cheer me. The book presented to me by Cameron for reading was Did I Ever Tell You How Lucky You Are?

**Thank you to a very special uncle for this great gift!

Here are a few lines from the whimsical story of Duckie in the Desert of Drize to cheer you this week.

"When you think things are bad,

when you feel sour and blue,

when you start to get mad...

you should do what I do!

Just tell yourself, Duckie,

you're really quite lucky!

Some people are much more...

oh, ever so much more...

oh, muchly much-much more

unlucky than you!

It's a troublesome world. All the people who're in it

are troubled with troubles almost every minute.

You ought to be thankful, a whole heaping lot,

for the places and people you're lucky you're not!

Suppose that you lived in that forest in France,

where the average young person just hasn't a chance

to escape from the perilous pants-eating-plants!

But your pants are safe! You're a fortunate guy.

And you ought to be shouting, "How lucky am I!"

That's why I say, "Duckie!

Don't Grumble! Don't stew!

Some critters are much-much,

oh, ever so much-much,

so muchly much-much more unlucky than you!"

delight

One of the delights of parenting is being the bearer of good news. I love telling Cameron when something new or unusual is in store for him. Much of the time the anticipation is as good as the actual event. He becomes so giddy with excitement that he can hardly formulate sensible questions about the details of my news. This excitement spreads quickly to Eli who is still at an age of jumping and running in circles to express himself. And I can't help but feel my own heartrate quicken as I watch the two of them.


Perhaps as adults we know that the thing itself is usually so short lived that excessive excitement is hardly worthwhile. We hesitate to build things up lest we are disappointed when they pass all too quickly. Or maybe we are just too embarrassed to let our pleasure show.


Children on the other hand do not allow their enthusiasm to be tarnished by realism. No matter, for example, that the water balloons would last less than five minutes. The 25 minutes the boys spent watching me carefully fill them was so full of eagerness and expectancy that I relished it as much as the three chaotic minutes of balloon throwing that immediately followed.



"Ah, summer, [days of triple digits] what power you have to make us suffer and like it."

Confession

I’ve never had a pregnancy scare. Anytime that it wasn’t in the plan but seemed possible I found myself feeling excited, not worried.

That is not the confession, the confession is this. I recently lived a pregnancy scare vicariously through my dog who is not spayed.

A few weeks ago she got out again. Our promiscuous pet had a one night stand with a black lab, or so I am told. When I recovered her the morning after her escape the woman holding her said she found her with a male dog. The next morning when I told Richard about it he just stared at her. "Yep. She looks like she's lost her virtue."

PANIC.

I felt like such an irresponsible pet owner. We hadn’t had her spayed because, despite Richard’s protests, I hadn’t completely given up on the idea of breeding her. Everyone who breeds AKC retrievers tells me stories that leave dollar signs in my eyeballs like that rich cartoon duck.

But alas, even though retriever lab puppies make great pets, they don’t yield a profitable return. If there were puppies on the way they would be giveaways. I would have posted on craig’s list in desparation: “FREE & ADORABLE Labrador Retriever Puppies. Please take one to save my marriage!”

All day every day all I heard in my mind was the voice of Bob Barker at the end of “The Price is Right”—

“Help control the pet population. Have your pet spayed or neutered.”

Enough time has passed that I can finally rest assured that there will be no puppies. But my relief is stained with shame. Rest assured Bob, the dog will be spayed.

I've been enlightened

I've mentioned before that a Jehovah's Witness couple comes by every Tuesday at 11:30am. Up to this point our topics of discussion have been things that we generally agree on. I was nervous today because I knew I was going to have to disagree about what we were planning to discuss.


In preparation for their visit I read the little chapter in the book they gave me. I panicked because I knew that our views were different but I didn't know why or how to articulate it. So I did a little research but I was still confused. I called Richard in desperation. He explained a few things that cleared up the subject greatly. I then continued to read about the matter in the Bible and the book Jesus the Christ.


I had an amazing experience. All of the sudden I understood something about the gospel that I had never understood before. And not only did I gain an intellectual understanding but I gained a spiritual confirmation.


While they were here we discussed the issue and I tried to bear my witness that Jehovah is the Lord Jesus Christ. All I received from them were doubtful stares but on a personal level I was different.