Mom of the Year

Mornings around here can be a little rough.  

They start out good enough, full of good intentions and happy thoughts and warm fuzzies, but then, well, the minutes just keep ticking by and real life sets in.  Along with harsh realities and less-than-pleasant thoughts and a few words that get mumbled under my breath in hopes that my children can't hear them and repeat them at school.

They repeat everything at school, remember?

My son is a bit on the pokey side.  Ok, a lot on the pokey side.  As in gets completely distracted and lost in his own thoughts and forgets that he is actually supposed to be doing something in the here and now.  Morning just compounds this whole nature of his.  Adding on a Michelin Man layer of winter gear doesn't help either.

We've tried getting up earlier.  We've tried incentive charts.  We've tried letting him sleep a few minutes later.  We've tried laying everything out the night before.  All great ideas, right?  That's basically all they are.  Great ideas.  Nothing has actually worked to help him move any faster or be ready any earlier.

But miracles do happen.

Last week, there was a day when my son was ready early.  Yes, EARLY.  As in ready to go with a minimal number of kicks in the butt from yours truly.  There were high 5's all around and much jubilation and celebration and then the best news of all...I told him he had a few extra minutes to play before heading out to the bus.  

You should know it has been frigid...literally...around here lately.  Buses have been late with all the snow and ice, and waiting outside for the bus has been miserable.  We've been heading out the door at the time the bus is scheduled to come, and then usually still have a 2-3 minute wait.  Which still feels like 2-3 hours when it is 2 degrees outside.  Yes, really, 2 degrees.  And that is without the windchill.  But I digress...

Wouldn't you know, the day my son was EARLY (I said it again...EARLY!!) just so happened to be the day the bus was early.  WAIT, WHAT?!  As I sent my son off to play with his Legos while bundled up in snow gear from head to toe, and bent down to pick up his backpack near the front door, I heard a faint, familiar, rumbling sound.  As I looked out the window, I saw it.  I had visual confirmation of what I had just heard.

My son's bus cruising on by our house.

A full 5 minutes early, which was actually more like 10 minutes early from what it had been the last few weeks.

I was pretty much in shock as I turned to my husband and uttered the words, "His bus just drove by!"  The ONE DAY my son was ready not only on time, but EARLY, and I blew it!!  His moment of glory, his time in the sun, poof! out the window.  What's worse was that he now connected getting ready early to getting the frequently-asked-for-rarely-granted ride to school.  This was not the Pavlovian connection I was hoping for!

Sign me up.  Submit your paperwork now, ladies and gentlemen.  I'm a shoe in, hands down winner.  This fiasco has earned me top honors...

Yes, that is correct.  Mom of the Year, right here.

I wish this was the one and only time I can say I've earned this coveted honor.  But that would be a lie.  

There could be the time I dropped my son off at preschool and he was crying because he wanted to leave, my daughter was crying because she wanted to stay, and his teacher was letting me know I hadn't turned in any of the paperwork that had been due before school started.

Mom of the Year

Or the time I locked my kids in the car.  Along with my keys.  In my day care provider's driveway.

Mom of the Year

Or the time I was in a tickle fight with my son and in the midst of all the hilarity and laughing and good ole fashioned fun, I proceeded to completely scratch a layer of epidermis of my poor kid's cheek with my much too long (and apparently sharp) finger nail.

Mom of the Year

I could go on, but I don't want to intimidate anyone with my amazing parenting skills.  No, I'm not one to brag so I'll stop with my tales of my consecutive Mom of the Year titles right there.  I know, you're in total awe of my awesomeness right now...or perhaps you're just in awe that my kids have survived as long as they have!

We all have our days.  We all have our moments.  When you have your Mom of the Year moment, just remember, you're not alone.  Kids can be driven to school.  Locksmiths can come unlock cars.  Scratches heal.  You love your kids more than anything in the whole wide world, and that is what matters.  That truly does make you Mom of the Year.

Some days, you're Mom of the Year.  Some days, you're not.  Everyday, You Are a Good Mom.

If you have any Mom of the Year submissions of your own, feel free to leave them in a comment below!  I'd be happy to share my title with anyone who wants a piece of the glory.

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If you haven't already, be sure to stop by and check out the "You're a Good Mom" page on Facebook.  "Like" it and any new blog posts will be delivered right to your news feed! Thanks!!

Christmas Has Left Me in Pieces

I love Christmas.  Christmas decorations, Christmas songs, Christmas trees, Christmas morning.  Christmas, Christmas, Christmas.  I love it all.

But this year, Christmas has left me in pieces.

Hundreds of them.  Thousands of them.  Millions of them.

They are everywhere.

Playmobil pieces, Lego bricks, magnet dress up sets, craft kits...you name it, it's spread from one end of our house to the other.

To make matters worse, it appears as though the more pieces a toy has, the more my children love to play with it.  Everywhere.  In every room of the house.  Which of course means that of that 384-piece toy my kids love, those 384 pieces will never again all be in the same room, let alone bucket, basket or handy storage container that came with said toy again.  Ever.  

I enter the following photographs into evidence.  I take full responsibility, as many of these gifts were supplied by my very own hands.  Please note, none of these photos have been staged or altered in anyway.  This is just my real, live, post-Christmas house.  Don't judge.

Exhibit A: Angry Birds Pirate Ship

This game works just like the app.  You're supposed to build a pirate ship, complete with pigs nestled in random nooks and crannies, then send the Angry Bird (on overturned car picture above) up the ramp to knock it down.  Here is the problem.  It's supposed to break down easily, which means it pretty much breaks every time we try to set it up.  Hence the pile of pieces on the living room floor.  Thanks, Santa.

Exhibit B:  Art Kit

This picture does not do this art kit justice.  It came with stamps, stickers, paint, more stickers, crayons, markers, foam pieces, and more stickers.  Pieces.

Please note the handy dandy storage container next to the crayons and markers.  Quite effective, isn't it?  Yes, Santa, thanks again.

Exhibit C: Calico Critters Schoolhouse

Just imagine every single, little piece a mouse would need for school.  Books, pencils, desks, even a graduation cap and gown.  Yup, it's all there.  All of it.  

Exhibit D: Fire Truck Play Set

Apparently, this toy company was not satisfied with merely a fire truck.  Absolutely not.  It needed to add some more pieces...like 42 street signs, some random cans and portions of the truck that can be removed.  It's almost like the fire already happened, and just left a path of destruction behind.  

Exhibit E: Legos

This is only the tip of the iceberg.  It represents about 1/100 of the Lego pieces we now have in our house, after all the Legos my kids received for Christmas this year have now combined with the Legos that were already in our house.  I think they've been somehow secretly reproducing at night.  

(Honestly, what I love most about this picture is that the Legos are in my daughter's room, on her night stand.  Like it was the very last thing she did before dozing off to sleep.)

Exhibit F: Nativity Set

Baby Jesus, I love you.  I really, really love you.  And I love your birthday.  But even your set up comes with pieces, pieces and more pieces!

Exhibit G: Reindeer Bead Kit

This one takes the cake.  Right there on the package, it boasts '225 beads,' like it's a good thing.  225 beads.  225 pieces.  All over my kitchen floor, about 14 different times over Christmas vacation, as my kids loved to start this project and still have yet to complete it.  

And just for good measure...

Some rogue Playmobil Knights, planning their next attack from under my son's bed.

Learning to Love the Little Pieces

Even though this Christmas has left me in pieces, there is a little part of me that actually loves it, just a little bit.  

(That part would not be my feet.  They hate it.  They have stepped on just about every type of teeny tiny toy possible in the last 10 days.)  

The part of me that loves it, loves it because all those millions of pieces all over my house actually mean some pretty great things.  

It means that my kids are playing.  Even better, they are playing with each other.

It means that they are using their imaginations.

It means that in order to leave those piles of pieces behind, they had to not be parked in front of a TV screen, a computer screen or an iPad screen.

It means that there are lots and lots of people in my kids' lives that love them, and give them lots of things with lots of little pieces.

It means that my kids are still kids, and they still love to play with toys.

It means that these memories of millions of little tiny pieces all over the place are mine.  All mine.  They can never be taken away.  Even when my kids have outgrown toys for electronic devices; even when they're out with their friends more than home with me; even when they're off at college and not living here at home with me.  I will think back to these memories of millions of pieces. 

And that, without a doubt, will leave me in pieces.  

No matter how many pieces are strewn throughout your house at any given moment, You Are a Good Mom.

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Just a Little While Longer

"Ahh!! Look out!  Look out!"

"Planes are going everywhere!   There's a big accident!"

"Ahhh!  Whoa!  Whoa!  Whoa!  Whoa!"

"Dusty Crophopper is coming through!  He's coming up this way!  Dusty Crophopper!"

That is the play by play I can hear coming from my son's bedroom right now.  My daughter is in there with him, and they are zooming their airplanes all over the place, and every once in awhile, crashing into one another.

Their teeth have been brushed, their stories have been read, and their little selves have been tucked in tight.  

They should be in their own rooms, quietly laying in their beds and drifting off to dreamland.

Except they're not.

I should be telling my daughter to go back to her room and telling my son to put the toys away and go to sleep.

Except I'm not.

I'm laying here in my bed.  I'm listening to them create their own imaginary world above the clouds.  I'm taking in an impromptu playtime of them just being brother and sister and actually enjoying one another.  I'm soaking up just one more night of them being 5 and 3.  

These moments will be gone much too soon.  

"Back-to-school" is just around the corner, and with it comes schedule and routine and consistency.  While I am a lover of all things schedule and routine and consistent, I know it also means no more 'extended' bedtimes or my little pilots 'sneaking' out of bed to squeeze in a few more minutes of play with each other.  Once school starts, they'll be passed out at the dinner table if I don't keep them awake with the promise of dessert.  If they do stay awake beyond a scoop of ice cream and their normal bedtime routine, I'll have no choice but to march their little buns to their respective beds when I hear their airplane dialogue begin.  

These moments will be gone much too soon.  

"Back-to-school" will come this year, and next year, and the year after that.  Elementary school will become middle school will become high school.  Before I know it, the toy airplanes will be packed away.  They won't need me to brush their teeth before bed or read them stories.  Sneaking out of bed to talk to their brother or sister will not be something they consider "fun."  All too soon, I'll be laying in bed listening not to their voices exchanging airplane dialogue, but for the sound of their car making it safely into the driveway.  

So just for tonight, just for a little while longer, I'll let them be pilots.  

I'll let them soar and crash and fly and zoom.  

I'll let them think I don't know they're still awake, and I'll listen in on their little world. 

I'll hang on to summer for one more night.  

I'll hang on to them at 5 and 3 for one more night.

"Dusty Crophopper...to the rescue!"

Even when you let them stay up just a few minutes longer than you should, You're a Good Mom. 

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"Parent"dox: Birthdays are for Parents

Sunday Night "Parent"dox #9: Birthdays are for Parents

Remember when you were a kid and waiting an entire year for your birthday seemed like a lifetime?  Counting down the days until your birthday felt like an eternity, like time had literally frozen, and in severe cases -- such as anticipating a birthday party at Show Biz Pizza or waiting for the all-important double digit milestone of 10 -- it could feel like time was actually going backwards.  

Now, as an adult, those years fly by much faster than I care to admit, and a birthday is often just another day of the week.  

I was reminded just how fast those years are flying by when I was leaving my son's school this week.  I was talking to our neighbor, a 1st grader, in the hallway as I was on my way out the door.  As we were talking and laughing, one of her classmates came walking up to join in our conversation.

Kid:  "Hi.  What's your name?"
Me:  "Carrie.  What's your name?"
Kid:  "Jeremiah."
Me:  "What a great name, Jeremiah.  It's nice to meet you.  Are you in Kelly's class?"
Kid:  "Yup.  Are you Kelly's grandma?"

Grandma?  Grandma??  Thanks for that, 6-year-old kid I don't know.  You are doing wonders for my self esteem.   

I tried to rationalize that one as much as I could.  These are some of the things I contemplated on my drive home to console my wounded ego:

1.  Maybe he knows Kelly's mom, and knew I wasn't her, so he just went with the next relation he could think of.  (Although, for the record, I would have preferred "cool aunt" or "hip cousin" much better...)
2. Maybe he meant Grandma as a compliment.  I mean really, to a 6-year-old, there is no more amazing person on the planet than Grandma, am I right?
3. Maybe he failed his vision screening.
4. Maybe I should stop wearing my hair in a bun.

After all the rationalizing, though, all I could do was laugh.  Truly, I love the unfiltered thoughts that tumble out of kids' mouths.  They always seem to serve as a good reminder not to take things too seriously.  

Like birthdays.  And getting older.  And age.  

Age is just a number. 

 Actually, it's much more than a number.  That number represents another hard-earned year's worth of laughs enjoyed, obstacles overcome, tears shed, experiences lived, relationships deepened, fears conquered, boundaries pushed and wisdom gained.  I am thankful for the years God has given me; thankful for the people He has put in my life in those years; thankful for  the happy memories that serve to mark each of those years; and I'm learning to be thankful for the challenges that have made me stronger over those years.  

It is a number to be celebrated; a number to be cherished; a number to be treasured. 

So, yes, there is no denying it, today is my actual birthday.  On this day that celebrates my birth and glorious introduction to this great big world, I have been thinking...  I didn't really do anything that day.  I was born.  Piece of cake.  (Maybe that's why this day is commemorated with cake?)  Really, let's think about the people we should be celebrating here...the people who actually made that very first birthday a reality.  

My parents.

Here is my request for this day and for years to come...don't send birthday wishes my way, send them to my parents.  

Happy Birth Day to both of you!  Thank you for all the work (aka labor) you did that day to get me here.  Thank you for getting our family of 2 (soon to be 3) to the hospital safe and sound.  Thank you for getting through contraction after contraction.  Thank you for cutting the cord.  Thank you for holding me when I was just minutes old.  Thank you for not passing out at any point.  Thank you for encouraging and supporting and celebrating that day.

To my parents, on my birthday, You Are a Good Mom (and Dad!).  Thanks for loving me and supporting from that very first minute, that very first breath, and for every minute and breath since then for the last 34 years.  I love you guys to the moon and back!

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Are You a Good Cooker?

One night as I was making dinner, my 4 1/2-year-old son wandered in the kitchen and began a lovely little conversation.

"Mom, you're not a good cooker."

Wait...what?  Did I hear that right?  Was I really having my culinary skills critiqued by someone who used the word "cooker"?  I remained silent as I tried not to laugh, scold, question or tell him that he was more than welcome to start making his own stinkin' meals. Fighting all these urges, I just stood there and listened.  

"Mom, you're not a good cooker.  You try to make good food for us, but you just don't.  Let me explain.  Like 11 days you are a good cooker, but 50 days you are not a good cooker."

Yup, apparently I did hear that right.  Thank you, Bobby Flay, Jr.

I am the first to admit I am no expert in the kitchen.  I'm not one of those people who love to cook.  I don't have well-defined taste buds or wonderful instincts when it comes to foods and flavors.  I am, however, learning as I cook more and more.  I do prepare dinner just about every night of the week for my family, and no one has died or gotten food poisoning yet, so I'm feeling pretty good about that.  

Needless to say, cooking is neither a gift or talent of mine.

You Are a Good Cooker
Contrast that with a good friend of mine who was telling me just the other day about broccoli cheddar soup she had made.  My mouth was watering just listening to her describe it.  And then came the big jaw-dropper for me...she made it from scratch.  Like "scratch" scratch.  Like didn't have a recipe.  I was in total and utter shock and amazement.  No recipe?  She could have told me she rescued someone's life by performing CPR and I would have been equally as amazed.  The best part was this detail was just a part of the story, and only came out as I was asking her questions.  She wasn't bragging; she wasn't boasting.  She was so very humble.

This was one of her gifts and talents.  Here I am, working away in my little kitchen, following each and every recipe to the letter, and hoping it turns into something edible.  There she is, in her kitchen, whipping up a culinary masterpiece without so much as a single measurement to go by!  Did she even know the true awesomeness of her soup-making skills?  I was in awe.

You Are a Good Ice Skater
Within a few days, a similar scenario presented itself.  My uncle had generously given us tickets to take our family and another family to Disney on Ice.  It just so happened that the other Mom (and dear friend), that was with us was an ice skater herself.  At the end of the show, we all kept talking about how great the skating was and asking her how in the world a skater can spin and twirl and balance and jump...and do it all on ice!

Very simply, she said "How do you guys shoot a basketball?  That's just as amazing to me."

And there is was again.  This was her gift, her talent.  She was so very humble about this special, unique, amazing talent she had.

You Are a Good...
Each and every one of you reading this can complete that sentence in a million different ways.  When I think of my friends and family, so many different gifts and talents come to mind...

...You have such incredible fashion sense.  You can whip together a few things out of your closet and voila! Amazing!
...You are an incredible listener.  You let me go on and on and on about whatever is on my heart, no matter how big or how small.
...You can quote movie line after movie line and apply it to any situation.  You always seem to know who "that guy" that was in "that one movie" whenever I can't remember.
...You are loyal beyond words.  You are genuine and real and I know I can always just be me when I am with you.  You remind me life isn't perfect, and I don't have to be either.
...You run...and run...and run!  You keep putting one foot in front of the other and you run miles and miles and miles.  And no one is even chasing you!
...You are hilarious.  Whenever you open your mouth, you make me laugh.  Sometimes, you don't even have to open your mouth...you can do it with just a look on your face.
...You do hair like nobody's business.  Your own hair.  Your kids' hair.  You can give your son an adorable haircut, and you can whip your little girl's hair into a french braid in no time flat.
...You have twins.  Enough said.
...You can take an empty room, and know just what paint color goes with what fabric color goes with what window treatments goes with what throw pillows and make it look like a million bucks.
...You are the coupon queen.  You always know where the very best deals are, and have a coupon on hand at a moment's notice for whatever random item I'm shopping for.
...You can parallel park without breaking a sweat...even when there are people watching you do it.

Just a Little Warning
Please, please, please don't misunderstand where I'm coming from by talking about gifts and talents.  My worst fear is that someone reading this would see the strengths of others as weaknesses in themselves, or use the talents of someone else as some sort of "measuring stick" for themselves.  (What's that I hear?  A can of worms being opened?  I think this topic may require a post all its own...stay tuned.)

Y'all know where I stand on the whole "You're a Good Mom" bit and lifting each other up, not tearing each other -- or yourself -- down.  I'm not a whiz in the kitchen or on the ice.  My strengths lie in other areas, and I am OK with that.  It makes me appreciate each of those qualities in each of those friends that much more. 

This isn't about comparison.  This isn't about competition.  This isn't about guilt.  

This is about seeing yourself for the amazing person you are.  

This is about taking time to think -- really think -- and acknowledge your own strengths.  So often, we don't think of the things we are good at as "strengths."  It's just "what we do."   We don't realize what a gift, a talent, it is until someone else points it out.  Even then, we tend to shrug our shoulders, brush it off, and downplay it as "not a big deal." 

It is sometimes too easy for us to see the things we don't do as well as we'd like; the things we wish we could do; the things we have tried and not yet accomplished.  

It can be more difficult to see the things we do well; the things we can do; the things we have worked hard at and achieved.

Now It's Your Turn
What are your gifts and talents?  What are your strengths?  I'm asking you to go out on a limb here, gather up your courage, and post a comment below about a gift, talent or strength you possess.  For these few minutes, recognize it, celebrate it, take pride in it.

You can leave the comment anonymously if you'd like.  You can even use the comment to honor a gift or talent you recognize in someone else -- a sister, a friend, a co-worker, a mom.  Then, if you're really feeling courageous, pass this post on to them, or send them a quick email, text or give them a phone call and let them know what amazing talent you see in them.  Chances are, they may not have recognized it as anything special in themselves until you pointed it out.  

My hope would be that when others read the gifts and talents listed, they wouldn't read it and think of their shortcomings.  Rather, that they may begin to recognize some of those gifts and talents in themselves, or begin thinking about other areas of strength in their own lives they hadn't recognized before.  

All too often, we tear ourselves down with the things we can't do.  Let's take just a moment to build ourselves up, to build each other up, and acknowledge the things we can do.

[And yes...changing a diaper without getting peed on is totally a talent!  So is finishing a phone call while there is a toddler in the room, actually arriving to a location on time when you have children in tow, and eating a meal while it is still hot when there is a baby at the table.  You think I am kidding.  I am not.  Don't forget these skills you have honed!]

When you recognize the unique gifts and talents God has given you, You Are a Good Mom.  

When you acknowledge and celebrate the unique gifts and talents God has given others, You Are a Good Mom.

When you make macaroni and cheese right out of the blue box, You Are a Good Cooker and You Are a Good Mom.  (Yeah, my same little stinker food critic told me I was a "good cooker" when I was making macaroni and cheese for him and his sister for lunch about a week after the first critique.  I am obviously grooming very refined palettes in this house!)  

My Own Personal Lost and Found

I admit it.  I tend to lose things.

My keys.  My wallet.  My patience.  One shoe at a Jimmy Buffet concert.  My passwords for just about everything.  My dry cleaning claim slip for my son's comforter.  My perspective.

That last one is probably the one I struggle with most.  I, admittedly, am also a "sweat-er of the small stuff."  I don't mean to be, and I try really hard not to be, but it seems to be one of those things that continually pops up in my life.  One of those life lessons that keeps presenting itself over and over, most likely because I haven't learned it yet.  Whether it's a pop quiz or a full blown exam, I generally fail.  Miserably.  

I worry about the mess.  I get frustrated with being late.  I see the short-term loss instead of the long-term gain.

Photo Opp...
In an attempt to document the "small stuff" I tend to sweat, and provide a visual reminder for myself to stop and find perspective, I decided to take some pictures.  Over the last week or so, whenever I found myself getting upset or frustrated about "small stuff" at home, I tried to remember to grab my camera and snap a quick picture.  

So, feast your eyes and enjoy the mess that is my house in the pictures below.  I've added my own little "perspective caption" for myself, too.  Hopefully I can use this as a cheat sheet on my next test...

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I will be thankful for the lotiony fingerprints on the mirror, because it means I had a 2-year-old beauty "helping" me get ready for the day.

I will smile at the piles of books, because it means I have kiddos who are hopefully beginning to fall in love with the written word and will return to books again and again throughout their lives.

I will take joy in the dinosaur I stepped on as I put my shoe on, because it means my 4-year-old son took a creative journey back to the prehistoric ages.  I'm guessing my stinky shoe got to a be a tar pit of some sort...

I will be glad for the string of puzzles that found there way into my bed, because it means I have a daughter who still wants to play with her mom.

I will ignore the muddy footprints in my kitchen, because it means family and friends have filled our home.

I will smile at the scrambled eggs on the floor, because it means we had food to eat, and kids who are independent enough to feed themselves...well, sort of...

I will take a deep breath and not freak out about my kids bringing everything (this is just a small sampling) out of their bedrooms into the living room, because it means my son and my daughter are playing with each other.

I will try really hard not to step on any of these Legos, and be thankful for my budding little engineers and their boundless creativity.

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This ended up having a couple of unforeseen benefits:

1. It gave me permission ignore the mess for awhile, and acknowledge that no one got sucked into a black hole and the space/time continuum did not tear. 
2. It forced me to stop and be thankful for the causes of this "small stuff," and appreciate that these little messes and mishaps are to be cherished and treasured now, because one day, the ones who cause them won't be living under this roof. 
3. And even an added benefit for you, dear reader...  Don't you now feel like your house is incredibly clean, and you didn't even have to pick up, wash or dust anything!

Put It Somewhere Safe
I wish I could hang on to this perspective; to put it in a safe place where I won't lose it.  (Along with my keys and my wallet...)  Unfortunately, I fear that in the hustle and bustle that is life, this new-found perspective will inevitably get lost again, along with a stack of mail and a wayward toddler sock.  I can only hope for more deep breaths, more photo opportunities and more reminders to focus on what is truly important in this life.  

My faith.  My family.  My friends.  

That is beyond enough.  I am truly blessed.  

When the messes are piling up, You Are A Good Mom.  

When you are busy raising children, You Are a Good Mom.  

When you lose perspective, but find it again, You Are a Good Mom.