I Love Babies and All Things Related!

We have some big news to share.

Keith's vasectomy was scheduled for September 22nd at 4:30. Oh, I had looked forward to that day for so long.

Why the vasectomy? That is so drastic and permanent for a young couple like yourselves! Yes, I hear you. But, when we began our adoption journey early in 2009, we felt it was a call God had placed on our hearts and soon decided any future children we wanted we would attempt via adoption.

Yep, you got it. No more bio babies for us. And, that's A-okay with me. What's the big deal with having babies anyway? Nearly everyone does it. Oh, "miracle of life." Miracle? That's just the way God does it...makes humans...and pretty much all other species. I'm no scientist, but the creation and delivery of Avery and Simon were pretty much the same. Not to discount those or any creations...I mean, they were created by God...which is some pretty undeniable evidence of His existence. How you can be a witness to any birth and not believe there's a God is beyond me. But it's no Jesus walking on water or turning water into wine.

I know many of you want to come spit in my face for that, or at least never return to this blog, but don't get me wrong. I enjoyed pregnancy with Avery. No complaints...except that I got tired of people only asking me pregnancy and baby related questions. Yoo hoo, I'm still here! Seriously, it was like I disappeared. Plus, people with whom you've only spoken a few words are suddenly your BFFs simply because they too have pro-created. Gasp! A rare commonality.

If you are still reading, don't hate me. If I have friends left, I apologize for not being more concerned with your pregnancy. I do care. But, I would rather talk about you...or me. I honestly forget you are pregnant unless the event has been wretched. I just offered one of my prego girlfriends a glass of chocolate wine piled high with whipped cream...it's so delicious...and she patted her non-existent 4-month bump as her response. Oh, right.

Don't even get me started on babies. Sure, they're cute, squishy, not too heavy. I did enjoy all of Avery's baby-hood. At each stage I kept thinking how fantastic it was and that it wasn't possible to get better, yet it did. Meaning we are now having the best times ever! But, babies are a lot of work. Ugh! The worst part could be having to sit down to feed them. Oh, stinky diapers are nothing compared to having to sit...and wait...on a baby...to eat. Ahh! Some of them are so slow I want to rip my hair out in exasperation. Babies are still welcome in my house. We still have baby gates in place and the pack-n-play is oftentimes set up for a visitor.

Easy breezy 6-month-old Baby Penny hangs out with us all the time, or so it seems to me. That girl takes 45 minutes to eat! I endure it. I love her. Perhaps I endure it because I know she is one of my future daughters-in-law. I'm not just hoping. She is currently betrothed, in all seriousness, to one of our sons. It was the only way to ensure that the 4 of us parents remain bonded for a lifetime. Smart, I know.

Back to the vasectomy. Why didn't we schedule it two and a half years ago when we decided to close up shop? At that time, we felt that surgically prohibiting a chance for more biological children would be like slamming the door in God's face. Plus, I was scared that God's response would be a slap in my face with a positive pregnancy test. Like, I'll show you Who's boss.

For 2 years I have waited. Knowing, hoping, praying: no more babies, yet also facing the scary possibility that we might conceive. Eek! So, Keith was on board with the ole snip-aroo but quickly jumped ship when we decided to wait. He agreed: no more babies but wanted me to be the one to "get fixed." Uh, no. Since then, I have begged and pleaded and used every bargaining tool with Keith in my attempts to change his mind.

Then, August rolled around and I realized something. Gasp! I was pacing the floor, biting my nails, twirling my hair. We had given away all pregnancy and baby paraphernalia. Not one iota left in this house, except for those baby gates and that pack-n-play. The panic ceased when I found out I was anemic, hence the reason for my lack of blogging and picture posting this summer, but not before we had a big, fat pregnancy scare.

Guess what Keith did the very next day. Called a urologist. That's right. We both signed the papers and set that boy up for surgery. Woo hoo! I was ecstatic. Finally, no more worrying about babies, at least not from this womb. Praise God!

Last week, His perfect timing. During a conversation with a woman I deeply respect, the topic came up out of the blue. I received wisdom and counsel from this woman who had been there and done that.

My thoughts since that happenchance conversation?

God is in control of my childbearing. Do I trust Him? That's really the bottom line. But, should I do everything known to man in order to take the reigns in the situation? It would be like saying, "I know what's best for me better than You do." Children, including slow, stinky, high-maintenance babies, are a gift from God. And, Jeremiah 29:11 promises me a hope and a future...that God will prosper me and not harm me...even if He throws another baby at me.

So, what's the big news?

No, I'm not pregnant. Phew. We haven't decided to have more babies. Another good thing. I guess the news is that we cancelled the appointment 2 days prior to the scheduled surgery. Yep, no one is getting fixed right now...or maybe ever. That and also for the first time ever I have no idea what God's direction on my life is...AND I am at peace with not knowing. From the age of 10 I have wanted, demanded, God to lay it all out for me. That seems like the opposite of faith to me. Kind of reminds me of another woman who thought she just had to know everything. You might know her too. Eve.

I'm not driving this boat, so right now I'm just going to sit back and enjoy the ride...as much as I can. The job before me is raising children. He has entrusted to me human beings...3 so far. I guess if He wants to give me another messy, stinky, slow and very small one, I'll more than survive.

If you've stayed with up to this point, please don't come cuss me out. One of my BFFs beat you to the punch. Cussed me out and compared me to the woman on TV who's had 25 babies. I promise not to have 25 kids and endanger the lives of the babies and myself.

Last, if either of us "gets fixed," it will not be motivated by fear of pregnancy.

More pictures? You got it!

Obviously, Avery and I both got all of our hair cut off. I had said I would cut it 6 months after the boys came home...I made it 5.

I'm not sure what's more horrifying here: the broomish looking ends of my hair or my pasty white skin.

People keep asking me if I donated it. Maybe it's because they feel as if they have to say something and don't necessarily like it. They'll get used to it. Yes, all of the hair is being donated. My hair was divided into 4 pony tails...16 inches each. This was long overdue.

Before

After the 8-inch pony tail was cut off.

Here, stylist Mandy Bowley of Salon Serenity works on Avery's hair in her bathroom because it's her day off. I love Mandy. Besides being great at her job, she puts up with a control freak hovering over her shoulder and giving her confusing instructions from the stool.

Although I do love her new do, it wasn't my idea for Avery to cut her hair. She was inspired by my friend Courtney who just cut her short hair even shorter. Miss Courtney might be the most fun mom I know, which is probably the reason Avery loves her so much.

Mandy and her family, including son Cal pictured above, were our neighbors for 4 years. Cal, whom Avery has forced into countless princess dresses and marriage ceremonies, is one of her BFFs.

Ivan taking care of business.

I believe Garris could live on a bicycle.

Dumpster Diving

This post has one purpose: my admission of guilt. What! Yes, I am guilty of a wrong. I know...it's hard to believe the gal who's always right has made a mistake. But I have. And it was a big one.

So, I have purposefully failed to mention the paperwork we've been completing since the boys' homecoming for two reasons. 1) I would hate to dissuade any of you in your own adoption pursuit, whether it's currently in the works or just an idea you're contemplating. 2) Paperwork is boring. Reading about someone else's trudge through mounds of it could bore you to death...or at least put you to sleep.

Wait! Don't fall asleep yet. I'm not going to talk about paperwork.

Well, just a smidge.

After another endless stream of documents that had to be notarized and certified and signed in blood, we appeared in court with all 3 kiddos. Umm, that was fun. It was the final step in getting the boy's birth certificates as American citizens with their new first and middle names. Our last name had already been given to them and put on their Ethiopian birth certificate in March when we received final approval. Next, we can apply for U.S. passports and social security numbers, although Keith is considering letting them spend their lives running from the government since it's too late for him. Hey! Are you still awake? My story's about to get good.

We left court with 2 documents. I wish I could tell you the name of these documents, but Keith has hidden them from me...for good reason. You know they're special because of their swirly gold paper and fancy shmancy gold seal. Well, before I could even retrieve these from the vehicle we noticed the birth year for one child was wrong. Wah, wah. When I heard the word "wrong," I took a good sorrowful look at those documents, folded BOTH of them in half hamburger style and slipped BOTH of them in the kitchen trash.

Fast forward about 5 days when Keith, who has made all trips to the courthouse and all phone calls to our agency and taken care of all documents for the social worker, called me one afternoon to inquire the whereabouts of the sole correct swirly gold document with that fancy seal. My heart sank. But quickly rose along with my anger to combat that of my husband. Why was I angry? Obviously because he was really the one at fault, right? He knows not to trust me with fancy documents. I'm lucky to have my license, credit card and library card in my wallet.

When I returned home, I found Keith outside donning blue latex gloves, digging through the garbage can which held 2 weeks' worth of trash. After sifting through the contents 3 times, he told me I didn't throw them in the trash. "Yes, I did!" I vividly remember folding without even creasing the documents and slipping them in the side of the trash. I knew I was right!

Fast forward another few days and Keith has been attempting to obtain the corrected version of one fancy gold document (the one that was wrong) and a re-creation of the other one (the correct one that I threw away). On this particular day, Keith had asked me to take our decree of adoption to the courthouse, a document way too official to be left alone with me much less entrusted unto me for transportation. On my way out the door, I reached into my "purse" to grab a post-it note, and when I looked, there peaking above the rim were those swirly gold documents, the ones with that fancy seal that had been folded in half hamburger style, the ones I swore I threw into the trash.

Well, it turns out my purse is indistinguishable from a trash can. Either that or God performed a miracle by placing his hand over those gold documents, saving them from the trash, and guided them into my bag so that they emerged from my the top just in time.

In the end, Keith's dumpster diving was just for the fun of it, and I cleaned out my purse. Oh, and I won't fight Keith next time he refuses to let me hold my own passport and plane ticket.

Again, here are more pictures unrelated to this post.

After several boo boos including a little bleeding and a huge protrusion from a forehead, Keith took the kids to pick out helmets.

Fun times with play dough...that I made with a large pot, ingredients from the pantry, and the full force of my upper body strength. I say this with pride as I am not at all crafty.

Random picture of Garris...I am guessing after a bike ride, although he sweats like this even while playing inside the house.

What are they watching? Horton Hears a Who. Why are they sitting in little chairs and not snuggled on the couch? They don't know how to "sit" on furniture. Therefore, they aren't allowed to sit on it. Before you go thinking I'm the worst mom ever, let me tell you that their sitting quickly turns into wiggling, then rolling, bouncing, jumping, and gymnastics. We use things for which they were created, for the most part. I'm old school.

No More Wire Hangers!!!

Someone, ahem, told me I need to be more positive about my kids whilst blogging. So, don't give up on me!

Life is really getting so much easier for me. I no longer require a visual on the boys at all times. Yes, one can wander behind a wall without my fearing he will attempt to pry off outlet covers. Not the outlet plugs. Even my dog can pluck out those useless pieces of plastic. The cover plate that is screwed into the wall. How in the world? Um, that really happened. On several occasions.

Here's how easy it's getting around here. One day last week I vacuumed the entire house. The whole darn thing! I had started out during naptime just wanting to get downstairs done. It was killing me, and I'm not even psycho about clean floors. Okay, maybe the kitchen floor. But that's it! We had even had company the previous night, and I didn't even have the decency to vacuum for them. So, proof of my regular, not psycho, need for freshly vacuumed carpets.

When the kids' rest period was over, I honestly thought I was done with my beloved miracle of machines for the day. My plan for the time between nap and Keith's arrival was to do some number/counting activities with the boys. Oh, they can count: Garris to 20 and Ivan to at least 10. But they need help assigning those values to objects and digits. This plan included a special number puzzle from the playroom. When I retrieved this spectacular teaching tool...Gasp! The purple number 7 was missing!

Are you hearing horror movie music like I am? You know...the music that plays as someone's being stabbed to death behind a shower curtain.

Again, gasp! My mind flashed back to a scene a few days prior when I walked in on all 3 of the kids...even Avery...hurling various wooden puzzle pieces across the room. Oh, I lost it. You know I did. Throwing. In. My. House. This time...enormous gasp! After apparently a not-so-thorough glance that my demands had been met and all pieces were returned to their rightful homes, I hadn't thought about those puzzles. Until now. Dun dun dunnn! WHERE IS THE PURPLE NUMBER 7?!!!

Picture the scene in Mommie Dearest where Joan, in a fit over the use of wire hangers, shakes out a powdered cleaner all over the bathroom and orders Christina to wipe it up. One by one I dumped out the toy bins and ordered the kids to put back their contents. In hopes of finding the missing purple number 7, I showed the kids how to shake out each item before placing it back in the proper bin. They quickly lost interest in this charade, so I told them we would do nothing until it was found. In the end, I spotted that pesky purple number 7, which had fallen out of an overturned toy bin and rolled just under the edge of the couch, and we all rejoiced for the end of my madness. When all items were stored away, the playroom floor was evenly coated with lint, fuzz balls and tiny bits of trash. What is a gal to do?

Well, we did our number activities. I also included a Cheerio counting exercise to double duty snack time during the lesson. Once finished, I assigned each child to a very separate location downstairs with a puzzle and instructions: If you work on this puzzle until the timer goes off, you can watch a movie until Daddy gets home. Which would give them about 10 minutes of viewing time, but I kept that tidbit to myself and let them proceed with motivation. Meanwhile, I zipped up the stairs with equipment in tow. I started at the top of the stairs and worked my way back to the playroom. May as well do all the rooms while the vacuum is up there, right?

So, I'm holding fast to that claim about being normal...and not psycho...with my need to clean. As for missing puzzle pieces? Hmm...

Okay, the truth. I'm not as wretched as you are thinking. I mean, who would go that nuts over 1 little puzzle piece. There were in fact 3 missing puzzle pieces. A red triangular prism that we found right away and a yellow, pegged circle that has yet to be spotted.

What? You want to see more of my gorgeous children? Okay... Here are some more shots from the summer.

This is from BB, Before Boys. Keith and Avery had a fun Saturday morning of water color painting. Avery's picture looks a bit like Ariel, and Keith titled his masterpiece "Origins of Drag Queen." I'm not sure who was more amused by the activity.

If forcing kids to pick strawberries and blueberries in the heat is child labor, that's not what we're doing here. Avery joined us as well, although she was too deep in the bushes with her BFF for me to get a picture.

Ivan is mad because he has to put the berries into the bucket instead of his mouth.

I'm surprised there aren't more pictures with laundry baskets in the background, as they were scattered about the house the first 8 weeks. Initially, I let Ivan fold the kitchen towels, which I use instead of paper towels...the reason none of them match. But I had to revoke that decision because he was such a perfectionist about it...refolding any towel that wasn't perfectly aligned and getting upset with a stack that was off centered. Poor little guy. Who knew this is what would become of the toddler who we saw continuously snatching and hurling items across the visitor's area at the orphanage.

More examples of the goofball we somehow produced. Seriously, neither one of has a single silly bone. It looks as if she's sketched a torrential downpour...and is laughing or cursing the unfortunate soul standing just outside the safety of that nearby tree.

Ivan spends much of his day laughing...at himself of course...or trying to get others to laugh. He's bound to end up on stage one day.

Magic spell? There is no other explanation as to why all 3 of them appear to be at rest on the couch...at the same time...in the middle of the day.

I think this was the first day Avery sweetly invited the boys into her room to play dress up. Here, Ivan has applied his own make up and finally settled on a pair of green and white suede boots. Garris spent most of his time working to find just the right number of hair accessories. Obviously, the more the better, right?

At one point, both boys were wearing fur coats. I must find those pictures!

Family Dedication, a.k.a. Baby Dedication, at our amazing church Four Corners...and our pastor Alex Early on the left.

Almost a Shower a Day

In addition to an update for you since the post about all of our changes, I'll also clarify that I am totally serious when writing these. Meaning, truthful. You may be laughing, but this is my life. Yes, I really thought I was dying on our 2nd day in Ethiopia. The only reason I didn't strip my clothes off was that I saw the remainder of my life flash before my eyes, and it included my presumably dead body...naked...being carried out of our guest home. Plus, I couldn't move my limbs, so add impossibility to embarrassment.

Yes, I really wear protection when I do laundry. I have always done other household cleaning with gloves...an item I travel with in case I encounter even a soiled dish...but the contents of Ivan's laundry basket now necessitate the use of them during this duty. On more than one occasion I have found a very used, very old, very stinky pull-up near the bottom of his basket. Surprise! Disgusting. On the upside, for now the laundry flows just a few feet down the hallway but stops before entering my room. Yay! Kids are still helping with their laundry, and I'm about to add the sorting step to their end of the chore. Soon Ivan will be the one to find and dispose of the urine-soaked wad.

My belt is still residing in the van, although I have only had to use it once in the last two weeks to restrain a child. But, I have pulled it out several times as motivation to buckle up more quickly. It still hasn't been used to it's full capacity yet, i.e. for spankings. And as you might know, I never will.

I purchased 2 packs of boys' undies, and Ivan hasn't sported Dora since. Once he started wearing boys' undies consistently, he noticed the little slits in the front and informed me that his were "broken." I'm not sure I can explain to him why those holes are there though. Uh, a little help, please. Anyone?

In addition to the "chart" system, we've incorporated 3 marble jars as well. Now I find the kids sharing with a sibling at the first request, not even a request from me but from the empty-handed sibling. Opportunities to gain or lose a marble are endless. Marbles can be exchanged for treats like ice cream after dinner or special privileges like a movie and popcorn. This may not be the best parenting approach, but it works for now with our limited communication and experience.

Naptimes are bearable. The only requirement, or my goal for now, is that everyone stay in a room alone and in a bed for the most part. Right now, it's only one child I'm battling consistently. Unfortunately, he is the one who actually needs the nap. I typically smother him to capture the flailing limbs. He likes it though and buries himself into me. I just smoosh him, making sure he has a breathing hole, and wait for the signs he's fallen asleep: flinching and barely audible whimpering. One day last week it took an hour. I know this is a huge "sleep crutch," but I don't care. It's either this or walk him back to his bed every few minutes...after he's come to find me to point out some random fact or after I've found him dawdling in the hallway or bathroom. Plus, when I pick him up at any point during this rest period, he squeezes me so tightly with his arms and legs I can barely breath. What horrible mom would say no to that?

As disgusting it may sound, I really would go several days without showering, unless a dip in the pool counts. Some days there just wasn't a point in showering. And, although my dental hygiene is more important to me than my physical hygiene, often there was no way for me to get to a toothbrush until naptime, and at that point I was nearly brain dead, so who cares about clean teeth then. I couldn't let the kids out of my sight, so my options were drag all of them up to my bathroom and somehow keep them out of harm's way while I selfishly brushed my teeth or simply forgo this small, and often unnecessary, piece of my routine. Recent improvements in my hygiene: I purchased my own toothbrush and paste to keep downstairs, which means I just fall right in with the kids in their morning routine. My teeth get brushed at least twice each day. Wait! It gets better! I have been getting 5-6 showers per week! Woo hoo! That is all thanks to my gym membership with childcare, plus a new giant fantastic bag on wheels. Just ask Keith about it. He'll tell you all of it's many features.

So the black vertical bag on the bottom is my new gym bag, the reason I'm taking showers again. The yellow one on top of it is what I tote the rest of my life around in. And, that medium-sized orange rectangle is my wallet, which conveniently straps across my body so that my hands are free to keep my children from being run over when walking to and from the vehicle.

I'll take this time here at the end to post some photos from this summer. I have many more and hope to get to them soon.

Awesome Dad! Throwing Garris while Ivan is on his shoulders.

Avery striking a super cool pose at the pool.

Garris showing off that he can write his name.

Ivan loves adorning himself in stickers as much as Avery does. Um, he is practicing the skill of tracing...and below, circles.

Seriously, how did I get such a goofy daughter? And, her brothers are only exacerbating it! I have no clue why she's showing off her enormous biceps here. But, so cute!

Obviously, good at writing numbers...almost all of them.

A rare moment of cooperation. Pure bliss!

A Big Fat Muffin Mistake

The picture below is quickly becoming not only a fair representation of how our household works but also the kind of mother I have become with 3 kids. Vacuuming isn't a chore I have, in all my cruelty, assigned to a 4-year old. I mean, one day I'll gladly hand it over. But for now she needs too much assistance and still misses too much mess to make it worth the effort. My effort.

Friday I had made the kids a special breakfast of chocolate chip muffins, which the boys kept calling cookies. Yay, Mom! Ho, ho hold on! Big mistake. Huge. When I saw a layer of crumbs under each child's chair and watched Ivan tease me by waving his muffin as far away from the table as his skinny arm could reach to shake the excess onto the floor, I gave the warning that he who made the biggest mess would clean the floor. I issued this warning knowing I would ultimately be the one who gave the floor its final inspection, but I'd let them take a fair swing at it on their little hands and knees. Well, moments after I announced the consequence, Avery looked at me, smiled and dusted all crumbs from herself and her chair onto the floor. At that point, the boys could have crumbled their remaining muffins beneath them and made less of a mess than she had.

How, you ask, is this picture a good representation of what my life has become? Despite Keith's efforts to steer the boys away from young chick flicks like Tangled by forcing them to endure the movie Cars and the dark side of He-Man, their most recent favorite movie is Annie. Yep, the one with Albert Finney and Carol Burnett. And, they are quickly falling in love with The Sound of Music, too. But, back to Annie and its relation to the picture above.

The boys seem most entertained not so much by the storyline, which...thankfully...I doubt they actually understand, but by a few details: 1) The fact that "Daddy Warbucks" is bald...much like their own daddy's self-imposed baldness. 2) The orphans' constant mockery of Miss Hannigan. 3) Miss Hannigan's mistreatment of the orphans. Oh, plus they have turned the song "Tomorrow" into "Two Marbles" because of their endless bickering and bragging over who can get or has the most marbles in his "marble jar."

They particularly love scenes in which Miss Hannigan manhandles the children by taking hold of their shirts to bring them closer while giving them some arbitrary instruction or when she goes off on a rant screaming, "Kill! Kill! Kill!" Yes, my boys imitate Miss Hannigan doing such things. Our friend Andy tells me they love Miss Hannigan because she and I have so many of the same qualities. Am I really that evil? What have I become? She's only one notch above Mommie Dearest! Why didn't I punch him? Well, this is the same Andy who came and divvied out lunch to 2 of the kiddos while I dealt with the 3rd in the pit of hell. And, if it weren't for this kind act, and many others, I would have.

So, I might be okay with reminding my kids of Miss Hannigan. I feel bad for her. Surely she didn't start out as this horrible woman. No, no, no. Those kids drove her crazy. Drove her to drink. Drove her to throw herself at every man who enters the picture, including Mr. Bundles. She probably started out at least liking kids. Now look at her! One day the punishment dolled out was skipping lunch altogether while the reward was getting cold mush for lunch. Now, I know which is worse in my book.

While I don't demand that the kids clean the floors until they shine like the top of the Chrysler Building, maybe I am a little like Miss Hannigan. Besides the chores we do each morning, cleaning is a logical and natural consequence to many of the kids' infractions. In our house you will often find kids washing walls, wiping down chairs, scrubbing bathroom floors, washing out sinks, etc. Having them clean is 3 fold: It pulls them away from a fun activity. Boo! It provides a way for them to make restitution for the wrong. Fair. And, it lightens my load. Yay!

For instance, if you put dirty shoes on the back of the seat in a vehicle, you get to clean a portion of that vehicle. Did you forget to take your own dishes to the sink after a meal? Well, you can pick up after everyone and clean the table. It's not always cleaning. You purposefully tore the puzzle box? You lose the privilege of playing with puzzles for a day. My kids seem to learn quickly, which I may regret because the van was looking mighty spiffy for a while.

These consequences have come with a recent restructuring of the way we do business around here. (Thanks to 2 books I've been reading: Creative Consequences by Blair from The Facts of Life and Parenting with Love and Logic, residing in my gym bag so I can double duty it on the treadmill). For a while I conducted my days like a short-order cook, servant and maid. No wonder the kids treated me as such. Sometimes we would begin a day in the vicious cycle of rude demands countering one bad mood. Or vice versa.

I can't do everything for my kids and expect them to be grateful...or even turn out okay. Those kinds of parents raise kids who grow up with a sense of entitlement. Having taught in schools on both ends of the socio-economic scale, I have known many kids who think they are entitled...and many who are grateful...and it's pretty easy to tell who came from which class. Plus, I'd wind up bitter because gratitude just isn't going to happen when life is handed to you on a silver platter. However, I can teach them how to do it for themselves and hope they grow in confidence and in character.

And, I won't be offended at hearing, "I love you, Miss Hannigan!"

The Biggest Birthday Gift...Definitely Not the Best

A few weekends ago at the gym, Keith could not persuade me to work out with weights because 1) I wanted to finish re-reading a book while getting some mileage on the treadmill and 2) I just don’t want to work that hard. Ever. So, that is where my mind has been recently: NOT the treadmill, but on what has become one of my favorite parenting books, The Connected Child, authors Purvis, Cross and Sunshine. I have marked nearly every sentence as being of vital importance. Yes, I highlight while on the treadmill. I am a multi-tasker by nature, and, with my growing brood, efficiency of time is a must. Oh, it looks as if I were intoxicated while reading…and I have to pause the treadmill so often to pick up the dropped utensil that the experience doesn’t even count as cardiovascular exercise. Anyway, I bring it up because the book wraps up by talking about being emotionally present. The example given shows how a spouse can be emotionally present, or absent…and how we can be fully present for our children as well.

If a person is emotionally present, he: isn’t tangled up in his own needs, responds fully to you in your moment of tragedy or despair (which is the way I feel at 5:30 on most days…and some day’s I’ve reached that point by 7:02 A.M.), is a safe audience and an eager cheerleader for you, truly hears your concerns, encourages you to be the best you can be.

I list these for two reasons: 1)We all need reminders of how to be fully present to our kids and spouses. 2) I’ve been told this blog is too harsh on my husband at times. What! Okay…maybe. When I read the example of the emotionally present spouse and the list above, I immediately thought of Keith. Not waving my finger in the air in a “he should be this for me” way, but with a relaxing sigh in a “I am grateful and honored to have a husband who is this for me” way.

But before I fully redeem Keith, let me make sure that boy is good and run over.

Hmmm, I was going to list the many horrendous faults of my beloved, but I can’t think of any (well, not many) that I would change. So, maybe he leaves his boxers in the exact spot where he undressed, but seeing them reminds me to be less neurotic about the neatness and order of this house. Instead of being angry or jealous that he gets to sit with the kids in the short time between lunch and nap, I should join him. Forget the kitchen! God fearfully and wonderfully made Keith just the way he is. And, all of those tiny flaws that my flesh loves to point out are actually the reasons I fell in love with him. Well, plus the fact that he was the most godly man I knew. Ahhh. I’m so sweet, right? I know.

Okay, I have to tell one not-so-tiny and very horrible thing. And, although it occurred 10 years ago, I think of it every year on my birthday. With the celebration of that event coming to a close, indulge me for a moment. Six months into our marriage, Keith apparently had forgotten everything he learned about me during our 4-and-a-half year courtship. I arrived home one evening to find our small table topped with my birthday gifts and my least favorite cake, a store-bought birthday cake. Inside his careful and creative wrapping of Walmart bags were 3 items from my week’s grocery list: 2 oven mitts and rubber gloves for the kitchen. Oh, that’s not all he gave me that year. He did make me save the biggest for last, which was concealed by a giant black trash bag. Underneath? A new mesh laundry basket, which was another item on my grocery list. Wait! My gift was inside the laundry basket. Ta da!!! He had picked up all of his dirty clothes for me. Are those great presents or what? Worse? He actually thought they would be. And not just merely acceptable, but he was beaming with pride as he watched me open them.

I am totally serious. Keith gave me a laundry basket full of his dirty clothes for my first birthday after we were married. Whatever you are thinking, multiply it by about a thousand.

If you read my birthday post, you know he did a better job this year. But I may forever jump at the chance to tell that story.

In addition to checking off the list of the fully present spouse description, he also does my dishes. All of them. I wake up each morning to a kitchen that is ready for my tornado-like food preparation amidst the 3 life-draining leaches who sometimes will not give me an inch to breath and other times require a harness just to stay within my vicinity.

Let me brag for a moment if I may. He is well qualified in his career field and could have a great job (um, cha ching) in the big city, but he chooses to stay at good ole Yamaha just 3 miles down the road from our house. It may as well be at our back door. With a non-existent commute, most days we get to see him before work, during lunch, and no later than 5:30. With the exception of the last few weeks during which he took care of 2 turtles for his boss who was in Japan. Turtles who nearly ate us out of house and home by the way. I did get to see him at lunch but only as he ran through the kitchen stealing produce not only from the frig but from my plate as well. Some of you may think I’m crazy for wanting him here so much. Why not scoot him out earlier so we can party?

Well, the show at our house is more like a circus in training. We are far from being ready for public viewing. While I, the ringmaster, know what I’m doing, I need some backup from the person with more God-given authority. Although I read Water for Elephants, I'm not sure if that would be the general manager or the owner. Either way, Keith is that guy. Besides the fact that the voice of Daddy weighs far heavier than the voice of Mommy, he demands that they respect me…or at least act as if they do. Plus, instead of just repeating whatever request they are ignoring from me, he’ll say something like, “Okay, kids, Mommy just said to _____, so you need to ______ or receive the consequence.”

The first two weekends we were home, he took all 3 kids to the park alone so that I could rest and get groceries in peace.

If we have to take separate vehicles anywhere, he always offers to take the kids with him, giving me a rare moment of driving solo. On the boys' first trip to Krispy Kreme for instance, I set my cruise control on the minimum posted interstate speed, taking full advantage of my chance to act as the DJ in my own vehicle.

Even though he is clobbered by 3 tiny bodies who are screaming excitedly about their day, doing anything to get his attention, he repeatedly shakes them off one after the other until he reaches me. Why? "Mommy always gets the first hug," he tells them. Um, and kiss. Usually several of them...while we ignore their attempts to climb up our legs. Not gross. Just the way it should be.

Okay, I could go on, but you get the picture. I mean, all the stuff I have said previously about him is absolutely true…like his leaving me for worse than dead in the airport. But in the end, WHO HE IS far outweighs any goofy or even hurtful mistakes.

Dora is Gender Neutral, Right?

In the week or so since the last update, this household has undergone a multitude of changes. Oh, how I wish I had the time to share all of them with you.

The laundry room, which is now stocked with a mask, rubber gloves and tongs, can no longer contain the mass of clothes that get shuffled through on a daily basis. It has not only oozed out into the hallway but has also taken over entire rooms of the house. This is even with the help of 3 little laundry elves. Yep, I have relinquished control over much of this never-ending duty. The kids are allowed to fold, hang up and put away all of their own garments. They love it! And, of course I love it...until I open a drawer. Yikes! However, I have come to the conclusion that clean clothes are more important than neatly organized clothes. At least for the kids. When do chores stop being a prize that is fought over and become a burden? Oh, and since I was informed that Keith has unfolded his neatly folded boxers for the last 10 years, I've decided I am no longer folding any of his clothes. I put nice stuff on hangers, but the rest gets tossed into a basket for him to NOT fold before he stuffs into drawers.

My white leather retro belt has found a new home in the van. I’ve had to pull over while driving several times to use it. Although there are instances I would like to use it for a needed or deserved spanking, especially when the sibling rivalry has reached its climax in those close quarters, our discipline approach does not include it. The soul purpose of this accessory is to reinforce a seatbelt. Yes, on occasion one of the kids doesn’t want to get in or stay in a carseat. Shocking, I know.

After making Ivan go commando (Again! I am horrible.), I just restocked his drawer with a plethora of Avery’s Dora undies. I mean, it’s Dora, not a princess, and I picked out the ones that, at a quick glance, could pass for a boy’s. When questioned by my decision, I told Avery we were sharing, which won her over and I’m pretty sure made her feel like the greatest big sister ever. Oh, and Ivan did the little naked happy dance of a 3-year old when he reached for a fresh pair the next day and saw them. In the end, I think that was good parenting. Maybe?

Garris is learning to share, a huge feat seeing how he used to attack those who mistakenly picked up one of his favorites. I’m not certain whether it’s the result of time and his realizing the object isn’t being given away…or the result of the nice “Rewards” charts I fixed up. Each child has 2 chores plus 3 skills, like sharing…or using an “inside voice” for Garris. He is so loud. Ivan’s chart lists “Seated at meals” because the boy’s got ants in his pants. Avery is working on breathing and using her words when she gets mad. We are so much alike that Keith is literally scared. Anyway, the charts. For now, I’m not so much marking it with little Xs or checks, but using it as a visual reminder for me and them, pointing to it when we address a named issue. While we haven’t even discussed a “reward,” Avery is positive she’s getting one and is meticulous about the checking off on hers. Oh, that girl! Hmm…I think I might like my own chart as well.

My naptime perils continue with little change. About once a week all kids are in their beds simultaneously, not raising too much of a raucous, for one hour of the 2-hour afternoon rest time. Other days I am not as lucky though and one or more requires my attention or physical presence the entire time. For instance, one day I stood guard watching a child who I had sequestered in the laundry room. It was my last move before hunting down some type of harness you see used for the electric chair. Most days his limbs require outside interference in order for him to lie still long enough to drift off. But this particular day every muscle, down to his little toe, was wiggling. Even in the laundry room, my prisoner found a way to play with the doorknob and a tiny scrap of lint. I couldn’t even stop him! I was just amazed. I know there must be a solution. He can’t be the only child to exhibit this behavior during naptime. Before the change of location, he was rolling his body on the floor after I removed or blocked off all toys. Froggy hop, inch like a worm, twirl, hop on one foot…all of it from wall to wall in a successful effort to stay awake.

Thanks to Keith’s toothbrush in the kitchen towel drawer, I have been surpassing my daily goal…usually. I’ll admit 2 days this week they received one thorough cleaning, which occurred before bed. So, I need a new one. A goal, not a toothbrush. A daily shower is a tad ambitious, so I will not even dangle it in front of me as if it were a goal I could attain. It’s not happening. Let’s just go with more than 2 per week. If not for me, at least for my husband…and the kids…and maybe my gym gals…oh, and pretty much anyone downwind from me. Last week I took those 2 showers on 2 consecutive days. Woo hoo! Wait…should I celebrate that or be embarrassed by it? Who cares! I took a shower 2 days in a row!!! Not sure that has happened since before we left for Ethiopia. Wow, my life is really coming together.

At this point, I am more likely to sit on the toilet seat at the gym than on one in my own house. Of course, I keep Clorox wipes in every bathroom and use them several times per day. But with my aged bladder that was once crushed by the weight of a baby for 9 months…plus the fact that my potty breaks are limited with 3 destructive forces surrounding me all the livelong day, the urgency with which I run to the toilet does not allow time to clean a space for me to sit…and sometimes not even the time to check if the space is indeed clean. Better safe than sorry, right?

Oh, Keith has shown them how to use the toilet courteously: lift seat, aim, pee, wait, wait a little longer, wipe rim with toilet paper, put seat down, flush. Wow…right? I am one lucky gal. But, urine…on the seat…isn’t the worst thing I might encounter. Need I say more?

If I come across as sounding too negative, I have not given you an accurate picture of our family. So, my next post will be 98% positive. Get ready for some good stuff.