So I decided to have an object lesson on what “wanting” alone gets us in life.

I put out my empty hands and told everyone to “want” the power cord with all their might.  We closed our eyes in effort.  When we opened them, lo and behold, my hands were still empty.

So I asked, “What can we *do* to help us remember to get it next time?”

We all decided I should write it on the list.  And I did.

Just another life lesson I teach myself along with my children.  Wanting is less than half the battle.  Remembering is probably 75%.  Oh, and effort goes in there somewhere, too…

Levi is such a tactile little boy. He mushes his food. He tears paper. He eats dirt. And sand. And mulch.

He pushes and shoves and bites and hits and takes what he wants. He spends half his day in time out.

He’s definitely action-oriented.

He’s a smart thing, he really is. He learned to talk at a remarkably young age, and he talks really well! Sometimes…

Earlier this morning, I couldn’t find him.

Me: Levi!

Levi: (Muffled) Mama! I in da cwoset!

Me: Are you in the closet?

L: Yes!

Me: Are you stuck?

L: Yes!

Me: Would you like out?

L: Yes!

It was a very well communicated conversation for a two-year-old, I thought.

But then, five minutes ago, while cleaning his abominably messy diaper:

Me: Do you have poopy on your hands?

Levi: (Hands in mouth) Yes.

Me: Are you eating poop?

L: Yes.

Me: Does it taste good?

L: Yes.

Me: (Sigh) Levi, are you an elephant?

L: Yes.

Not so much with the communicating. Just brainlessly saying “Yes”. I’d better never introduce him to ESPN or his future wife’ll hate me…

He also makes me laugh more and laughs easier himself than my other two. It seems he is free from the burden of thought – well, forethought and afterthought. He lives in the moment.

Olivia is observant, silent, and thoughtful. She won’t try anything unless she’s sure she’ll succeed.

Benjamin was not too terribly different: contemplative, communicative, and sensitive. He doesn’t like change. Or messy.

Levi is tactile, action oriented, smart when he wants to be, capable… In some ways, he is so different from my other two, I find myself simply staring at him trying to figure him out!

Obviously, I’m more like the older two…

Does anyone else have a little boy (or girl) like this? Any lessons you’ve learned that you care to pass on? I’d definitely appreciate them!

Sometimes it seems I only post the bad parts of my day.

The melodramaticness of this morning passed rather quickly after I posted about it.

We went inside.  Benjamin put his hangers in his shirts and then whined about going outside, which I told him was out of the question.  I put all of 30 seconds into lunch as I threw a bag of pretzels on the table and scooped some yogurt into a bowl.

(Hey, they’d had a big breakfast – eggs, apples, banana bread…)

I put Benjamin down for his nap, and then laid down in bed with Levi to put him to sleep.  And ended up taking a nap myself.

Woke up, ate a snack with Olivia.  Made myself some heavily creamed and sweetened coffee.  Made her some cinnamon honey milk.  We did our afternoon school.

Benjamin woke up in time to cuddle in my lap as we read about whales and creatures that live in the deep.  Levi woke up when we were done.  And I spent I-don’t-know-how-much-time in the toyroom playing Crazy Legos.

(You know, the kind of Legos where the houses have dozens of rooms, some devoted to trees and others to flowers, and you have to climb a vine to get to the bathroom, which has a slide going into the bathtub.)

We also tied Polly Pockets to train tracks while the Green Goblin and Metro Man fought to save them before Thomas inadvertently ran them over.

And when the extrovert in me was plumb worn out, I snuck away and they let me.  I was able to stalk some Facebooks and Blogs with only the minimal interruption to see what child had locked themselves in the dog crate.  It was Benjamin.  And no, he didn’t want out.

So I’m better now.  I just wanted you to know.  There is peace in this quiet, still house.  And there is Peace in my heart.

And Joy.   And Love.  And Patience.  And Gentleness.  And Faithfulness.  And Self-control (I skipped dessert!).  There might even be some Kindness and Goodness in there, if I may be so bold as to declare it.

Anyone else out there have a great ending to a trying morning? Some other answer to prayer?

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Like when I tell my 5yo to look at the overcast covering of clouds and she says, “I do not see any clouds.”

I give up.

When my 3yo says he’d rather sit on the living room floor staring at the wall than put hangers in shirts so he can come join us outside.

I give up.

When my 20mo jumps from the coffee table to the couch, misses, and lands on his head. Again. Today.

I give up.

I kiss him, hold him, give him a toy to distract him, and set him down.

He’s fine. She’s fine. They’re all fine. They’ll grow up fine. I don’t need to correct every detail, force every chore, prevent every fall.

What I need is to sit here in the quiet and refocus.

Only it’s not quiet. So amid the interruptions, I will attempt to refocus:

Love, Joy, Peace, Patience, Kindness, Goodness, Faithfulness, Gentleness, and Self-Control.

I can do all things through Him who strengthens me.

Oh, help me, Jesus. It was a long night last night and it’s shaping up to be a long, chilly, overcast, exhausted day today.

Put Your love in my heart and Your smile on my face.

Amen.

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Sometimes my kids do things that just make me want to cry.

This afternoon, for example, Benjamin (who is almost four) threw my kitchen timer on the floor.  I didn’t see the first throw; I figured someone had simply dropped something.  I was curious when I heard the second throw.  I came in just in time to see the third throw.  Shocked, I stood there and watched him retrieve the timer, look at it, and throw it again.

Now, I realized that he had not had his nap.  His poor, exhausted little brain cells were mis-firing all over the place.  You could see in his eyes that he was in a weird place.  And, really, it was a cheap timer.  But he had broken it!  On purpose!  Then he looked up and grinned at me!

And, granted, if my house had been spotless and I had been caught up on laundry and dishes, and I didn’t have an agonizing hole in my armpit from a recent infected sweat gland, I may have not taken this as hard as I did.

But I was not in the best of places, and therefore was not short on explaining to Benjamin just how disappointed I was in his behavior.  After a lengthly lecture that I wasn’t sure sunk in very deeply, I told him he would buy me a new kitchen timer with the quarters he earned doing jobs.  And I sent him to his room.  When he emerged a few minutes later, he still had that goofy smile on his face.

Several hours later, I returned from a refreshing solo grocery shopping trip.  All three children were helping me unpack the bags.  Benjamin took a new kitchen timer out one of the bags.  He sat on the table, looking at it.  When he looked up and saw me watching him, he announced, “I will not let you pay for this.  I will work as many jobs as I need to to pay for this timer.”

I couldn’t speak for minute.  I went over to him, gathered him in my arms and kissed the top of his head, pausing to inhale the scent of those thickening blond strands.  When I could finally talk, I told him how proud I was of how he was taking responsibility for his actions.  I told him I loved him.

Sometimes my kids do things that just make me want to cry.

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1) You’ve got to poop.

2) The baby runs past you with a very saggy, very stinky, very messy diaper.

3) The older two break out in a no holds bar drag ‘em down, knock ‘em out brawl over whether the game of the minute should be Cars or Fairies.

What do you do?

Go!

I say you should change the baby on your lap while you’re on the toilet and make the older finish the dishes. But somehow I doubt that would work in real life.

The more realistic option is probably to run away to the back bedroom and blog about the craziness.

This may accomplish nothing and ensure internal damage, poopy baby hands, and ill-tempered children, but it also encapsulates a moment you can chuckle over during naptime.

Who’s with me?!

We woke up to 2/3 of our children cuddling us in bed.  The third joined eventually (she’s a late sleeper).  Looking out the window, we were excited to see a winter wonderland awaiting.

We made our way to the kitchen and listened to Christmas music while enjoying a filling and yummy breakfast of perfectly cooked pancakes and eggs.  All the while, we kept catching glances of the snow falling peacefully out the kitchen window.

After cleaning the breakfast dishes, we bundled up and headed outside, Levi in the traditional hot pink 2T snow pants because we keep refusing to buy another pair when those fit just fine.  The snow was just right for rolling a snowman, which we decorated with a hat, scarf, coal, and red licorice.  We even put a face on both sides so we could see him from the living room window.

Then we headed to The Hill with our sled.  When we had exhausted the Daddy, taken sufficient video and pictures, and half-frozen our poor dog, we headed back to the house.  After systematically undressing snow-covered children one-by-one, it was back to the kitchen for cocoa.

We were enjoying the afterglow of snow and chocolate and discussing Christmas presents when a small dark bottle was thrown at me from above.  In movie-quality slow motion, I recognized the bottle and lifted my eyes to see that Levi had climbed the pantry shelves and drank half the purple food coloring.

I love our life.  And that’s not the least bit sarcastic.  Nor was that.  Seriously.  It’s the perfect mix of excitement, peace, mischief, and love.

Anyway, we were talking.  I had some point I was trying to get across.

Meanwhile, in the back, Benjamin was chorusing, “Mommy.  Mommy.  Moooooooommy.  Mommy!”

I ignored him and finished talking.

Then I turned around and very gently explained to him that interrupting was rude, and we are supposed to be polite, and we have to let other people finish their conversations, and we shouldn’t talk while they are talking, and especially if they are older than we are!

After my shpeel, which was long and thorough, I asked him, “What was it that you wanted to tell Mommy, sweetheart?”

To which, he enlightened me with the deep philosophical ponderings of a three year old boy:

“I’m sweaty.”

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Have you had a Mommy Moment?  Do share!

I don’t know when I lost control.

When the stress started mounting.

When I started yelling more.

Loving less.

I woke up one morning and didn’t like my life anymore.

The children were fighting, screaming, crying, clinging, smothering.  I couldn’t demand obedience.  Not even if I screamed.  Which I did.  A lot.

I would plead with God for patience.  To be filled with His Spirit.  To be a better mom.  I begged.  I tried. I failed.  I tried harder.  I failed harder.

I stopped asking.

I knew I should be reading my bible, but told myself God understood that I was busy.  That I never had a moment to myself.  So I didn’t have time for Him.

My heart grew colder.

The first prayer I prayed, I almost didn’t.

It was two days before Levi’s birthday – the day before his party – and his present hadn’t come yet.  Josh thought it could still make it, but I had given up.  And you know something’s wrong with life with Josh is the optimist of our relationship.

“Maybe we should pray for it” slipped from my mouth before it was even fully thought and I was immediately embarrassed.  As if God would answer such a pitiful prayer. A meaningless request.

And yet, somehow, the thought was strengthened within me.  And I prayed.

And He answered.  It came.

For the first time in months, He had my attention.

That night, I hit my knees on our living room floor and begged His forgiveness for my absence.  My pride. My anger. My failure as a child of God and a mother to my children.

The day after Levi’s party, on his birthday, we went to church.  He wooed me fiercely with songs of a Love no sin could diminish.

The realization that it was Father’s Day brought a flood of tears as God planted the knowledge in my head that He had never left me.  I had turned my back on Him.  Unlike my earthly father, He was always there, waiting for me to open my eyes to see, my ears to hear.

I resolved to try harder.

And failed spectacularly.

But He remained with me, waiting for my eyes, my ears, to find him.

This morning, alone in a car, I cried out to him.  I didn’t understand why I couldn’t be the mother I wanted to be.  Why wasn’t He helping me?  Why couldn’t I do this?

I found myself in Romans less than an hour later.

He found me in Romans.

I found Him in Romans.

We met in Romans.

And He explained to me the concept of Faith.  Not works.  Faith.  Not trying.  Trusting. If I am a perfect mother in my own power, how does that glorify Him?

I need to let go.

I am letting go.

Let go with me.

Say it with me.

I am letting go of the heavy burden of perfect motherhood and letting the faith that Christ will fulfill his purpose in me wash over me.

Amen?

Me: Benjamin, it’s too hot for jeans, go put shorts on.

Benjamin: No!

Me: Yes!  It’s too hot for jeans!  You need shorts!

Benjamin: No!

Me: (thinking: I am NOT washing those jeans AND shorts when he realizes how hot it is outside later and wants to change!) Yes!  Why do you want to wear pants when it is so hot outside?

Benjamin: Shorts make me hot!

Me: No, shorts are cooler than pants!  There’s less material!  You’re wearing less!  The less you wear, the cooler you are!

Benjamin: No!  Shorts make me hot!

Me: No, sweetheart, shorts do not make you hot!  Why do you say this?

Benjamin:  I am always hot in shorts!

(Pause)

Me:  Oooooooooooh.  Honey, you are always hot in shorts because I always make you wear shorts when it’s hot out!  It is the weather that makes you hot!  You’d be even HOTTER in pants!  Now GO PUT SHORTS ON!

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Have you gotten inside the head of a three-year-old lately?  Had a rare moment when you actually understood their logic?  You just can’t help but smile when it all clicks and you realize the reason behind the insanity.