On the FIFTH Day of our Christmas

On the FIFTH day of our Christmas the gift we gave our kids was: all our love. Sorry we're late, but a blog post was suddenly not so important last night.

Yesterday morning, I got a 6 year old ready for school. We talked about the spelling test he'd been studying for all week and how well I knew he'd do. We talked about which morning snack he wanted to bring, to make sure his morning was great. His lunch was packed with a wonderful compromise of the healthy foods I wanted and the favorite foods he wanted. It was "Santa's Workshop" day too - the kids would all make crafty presents for their family members. He was excited and looking forward to the day. We put on his winter coat and boots, made sure his backpack was ready for his day, and hopped in the car. I dropped him off to his before-school ride and told him "I love you, have a good day. I know you can do it" and I went to work without really giving our morning another thought.

I'm sure in a small Connecticut town a mom like me, with a boy like B, went through the same motions.

I'm sure neither of us thought to address what to do in case a crazed gunman entered the school. We didn't remind the kids of safety measures or talk with them about escape routes from their classrooms.  Why would we? They're little kids. They're six years old.

But at the end of the day, I got to hold my baby in my arms again - along with his little sister. I was glad I had told him I loved him and glad he had been safe.

The other mother was not so lucky.

This hits home. Random shootings are a tragedy no matter what. They are always senseless and never fair. Regardless of circumstances or victims I am always left shaking my head and wondering what could make one person hate so many, many they never knew, so deeply they could kill. But this wasn't that random. An angry adult for reasons unknown chose to target innocent children as they went about their day of learning at their school with their friends.

I can't tell you how many tears I have shed since this news came. I've cried out of the deepest and sincerest form of empathy and sympathy I can muster for the parents, siblings, friends, teachers, and town of Newtown. Sandy Hook Elementary was never on my radar before but now it's at the forefront of my mind and heart. Seeing the children crying and streaming from the school while visibly shaken parents run by searching for their child makes me want to head to the town, start knocking on doors, and personally just hug everyone. Door to door. I wish there was something I could do to truly make this better. Something I could say.  But I know there is not.

The best I can do is offer this bit of promise to those parents: your children will never be forgotten. They will in all of our hearts, especially mine forever. In their short time with us, your children have reminded us all how important life is and how we must value every second. They opened our eyes to what mattered, how to love more fully, and to never take a moment for granted. Because of your children, our world got smaller, the love got bigger, the prayers stronger. People's lives have forever been moved and transformed for the better, even through this evil tragedy.

In honor of the mothers of Newton, I will hug my children extra each night, kiss them one more time, tell them how much I love them, and thank God for them more than before. My tears are not only from pure sadness but from a sense of gratitude for the awakening your children have given this world.

Please pray for Newtown. Pray for the new angel Heaven received yesterday and thank God for wrapping them up in his arms. While there are still many questions here on Earth and countless broken hearts, He will help us all through this and give these families the strength they need to carry on. Your children are our angels now and angels are never forgotten.

The THIRD Day of our Christmas

On the THIRD day of our Christmas the gift we gave our kids was: Rest.

The boy has the flu. The girl hand,foot,mouth disease (love our daycare, could do without that).
So on the third day of our Christmas I gave them the gift of one of my precious vacation days.  That's big. If I could find a way to unveil that in a manner similar to those Lexus Christmas ads with the giant red bows on them, I would. Its up there. No joke.
I also gave them: a bland diet for the boy, some lotion for the girl, and early bedtimes for both!
Dad can give them the gift of his vacations days tomorrow. :)

The Elf on the Shelf

I have seen the many insane Elf on the Shelf tricks posted on Pinterest and blogs galore this time of year. I have also see the posts declaring the “overachieving moms” crazy for the lengths they go through to keep their children enchanted this time of the year.

I’ve also see the real news and decided there are bigger things I could be debating and choose to remain out of this one.

We do, however participate in the Elf on the Shelf tradition. Every year Kiki the Elf appears and moves about the house. We have never forgotten to move him, but hanging upside down is about as creative as we get. It’s ok though, our son (who is almost 7) loves this guy and truly believes he is a direct link to Santa. If nothing else, we get about a month of good behavior.

We had no idea what we were in for as we busted Kiki out this year, with an almost 2 year old on our hands.

While I’ve heard people say they feel the elf is creepy, I never got it. Until I had a little girl sobbing on the floor pointing at a curious elf peeking at her from the fireplace mantle. That should have been my first clue we were in trouble.

As he moved on top of the living room valence, she avoided that part of the room.

When he sat in the dining room window, she ate in the living room.

However, when she spotted him hanging upside down out of a can light in the living room ceiling it proved to be more than she could handle and her real fear was revealed.

 (please note: she doesn’t speak this clearly, but as I am fluent in what she speaks I’ll translate for you dear reader)

“Momma! Help him down!”

“L, he’s fine. He’s just an elf reporting back to Santa”
“He’s gonna fall”
“Nah, he’s holding on tight and he’s got some magic dust up there – he’s fine.”
“Momma pleeeeeease!”
“L, no. He is fine.”
“Momma…JESUS IS STUCK! STUCK! HELP JESUS DOWN!!!”

Aha! She’s not grasping this is an elf, she’s convinced that Jesus has appeared in her home and is putting himself in perilous situations. Apparently, all that money I’m shelling out to the expensive but WONDERFUL church-based daycare is worth it – she’s got the meaning of Christmas down! But, if this is going to continue much longer, I may need to think of a way for the elf to let her brother know he’s on the good list and cut out early.

We may have been robbed, but I don't care

Right now, my house is a mess. It's possible we were robbed but I'd be hard pressed to tell the difference between an actual ransacking of the place or the simple trail of happiness my kids have left behind. I should not be sitting on my couch, under my favorite blanket, watching a crime show that will probably freak me out the rest of the day, while listening to my neighbor mow the lawn.

My kitchen is a mess.

The bathroom needs to be cleaned.

Laundry needs to be folded.

The floors could use some serious attention.

I should shower, do my hair, and my nails. I'm heading out for my husband's birthday dinner tonight. We have a sitter all lined up (thanks grandma and grandpa!) so I'll be getting a hot meal without any crayons located anywhere on, or under, the table.
But I declared that today, Momma was taking a break. A glorious 2-2 1/2 hour break during naptime. I have a sweet embroidery project I've been wanting to dig into (my eyes needed a break after 45 minutes!). I have a list of possible books to read that I wanted to look into further. New recipes I wanted to find. I missed my blanket, my creepy shows, and the mere silence of being alone with my thoughts. For the duration of one nap, I'm doing precisely what I want to.
The dishes will still be there.
The tub can be scrubbed in the morning.
Another spin in the dryer never hurt laundry.

The floors shall be swept tomorrow.

The ransacked look around us is what I'm calling "Memory Chic". My kids play hard, laugh hard, and love hard. This house and the mother sitting in it are both wearing the evidence of this proudly. So today, instead of trying to "fix" what they've created, I'm "fixing" myself and feeding my soul to great a sweet little fresh-from-nap sleepy eyed girl with the same level of happy, devoted, love that greets me every day.

Be selfish moms. Kick back, relax, and recharge. Your kids will remember the giggles, hugs, and snuggles  much more than they'll ever recall your preparations for a Better Homes and Gardens photo shoot that will probably never happen.

Housework is temporary, childhood memories are forever.

Blood, tears, and ice cream

How are you doing with your Bible?? I’m working on it. Done in 90 days? No. But I’m not giving up – and that’s the point. I’ve started this before and never made it. I get through about a chapter a day and that’s good for me. Fifteen to twenty minutes of good for your soul time each day. I’m still recommending it to everyone! Get on it! You’ll thank me! Or at least think about it.

My blogging hasn’t improved but work has been busy. And school. And my kids have been funneling illnesses and injuries through this house faster than I can keep up (I am begging the pediatrician to start a punch card program so every 11^th visit is free).

The baby, who is no longer a baby, got her head stuck between the wall and a chair this weekend – and in the process of freeing herself since she couldn’t wait the .2 seconds it took me to get to her, she tore that little piece of skin between your gum and inside of your lip. I’m pretty sure she lost half the blood in her body and the Bounty paper towel company should add me to their Christmas list (in case my spill prone household somehow wasn’t on it already). Being the calm, cool, collected veteran momma I am – I handled it. No ER trip. I kicked it around, but we’re good (yes I checked her teeth too).

And that night, her brother (her peanut and tree nut allergic brother, I might add) ate some homemade ice cream. HOMEMADE people, as in, his mother meticulously read every label for every ingredient and let him make ice cream because “I never get to have fun ice cream – it always has peanuts.” Sadly, someone mislabeled something – or we have a new allergy. Welcome anaphylaxis (google that if you want to know the Hell we live in) and a trip to the ER. And not to mention, the sobbing little boy scared that the ice cream will kill him or that "they're going to cut me open to get the peanuts out!". He was a sobbing petrified mess, which broke his momma's heart and made for TWO sobbing messes. 

He’s fine. He’s on some meds for a few days (steroids). I’ve called and screamed at every company who SWEARS their food is safe. And I’ve made an allergist appointment to check him for something new. And for the next month, he’s back to an existence of no “fun ice cream” because we can’t be sure what the issue was.

I know that everyone wants their kids to be happy. To have what they want. And to enjoy life (and the yummy things!) but what I wish people understood is that some kids can’t. Lots of kids. And in some cases, like my son, food can be deadly. If you don’t get the big deal about peanut butter in schools and why it needs to be removed, stop and think for a minute. My son can’t have fun ice cream. He can’t eat many candies. Cookies, cakes, cupcakes, pies….all of that is out. Granola bars aren’t safe. Many cereals aren’t safe. I could go on.

Companies need to be more aware. I know they want to turn a buck and I know that these labeling are more of a legal hassle to most of them than anything. But its people’s lives. Kid’s lives. Food allergies are real things that real people deal with.

I’m madder than Hell at something. Either a company or an allergy. I’m frustrated that I currently cannot focus my anger at either possibility. I’m sad that the smartest, funniest, smiliest, most polite, energetic, greatest Lego builders I’ve ever known can’t have “fun ice cream” and faces the potential of death on a daily basis. It’s a lot for a kid. And his mom.

Keep your peanut butter at home. My kid just wants to make friends, have fun, and not die. He’s not asking for much.

I drool over my kids...

Literally.

Following an epic Friday night bedtime battle and then overseeing a 5 year old's birthday party can be exhausting (Note to self: probably should have had more parents stay to corral their kids!). Add in having a 3 week old newborn baby and limited sleep as a result and Momma starts to look like the most beautiful zombie in the world - since I like to think I still have better hair, skin, and fashion sense than most zombies.

Was anyone shocked when I passed out on the couch with my little bambinos tucked in all cozy for their naps? I certainly wasn't. I was, however, shocked when I woke up to the top of my 5 year old's head sweating like crazy!! I was moderately concerned that he'd picked up some strange strain of the flu or other illness at the party. I felt his forehead and he seemed ok, pulled the blankets back to cool him down, then started to move for the thermometer only to realize - the puddle on top of his head wasn't his fault. It was mine.

I drooled all over his head.

So yes. I drool over my kids - I've been accused of that before - and now its taken on a literal meaning I can no longer deny. I love them to pieces and I'm not afraid to make a bold statement about it.

Even if it means adding a second bath into the day.