Life is a Highway...

For those of you who were hanging on the edge of your facebook feeds for another blog post to appear (Just kidding!), I am sorry that I have been slow on the blogging this week. We were at my parents' house and the kids think going there is like being on vacation. They had me roasting in the sun all day at the pool, feeding them copious amounts of junk food, and playing baseball with them for hours in the back yard. Once they finally went to sleep (bedtimes are irrelevant at Hana and Poppa's house), I had to get work done into the wee hours of the night. Needless to say, I am exhausted!

So today, we made the journey back to Spartanburg. I was already tired before the journey started. Will practically slept on top of me all night. I went to the farm this morning, and then loaded some 400 pounds of tomatoes and other veggies into my car before we left. And of course, we had to make "just one more" trip to the pool before we could actually start the drive home. At 2 oclock, we finally hit the road.

Have you ever been on a road trip with three children by yourself? If you ever decide to do this, you are probably better off driving to the nearest mental hospital and checking yourself in for a few days. I always advise against it, even though I do it on a regular basis. (I have accepted the fact that I have already lost my mind--I doubt mental health professionals could help me recover it). Ian wants to watch the DVD player while Will wants me to turn up the "Whitening McQueen song" (Life is a Highway) really loud and roll the windows down (in the minivan like we are cruising Palm Beach). Maggie is singing her own song at the top of her lungs out of sync with the one on the DVD player and the radio. 15 minutes into the trip, Will decides he wants to watch the DVD afterall but doesn't like his view. I have to pull over to rearrange everyone's seating arrangements and the DVD player. Maggie is still singing at the top of her lungs. Ian complains that when I hit a bump (because I completely control the road conditions in SC) the DVD skips and he has to start it over. I look back to check on Will (because he is super quiet) and he is guzzling orange soda while eating boiled peanuts. Boiled peanut shells litter the floor of the car. I now am driving a mini-bar. Just add some sawdust and the image will be complete.

Despite my deep prayers that Maggie will fall asleep, she keeps up her singing act. I reach my right arm to the back seat to rub her feet in hopes she might fall asleep. She instead thinks this is hilarious and sings louder. Will is over the DVD and decides he is playing air guitar to the radio while I play the drums on the steering wheel. Ian ignores us and watches the DVD, carefully reaching up to hold the DVD player each time I approach a bridge or bump on the highway.

After guzzling so much soda, Will discovers that he needs a potty break at the moment I pass an exit ramp. The next one is 7 miles away. So I ponder my options. I know he won't make it to the next exit. (In case you didn't know, 3 year olds tell you they have to go potty the instant that the potty break is an emergency and there is no time to spare). I nearly tell him to do his business in his discarded orange soda bottle that created the emergency, but I decide that will probably get messy, especially with the poor road conditions. Ahead, I notice an abandoned weight station. The road isn't blocked to prevent me from getting on and off the interstate and it beats having to chance getting to an exit and then having to unload all the kids for an emergency bathroom break. I pull off at the weight station and hurry around to let Will out to potty. Just as he pulls his "stuff" out to do his business, I see blue lights out of the corner of my eye. Are you kidding me? I haven't seen a police car my entire 2 hour journey and suddenly one appears from nowhere when I am parked in an area I am certain is deemed illegal. "Ma'm, is everything alright? You aren't allowed to be parked here." I do my best to be polite (afterall, he is just doing his job) "Yes sir. Everything is fine. We are just making an emergency potty break for my little one." "Okay Ma'm but you really should do that at a rest area or proper exit." He must have missed the part where I said it was an emergency. I mean, he can see my little blonde cherub peeing. I am not dealing drugs. We aren't having a picnic. "Yes sir. Believe me, if I could have made it to a more proper location, I would have done so. But you know, sometimes, things don't work out like that with a preschooler." "Okay Ma'm. Just be sure that you plan better next time." Obviously, this man does not have children. I did plan. I asked Will at every exit for 25 miles before we got to that exit whether he needed to potty. Each time, he said no. Hence the emergency. Maybe I need a mental health day afterall.

Once we got back on the road, all three kids fell asleep and stayed that way for the remainder of the 40 minutes home. I couldn't help but think that despite all of the planning I do, nothing ever goes according to plan. I will, however, heed the officer's advice and plan better next time. My plan: NEVER TRAVEL ALONE WITH THREE KIDS. Ha! Not likely.

Brotherly Love

Being the oldest is hard. You have to experience your parents' lack of knowledge first-hand. You are their very own little guinea pig. They try out all of their "book knowledge"--no juice, no TV, no co-sleeping, timeout, wake you up to eat knowledge--without really knowing how it will turn out. By the time number 2 and so on come along, they relax, have learned what works and what doesn't, and all the rules they tried out on you don't seem to matter anymore. I am guilty of it. I think what number you are in birth order does affect who you grow up to be. (For the record, I am not the oldest. I am the baby!).

Ian is not only the oldest, he is also 5 years older than Will. It makes the relationship between them hard sometimes. Will thinks he is as old as Ian and he wants to play with his toys, his friends, and have all the same 8 year old rights at 3. Ian does a lot of eye-rolling because he really doesn't want to let Will be a part of his world. To make matters worse, Ian is stuck doing a lot of the cleaning up, sacrificing his TV preferences, etc because in the end, Will is just 3. Ultimately, all of these differences in birth order and age lead to A LOT of fights at our house. So much so, that Ian and Will can barely get a long most of the time. And when they argue, they tend to do it with fists. Lovely.

And while I realize all of this fighting is par for the course with siblings (Chrissy and I have shared epic fights!), I want them to love each other and build a relationship that will allow them to always count on one another. Every once in a while, I see little snippets. Ian will teach Will how to play a game or use one of his toys. Will returns the favor by actually helping to clean up his toys. Ian pitched the baseball to Will for at least an hour on Friday afternoon, even though Will rarely hit it and Ian was doing all of the chasing. He kept instructing him, kept his patience, and cheered mightily for Will when he finally hit the ball. And yesterday, we were swimming at the pool when Will jumped a little too close to the deep-end without his swimmies on. He panicked when he couldn't find his footing. Ian immediately swam to him and tried his best to keep him above the water until I could dive in and get to him. Will was scared more than anything else---he didn't even swallow any water--but I was so proud of Ian for doing his best to save his brother, even though most of the time he claims that he wishes he weren't around at all.

I think the hardest thing for the oldest sibling is that they do a remember a time when they were the only one around, the center of everyone's world. It is hard to learn to share the spotlight. But at the end of the day, they will do whatever they can to help, to teach, to share a little bit of their world with their little brother or sister. Even though it is hard to imagine it now, there will be a day when they are each others best friends. When the first person they call for every success or every failure is one another. I know this to be true because I have a pretty amazing big sister of my own. She has kept my head above water more times than I can count and I have happily returned the favor. So even though we have lots of fighting and arguing ahead of us between the brothers and sister in my house,  I know that at the end of the day, there is no one who will keep them afloat more than one another. Like Will said last night, "Thanks for saving me Ian." With a hug, Ian responded, "Any time, Pal."

Got Talent?

Every day, I wake up with a plan. I am not spontaneous. I like to know what is going to happen for the entire 19 hours that I am awake. I always have the entire day mapped out in my head before my feet ever touch the floor. And always within 5 minutes of being awake, nothing goes according to plan. Wednesday hated me.

While writing a list for the sitter (I was working half a day at the office), Will came to tell me how much he "loved laying on [my] fat belly." Thanks son, no time for the gym. Over breakfast, Ian asked me if I got to watch Pink Panther in color or black and white as a kid. Old but not that old, Ian. My weight and age thoroughly insulted before 7am, I took the kids to stay with my neighbor until the sitter could get there. Shortly after arriving at the office, my sitter canceled. I had to scramble to find a replacement. Luckily, my neighbor down the street watched the kids until my neighbors from across the street could get home from vacation to watch them. (Thank God for amazing neighbors!). In the afternoon, Josh and I were supposed to have a final hearing at the courthouse to undo all the legal stuff with Ian's grandparents. Thanks to a pain in the hiney judge, continuance #5 was issued. Hurried home to get the kids, settled them at the house with their Dad and off to Charlotte I went for a ZTA meeting over dinner. I got home at midnight, incredibly exhausted.

When I rolled out of bed this morning, I discovered I had no voice. Thursday was shaping up to be a real hater, too! As you know, Mom's don't get sick days but instead of heading to the laundry room to start the washer like usual, I went to the couch and turned on the TV. I worked on cleaning out the DVR while the kids ate breakfast. When they joined me on the couch, they wanted to watch America's Got Talent. 20 minutes into Tuesday's episode, I determined Will is no longer allowed to watch the show. A man was shoving a sword down his throat. Ian and I thought it was disgusting--Ian was begging the TV judges not to vote him through to Vegas. Will insisted that he would vote "Yes!" because he was "awesome." 10 minutes later, I came back from the bathroom to find him trying to shove the play kitchen's rolling pin down his throat. Lucky for me, he hasn't learned to control his gag reflex.

After the rolling pin incident, the kids decided to perform for me. I recorded their talent. You can find those videos on my facebook page from this link http://www.facebook.com/#!/profile.php?id=202000769  I think my kids have a lot of talents---far more than their Mom could ever hope for--not sure that dancing is one of them. So even though I felt bad most of the day, the kids enjoyed entertaining me. They put on show after show until I finally felt compelled to turn on the washer. I know that no matter how much I want to be spontaneous, I never will be. But it is nice to know that no matter how much I like life to go according to plan, some days, the unexpected talents of my children will make veering off course totally worth it!

Girls, Girls, Girls...

For all of their mischievous misdeeds, my children are all capable of being sweet. Really, they are. I expect them to be well-mannered and to treat everyone around them, including one another, with respect. For the boys, we spend a lot of extra time instructing them about the particular importance of being gentlemen. Of course, I do believe that starts by example and they have a wonderful teacher in their father. His parents raised him well. From the earliest age, we have expected the boys to use their manners, open doors for ladies, refrain from body noises when girls are around, etc. It is not always easy, but I think they are learning pretty well.

I never could have expected that both boys would really take a liking (as in K-I-S-S-I-N-G liking) to girls the way that they have from such early ages. Ian has had the same "girlfriend" since he was 3. Five years is a long time at any age, it is even more remarkable at 8. Amelia's parents are very good friends of ours and over football games, cookouts, and birthday parties, their romance has blossomed into a genuine love for one another. When Amelia transferred to Ian's school this year, they chose to keep their "relationship" to themselves because they didn't want others to make fun of them. Ian said the other boys would be "jealous if they knew Amelia was [his] girl." Of course.

Will met Madi in his preschool class and discovered that she lived just 2 houses down from us. Score! Her mom and I carpool for school and they spend at least 2 days a week hanging out at one another's house. There was a brief time in the Spring where he "broke up" with her because she was being too bossy, but all has been repaired and they are "back together." For all of his devil streaks, Will seems quite smitten with her. He can see Madi's house from the trampoline and he often bounces and calls her name. One day, it was so loud that Madi's Dad came outside to see what he wanted!

Of course, we try to downplay the actual relationship references and focus on the fact that from these two precious girls, our boys have found wonderful friends. However, it amazes me how quickly and correctly, they pick up on relationship cues. Last night, Will was asking Josh and I about the significance of our wedding bands. We explained their meaning and how important they are to us. Ian chimes in, "Amelia and I are going to exchange rings like that one day." I was honestly taken aback. Amelia's mom and I joke with one another about their eventual wedded bliss but he was serious! And then today, we go to the water park and Will had invited Madi to go along. She and Will are sitting next to one another on a deckchair, I look over, and he is kissing her very sweetly on the cheek. When we got ready to leave, he took her very hot pink backpack off of her shoulders and put them on his own, without any prompting from me. (At least we know he can be sweet, right?")

I am grateful my boys can be friends with girls and really enjoy their companionship. I am also glad to see that all of the instructions on "how to be a gentleman" are paying off. While I hope to hold off real girlfriend relationships until they at least turn 30 ;) their nature at these ages shows me that I have a lot to be proud of and A WHOLE LOT to worry about come adolescence!


Ian and Amelia, last day of school '11



Will and Madi today at the Waterpark, right after the smooch!



The Adventures of John Payton..

Last night during bath time, Will informs me that John Payton has been shot and needs me to bandage him up. I wondered aloud, "How on Earth did John Payton get shot?" Will tells me that Poppa shot him. Again I query, "Why would Poppa shoot John Payton?" Will responds like I should know the answer, "Mom, John Payton tried to steal a watermelon." (There is a real life story about a watermelon robbery at Poppa's farm but it does not include a weapon any more dangerous than a fist!) I bandaged up John Payton, put him in the extra bed and wished him a dreamy night's rest. This morning at breakfast, he was fully recovered, eating Cinnamon Toast Crunch and watching Mickey Mouse. Thank goodness!

John Payton, if you haven't guessed, is the imaginary invention of my sweet, little Will. He has been hanging around the house for about a month now but it wasn't until recently that I determined that John Payton was a fictitious creation instead of a real boy. My introduction to him began shortly before summer vacation while Will was still in school. He would tell me fantastic stories about how John Payton bit him, pinched him, pushed him down, etc. When I questioned further about John Payton's identity, Will would tell me he was in his class. I knew this was not the case but assumed that it was a child in another class. However, more recently, the stories about John Payton started to come more often. The story about school was dropped and suddenly, John Payton was responsible for all sorts of misdeeds from leaving the toilet seat up to pushing Maggie down. John Payton is in fact more naughty than Will.

The fact that Will has created this little person named John Payton is so exciting to me, and I do every thing I can to play right into the story. This is not my first adventure with fictitious beings. Ian had two imaginary friends (which were more like finger puppets) named Tombo and Frankie and they went everywhere with us for about a year. I, too, had three imaginary friends as a child: QT, Mouse and Rabbit. I had a great deal of fun reading to them late at night when I was supposed to be sleeping.

Perhaps some of you may wonder if my zeal to embrace these little friends is such a good idea. There was once a time when doing so was frowned upon. Well-knowns like Dr. Piaget and Dr. Spock suggested that imaginary friends didn't allow children to think seriously or even worse, could be sign of a mental debilitation. But these days, study after study shows that pretend friends like John Payton, Tombo and Frankie illustrate a child's ability to be creative, think critically (after all, it takes a lot of thinking to come up with an entire identity!), and develop necessary social skills. Playing with their imagined friends helps kids to feel comfortable with themselves and assert themselves with their playmates. Plus, having imagined friends is just fun!

I can tell that Will is still in the early stages of developing John Payton's identity. He is feeling me out to see what's OK and what is not. But now that I have figured out exactly who John Payton is and have invited him to join the family, he is emerging more and more every day. The fact that he is even more mischievous than Dennis the Menace does make me a little nervous. What if they team up? What if he created John Payton to be even more devious and then hide behind his identity? If so, I am really in for it! But in the mean time, I am enjoying getting to know John Payton and look forward to the many adventures I am sure he will lead us on this summer. I will embrace him for as a long as I can, or at least until I have to take him to get X-rays!

Welcome to the family John Payton!

A Tribute to My Dad

I wouldn't characterize myself as a Daddy's girl. Don't get me wrong, I love my Dad to pieces. He is the strongest, most loving, compassionate, and honest man I know. But in our family, Chrissy is the Daddy's girl. She hunts with him and shares his passion for the outdoors. She wears her love for him on her sleeve. Despite that, between the two of us, I am the most like him. While I don't care much for hunting, I do share my Dad's love of history, politics, sports and conservation. We think alike. We have the same heart. We even share the same sarcastic sense of humor.

Dad was typical of his generation--he worked a lot, especially during tomato season. He didn't change diapers, he didn't clean house, I don't ever even really remember him watching us alone. Except for once, when Mom had her tubes tied. I was 5, Chrissy was 7. He took us to the movies (I think it was The Care Bears Movie II Chrissy insists that it was Song of the South (Br'er Rabbit) movie. Since Dad can't remember at all, I will let her memory serve us both!), bought us big tubs of popcorn, and let us sit on the very front row. He cooked us hamburgers and made a total mess of the kitchen. Even though he wasn't hands-on, he was always fun. Every summer, he insisted we go to amusement parks throughout our vacation--we outvoted mom! He also insisted that we ride everything. Life was way too fun to be scared.

Anyone who knows him will tell you he is good at two things: hunting and farming. And yes, in that order. As a farmer, I am sure there were times that he wished that he'd had a son. However, he didn't treat our gender as a limitation. We can shoot guns, drive a stick shift, and work on the farm. He wanted Chrissy and I to always dare to dream, to never be afraid to take the chance, believe in ourselves enough to at least try. Failure is a part of life. He raised us to be independent, strong-minded and a little bit stubborn. He encouraged us to go away to college, travel, learn that the world was much bigger than what we could see beyond the mailbox.

I am sure there were times when he regretted teaching us to take chances. When Josh went to ask Dad's permission to marry me, he never really gave him a straight answer. He said something along the lines of "You know her Mom so if you want to take the chance..." After we were engaged I asked Dad why he didn't give Josh a definitive answer. He said, "If I say 'yes' and it doesn't work out, it will be my fault. If I say 'no' then you will just be mad at me. You have to live your own life, Boop. You have to make your own way." But I know in the back of his mind, he was worried. Here I was, just 24 years old and I was going to not only become a wife but also the mother of a toddler. But he never stood in the way of what I wanted and from the moment that he met Ian, he proudly took on the role of Poppa.

As our family has grown, one of the most awesome things for me has been to watch my Dad as Poppa. He is better at this job than any other--even hunting! He was there when Will and Maggie were born, has never missed a birthday party, makes special trips to Grandparent's Day at school or to watch them play ball. I always try to let him off the hook since the drive is long or I know that he is busy. His response is "They only do this once." For his grandchildren, he has his priorities in order. He knows how quickly the time passes. He knows that too soon, they will be all grown up. He knows that each day he gets to spend with them is a gift---his own father didn't live long enough to see his grandchildren. Dad relishes grandparenthood. Hunting and farming have new, exciting meaning when Ian and Will are around. There never was a girl in the world more pretty than his Moo. No matter how tired he is, he will come home from the farm early just to play baseball in the backyard with the kids.

More than ever, I appreciate the fact that he encouraged me to dream; to live my own life; to believe in myself enough to take chances. It was that spirit that led me to become a mom when the entire world wondered if I'd lost my mind. It was that spirit that whispered that the right choice for me was to stay at home with my children when everyone else said that doing so was wasting my talent. It is because he has always been an incredible Dad  that I wanted to marry a man who would be just as incredible to my own children. So thank you, Daddy, for being the greatest man I know. Thank you for always believing in my dreams. I hope I can teach my children to pilot their own ships with as much courage and spirit as you have have inspired in Chrissy and me. I love you more than words can say. Love, Your Boop

Dad and Ian on my wedding day, 2006

Dad and Will on Chrissy's wedding day, 2010

Dad and Maggie on her 1st birthday, 2011

The Strong-Willed Child

Among the books I am reading at the moment is The New Strong-Willed Child by Dr. James Dobson. My mother in law shared it with me from one of her co-workers. She thought I might need guidance to raise my very strong-willed child. (Can anyone guess which one?)

Dr. Dobson assures me that Will was born this way---a beautiful blessing of strong will from God. This I know to be true. On the day he was born, weighing nearly 9 pounds, Will was holding his head up and standing on his legs. He rolled over at 5 weeks, crawled at 5 months and was cruising at 6 and a half months. He was born ready to roll and hasn't slowed down at all! Obviously, his zeal for living is fun to watch but it is exhausting to live. My house shows the wear and tear of his enthusiasm: a couch covered in sharpie art and spotted by the Clorox cleanup, cabinets and walls with his "the world is my canvas" attitude, sidewalk chalk on the deck...I can go on and on. But it isn't just the constant cleaning that wears me out; it's the constant battle.

Will wants to fight with me about everything. If I say the sky is blue, to him it's green. If I want him to wear tennis shoes, he wants to wear rain boots. If I need him to sit still and be quiet, he is loud and obnoxious. And that doesn't mean he can't be a well mannered, loving child. In fact, he can be extremely sweet and loving---when it fits his mood, his need, and his desire to get his way. He is a fantastic manipulator. Dr. Dobson explains to me in the book that for Will, this is all a game and he is doing his best to beat me and be the winner. And believe me, there are a lot of days when I want to throw my hands up and tell him I forfeit. Seriously. There are days when he wears his bright orange rain boots or has on pajamas when he shouldn't because I don't feel like battling with him. I admit that it is much easier to just let him have his way. I feel rotten about that and realize I totally don't have control but I reason with myself that letting him wear orange rain boots, sweat pants, and a wife-beater to Target is not going to be the end of the world. And it isn't.

However, Dr. Dobson tells me that letting Will have his way isn't always detrimental in the moment but in the long term, I am just setting myself up for more battles and that come adolescence, I am going to regret giving in. He predicts that if I "spare the rod and spoil the child," I am allowing Will to believe he is in control and that he gets to choose his own path. I know that to be true as well. So what is my conflict? Even though I know that his strong-will is exhausting for me now, I also know God made him this way. He did. And no matter how tired he makes me, I don't want to break his spirit. Dr. Dobson also addresses this in the book, suggesting I let Will know that I am in charge but providing him with choices that suit me but allow him to feel like he has some control over his own life. Sounds fair to me. He also says that sometimes, just a good old-fashioned spanking will do the trick.

I enjoyed Dr. Dobson's book. I didn't agree with every morsel, but I did find it very helpful. His biggest insight for me: Teach Will to use his strong-will for good. To push on when the odds are against him, to believe in himself and to believe in others. To use his strong-will to help others, to grow in his faith, to serve God with the same absolution that he has about everything else. As a parent, I should use his strong-will as the gift that it is and not as a burden. I tell my friends and family to pray for me all the time in order to successfully raise Will. I truly mean that. But now, I want them to pray that I can teach him to use his strong-will for all of these wonderful things, not just sharpie art. Will's favorite prayer (which he prays for everything) is "God made me." As he said that tonight during prayer time, it hit me like a ton of bricks. I am glad God made Will exactly like he is. I am also glad that He understood that this strong-will needed to be packaged in just one of my children and not all three.

T-A-M-P-A-X?

Boys are interesting creatures. If you have ever lived with one, you know how they are. Raising one, or as in my case two of them, means that every day is full of revelations into how their little minds work. I did not have the luxury of having a brother growing up---I know some of you who know my sister think that having Chrissy around was pretty close to having a brother, but under all that camoflauge and her shotgun, she really is a girl..I promise!--and I think I have a bigger learning curve when it comes to parenting boys because I didn't have a brother.

For example, their obsession with their "wee-wee"s and with passing gas perplex me--and the fact that they never outgrow those obsessions is not lost on me either. In fact, having little boys in the house often makes my big boy act like them, too! My boys are very typical--they love to wrestle, run, jump off of tall objects, climb trees, play in dirt and mud, pee in the yard, belch their alphabet and do arm-pit farts. And I am pretty sure they are born knowing these things because I don't condone belching or arm-pit farting under any circumstances. And though Maggie is only 14 months old and does her best to keep up with her brothers, I can tell that her "girlness" makes her think and react differently than they do.

Their "boyness" and my lack of knowledge about it doesn't just stress me out to the point where I feel the gray hairs sprouting from my scalp, but it also makes it hard for me to know how to have relevant conversations with them in an age-appropriate way. Today's adventure is a perfect example. I am washing dishes when Ian yells to me that Maggie is pulling things out of the cabinet in the bathroom (which she has access to because Dennis the Menace broke the child-lock in half last week). When I get there, Ian is holding up a "stick" in a purple wrapper and says, "Hey Mom, what is T-A-M-P-A-X?" I am immediately faced with a major decision. If I simply say "Tampax," he is going to ask me what it's for. If I tell him that it's used during a woman's cycle, he is going to ask me what that is and we will have to halt life as we know it for a full-fledged biology lesson, which I am not ready to have (even though the pediatrician says I need to have the FIRST TALK by age 9. Really, 9? The thought  of it makes me want to throw up!). So I decide I am not ready for the full talk to happen at that moment but I also know if I just say they are mine, that won't satisfy him. And, if I tell him that contraption has any other purpose other than it's true purpose, when he does have the FIRST TALK, he will remember that I wasn't honest about the true purpose of Tampax and think I am a liar about everything. (Don't you feel the gray hairs sprouting just reading this!?!)

So as I am desperately trying to make the right decision, Ian is looking at me impatiently for an answer and so I blurt, "It's Tampax, Ian. It's a stick filled with cotton and women use them when they have their menstrual cycle. It just helps out with that process." He looks at me with wide-eyes and asks "Does that bicycle thing you were talking about have something to do with having babies?" "Kind of. It starts much sooner than when you should have babies but---" He cuts me off while shaking his head and says, "Thanks for being honest with me Mom but all you had to say was that it was yours and it was cotton," tosses me the tampon and walks out of the bathroom. I am left standing there partly embarrassed that I obviously made the wrong decision and wondering how in the world I am ever going figure out how to be honest without saying too much. And after thinking about it all day, I still don't have an answer. I can only hope that I tell them what they need to know, when they need to know it and that in the process, I don't damage them so badly that they need therapy for most of their adult lives because mom talked too much, too soon about Tampax.

Superman...

From the time that he was a tiny baby, Will has had A LOT of rambunctious energy. His pain tolerance is high and his courage meter is even bigger. He has busted his face, fractured his foot, and had surgery to repair a hernia---all of which he got from jumping off of things.

Today, I picked up his friend Madi so they could play. They headed off to Will's room to play in "The Fort." I explicitly warned him to stay off the top bunk. He didn't listen. Within minutes, he fell, landing face first on the hardwood floor.

When I made it to him, he lay in a heap on the floor. As I got him up, blood poured from his face. To my credit, I didn't panic. I scooped him up, grabbed the ice and called my sister. Chrissy instructed triage over the phone while I calmed him down enough to call the pediatrician. After debate about ER vs. Drs office, we settled on Doctor.

We were seeing another doctor in the practice today, to whom he was proudly showing off his swollen wrist and nose. As she examined his face she said, "Will, how did you manage to fall off the bed?" He said, "Well, I was in the bed with my girlfriend." Stunned by his 3 year old candor, she said "You have a girlfriend?" "Yep. Her name is Madi. And we were in bed on the top bunk." Nice. They took scans of the face, checked all of his vitals, and then she wanted him to do a couple of tests. She said, "Look right here at the parrot on my shoulder." "Um, Lady, you don't have a parrot on your shoulder." She told him to hop up and down. He said he didn't want to. So I got up and began to hop up and down. He didn't move. "How about hop on one foot?" I hop on one foot. Will is like a statue. So then she opens the door and asks him to run down the hall. He said, "I broke my nose, not my foot." Fair enough. Then his regular pediatrician came in to check on him. She said, "Will, did your mom ever tell you that you aren't Superman? You keep trying to give me and your mom heart attacks." His response (which he also told his Dad earlier), "I wouldn't have fallen on my face if I woulda had a rope." Great, Tarzan.

Luckily, he didn't break his nose. It is just very bruised, he has two large bumps on his head, and a slightly sprained wrist. We went by the pharmacy to get some ibuprofen and he tried to con me out of a half gallon of ice cream that cost nearly $7. When I refused he waved at his face and said, "But Mom, I have an injury." Of course. As soon as we got home, he decided that he was suddenly well enough to go swimming. So on goes his bathing suit, he takes two jumps on the side of the pool and does a "Helicopter" into the water. He played for 2 hours like his nose wasn't the size of Pinnochio's. 10 minutes after he got out of the pool, guess where I found him? Yep, that's right, dangling off the top bunk! Superman obviously didn't learn his lesson at all. His Dad and I are in the process of taking the bunk beds a part. It was either that or buy him a cape!

Will: Momma, I Love You Hard!

The most rewarding parts of parenthood are the sweet hugs, sloppy kisses, and "I wub you"s that we get from our children. I am happy to say that at 8, Ian hasn't gotten too big to love on me...inside the confines of our home. Occasionally, he will slide his hand in mine or give me a side-hug in public---if he thinks no one is watching of course---and my heart nearly explodes with love. It's a small gesture from him that reaffirms for me that there is nothing greater that I could be doing in my life than raising these three perfect little blessings.

For all of his tough boy persona, Will is oozing with love under the surface. He is a Momma's boy. No doubt about it. There are a lot of nights that he will quietly sneak across the hall and climb into bed with us, taking the empty spot between mine and Josh's feet (Maggie already has the spot between our heads!). I tell him that he is a big boy now and needs to sleep in his own bed, but every night, just in case, I put an extra pillow and blanket at the foot of the bed for him. He doesn't come every night but on the ones that he does, I usually snuggle up close to him for a while and take in all of his sweetness---even the Dennis the Menace has sweetness---because I know it won't last forever.

Maggie is at the age where she is starting to return her love to us. She will squeeze your neck when you hug her, lay her head on my shoulder and nuzzle up close to me, still with that ever-so-sweet baby smell. She has also learned that she can can barter and tease affection--withholding kisses to anyone who will show her a reaction! Most mornings now, since she occupies the coveted spot in bed between Mommy and Daddy (I always said I wouldn't co-sleep! Ha!), she wakes me up with a big, wet, sloppy kiss on the lips. I treasure it each day--even though I am not a morning person!

All of these sweet moments from our children are the incentive we have for raising them. I mean really--they eat all of our food, spend all of our money, require constant attention, nursing, teaching, driving--and we willingly do it all for those few minutes a day when they halt all the chaos in their path and just give us a hug and kiss, a simple I love you. All of the Mom's and Dad's I know work very hard to find a balance between work and home--we know there is no such thing as "just staying home!"--for me, there is nothing more rewarding for it all than to hear, "Momma...I love you hard!" They have no idea how much harder I love them back.

My sweet babies at a Greenville Drive game!

Mother-fate

I like that my kids are funny. It makes my days less mundane and far more entertaining. I know it will aid them well as adults. Afterall, having a sense of humor makes everything in life easier. But, funny kids are often difficult to parent. Right in the moment where I have on my scary mommy-discipline face and know I have to be tough, they disarm me with belly-grabbing humor. Every. Single. Time.

Like Friday. Ian comes into the living room (where I am reading to Maggie) and announces in a perfect tattle voice, "Will said a word we aren't supposed to say." In the seconds he uses to cross the living room, I imagine all of the h-words, s-words, d-words he could have possibly used while crashing trucks off the dining room table. Ian gets right up to my head to whisper the offensing word, you know, so Maggie won't hear, and a big splatter of spittle and breath reverberate "stupid" into my ear. As I look up, I see the mischievious Dennis the Menace look-a-like peeking at me from the hallway, trying his best to put on a straight, sullen "I'm sorry" face.

"Will, did you use a word you aren't supposed to?" I ask. Will's face goes serious, "What stupid? Yep, I said stupid because Ian was being stupid because the game he wanted to play was stupid and I was tired of it so yes, I said stupid, stupid, stupid!" My composure is cracking and it takes everything I have not to bust my gut laughing. I manage, "Well please just don't use that word anymore because it's not nice." And full exasperation he says, "Ok, Mom, if you don't want me to say 'stupid' I won't say 'stupid' anymore. Even though I think that is 'stupid,' I get it," turns on his heel and walks away. The only thing I can muster is, "One day, I hope you have a kid that is just like you. But worse!" And just like that, I began a whole new generation of Mother-fate!

I know that my children provide my mom with a lot of satisfaction as a grandmother. However, I know she relishes the most in the fact that while I sit totally exasperated by their sarcasm, wit, and know-it-all responses, she gets the satisfaction of watching me raise children just. like. ME. As a kid I disarmed her discipline with sarcasm. Her trump card response: "I hope your children are just like you. But worse. One day, I hope you get a double-dose of that sarcasm." I am afraid I may get triple. And even though I couldn't stand it as a kid, I now, more than ever, want my kids to know what it is like to raise them. I want them to be totally disarmed by their own cleverness. I want my own Mother-fate to work on them. I also pray that my kids use up all that Mother-fate before age 13...a triple dose of me as a teenager..Lord help me!

"Momma..."

Have you ever been at a loss for the right words to start a conversation? The next time that happens to you, try "Momma." At the end of the day, it often feels like my kids say that one single word at least a million times during a given day. "Momma....I need something to drink." "MOOOMMMMAAA...Will is trying to jump off the top bunk." "MMMooooommmmaaaa!"---the shrieking cry that comes from Maggie after her brothers don't give her her way. "Moooomma!"---the "stop talking about that" way they say it or the "Mmmm--huhuhu-ooo--huhuhu--mmmhhhaa" that comes after a fall and a boo-boo needs kissing. No matter the delivery, they start every conversation that way for every single need, hurt, tattle, desire that needs filling. Even when their Dad is sitting in the same room right next to me and is more than capable of fulfilling the task at hand, I am certain that he is invisible because the first word that falls off their lips is "Momma."

And to be honest, as much as I love being at home with them during the day, I get tired, no, exhausted by the sheer number of times they call my name during the day. Today, I decided to count how many times they actually said it. That's right, I starting counting as soon as their feet hit the floor this morning. And guess what? That was the first word all three of them said when they got out of bed. Ian: Momma, what's for breakfast? Maggie: Momma...milk. Will (at 9:30 when he decided to roll out of bed): Momma, I am about to pee myself. Fabulous.

At the end of my day with them (which was 6:15pm bc I had a meeting), they had collectively said "Momma" 650 times. Maggie was by far the worst offender. Granted, she has a limited vocabulary, but she said my name 387 times today---not counting the times that she sing-songs it while she is walking around the house "Mom-Mom-Mom, Mom-Mom-Mom, Mom-Mom-Mom!" Will said it 207, Ian a mere 56. So it wasn't a million but on average it was 65 times an hour. Wow!

One thing that my little non-scientific study showcased was that the older they get, the less they say it. Which means that the older they get, the less they need me. Which for Ian, is true. He can fix himself a snack and a drink, go to the bathroom, etc. When he does call me, its for one of three things: he is excited to tell me something, hurt, or he is telling on Will. So in the end, I guess that it also means that even if it drives me to the brink, I should enjoy these days when they say my name "a million times" because as they get older, they will need me less and "Momma" probably won't be the one person they go to for everything.

One time I answered to "Momma," I discovered they had created a fort in their bedroom!

And honestly, how could you ever get tired of these sweet faces saying your name?

Day 1 of Schedule Complete!

I survived. Will lived to see another day. It was better than I could have hoped. This morning, he was totally not interested in me or my schedule. So, Ian, Maggie and I went on with it and completely ignored him. He wreaked havoc in the dining room while Ian, Mags and I played, read stories, and enjoyed time together. I ran him out of the freezer three times before 10 am because he was working on his own schedule and thought that ice cream was totally acceptable before noon.

At 10, I pulled out the fingerpaints---we were going to fingerpaint Palmetto trees and discuss their significance to SC History. And lo' and behold, guess who came to join the party? From that moment on, Will never complained about the schedule. After lunch I simply said "Will, it's rest time." He walked down the hall to his room without complaint. I followed 5 minutes later, fully expecting to be greeted by a floor covered in baby powder or sharpie art on the walls, but instead he was ASLEEP...without a fight...in the middle of the day! I couldn't believe it!

Today was Will's first day of T-Ball and I was amazed at how well-behaved, focused, and attentive he was at practice. I am not giving the schedule total credit--although I am sure it helped that he'd had a nap--but it illustrated to me that he is a totally different person when I am not in charge of the show. For whatever reason, he and I push on one another's independence and everything, and I do mean EVERYTHING, is a battle with him. It also made me see how quickly he (Ian and Maggie) are growing up. Sad. But today was successful...and FUN! Valuable lesson learned today: My mother is right...sometimes, at least!

From L to R top: Maggie and Ian
L to R Bottom: KNB and Will

Reinventing Fun...

I am blessed to have a great mother. As a stay at home Mom, she devoted herself to mine and Chrissy's every need. She always kept us on a schedule, ironed all of our clothes, and kept an impeccably clean house. I am not my mother.

I made up my mind early on in motherhood that I wanted my children to always feel two things about our home: that it was full of love and that it was a place where they could always feel safe. In my mind, that also meant our house should be FUN. I do things with my kids my mother would never dream of: we fingerpaint, cook together, blow bubbles (inside!) and we play with toys--alot! Josh would tell you that that he is certain that the house is run by the deckhands and not the captain. And that is probably more true than I like to admit.

However, as we have added children and my to-do list has gotten longer, it has been harder to let freedom and imagination be the rulers of our roost. The kids have been on summmer vacation for a week and a half. They have spent all of that time visiting both sets of grandparents and today was the first day that all three children have been at home. Toys were scattered everywhere, there was a trail of books down the hall. I had to referee a couple of sessions of Smackdown and never said anything more than "Stop," "No", "Don't!" When we pulled into the driveway after a trip to the store, Ian and Will exited the van, pulled down their shorts and proceeded to water my lawn---in the front yard! An hour later, Will walked into the kitchen pulling a jump rope behind him. To my surprise, Maggie was dragging behind with the other end of the rope tied around her waist. She was his "Nanny goat" and they were "headed to the market." In that moment, I knew that for the sake of my sanity, the summer could not be one of total freedom.

So I did something that my mother would do. I made a schedule. We are going to take all the calamity that we do every day and try to put it into a more workable system. We will have time for reading and rest, free play, and learning--art, science and history. I wrote it out on posterboard, included pictures for Will, hung it on the wall and unveiled it for the boys. Ian was tentative at first but eventually gave me a thumbs up. Will studied it for a while. I read it to him, showed him the pictures, and he just shrugged his shoulders and went to play. Before bed tonight, I caught him looking at it again. So I said, "Will, what do you think about the schedule?" He looked at me and said, "It looks BOOOOORING!" I wanted to respond by saying "Really? You're 3, you don't even know what that means" but instead put on my happy face and said, "It will be fun, once you get used to it." His response, "Does Mags have to follow the schedule?" Me: "Yes--she will just rest more than you." He thinks about that a while and finally says with certainty, "I think I am gonna keep things the way they are, except I think we should eat more ice cream."

Say a prayer tomorrow---Will is going to need it!

Why Blog?

I am so blessed to have three very independent, outspoken, sarcastic, and witty children. I am not altogether certain I can claim credit for how incredibly funny they often are but I will say that I do come from a line of pretty sarcastic Newtons and loud, gregarious Savages. It runs in the family---their Dad's family too! There is no way that they could spend a Christmas witnessing the barb-wire banter that takes place at a Newton family gathering to not somehow believe that the entire English language was meant to be spoken with anything less than dead-pan sarcasm. We love it, it's how we function, lovingly together. And my children have learned very early that to survive in this family, you have to have a thick skin and flawless delivery.

For a couple of years, I have been sharing little stories and tidbits of their hilarity within the 420 character limit of Facebook. We get lots of LOLs, ROFLs, & LMBOs for their antics. My friends always say I should write a book--ha--and that they hoped I was recording all of these funny moments for my kids. I don't know that we have enough to write a book but I thought, maybe a blog would be a fun way to help me record the fun things they say for posterity's sake. So here we go! And yes, I realize they will probably disown me one day for my candor.

So, please enjoy our posts. Since it is summer, I suspect that we will have far too much silliness to share!