Everyone Needs A Happy Place

Running errands with four kids ages 6, 4, 2 and 6 weeks is really fun! My favorite part is when we've just finished a big haul at the grocery store and they're in their seats, all buckled in, the car is in drive, I can finally relax and I hear from the backseat, "I really, really, really have to go to the bathroom." Crud. Well, it is the six year old. He's been potty trained for over 3 years now so he wipes well, flushes semi regularly and almost always remembers to wash his hands. Perhaps today is the day he gains a notch on his belt of independence and goes into a public restroom alone. And I mean really alone. Like mom waiting in the car alone. Because goodness knows I do not want to unload all these kids just so we can all wait 30 seconds for Henry to pee.

The gas station around the corner should work. There are usually only a few oddities sitting out front. On second thought. Never mind.

Target? It's close. But no. Mommy guilt requires that I at least run him from the parking lot to the front door and those 60 seconds of leaving the rest of the kids alone in the car are enough to get me reported these days.

And then I remember something. Their dad is getting his car washed less than a mile away! I can park in the lot next to Scrubbs car wash and Matt can run out to my car and take Henry to the bathroom. Hallelujah! This is seriously almost as good as winning the lottery.

Just a quick phone call to let Matt know we're on our way ...
No answer.
He's on call today. Maybe he's talking to someone from work. I'll just try again.
No answer and straight to voicemail.
What the flip?! We have a bathroom emergency here! No time to worry if I might appear nuts by calling him every 30 seconds. I have to try again.
AHHHHHH! No answer.
 I'll text. Sometimes he responds better to a text.
"UM ... HELLO???"
No reply.
For crying out loud. I can't call again. That would just be crazy! We'll have to drive there and I'll bite the there's-a-good-chance-an-overreaching-parent-will-call-the-authorities-bullet and run Henry in while the other kids sit in the car.

By this time Henry has got to go. The "I really, really, really have to go and can't wait any longer and need a bathroom now mom" kind of go. And I'm sweating. The kind of condensation that forms on your brow not from physical exertion, but from the pressure you're under because at any moment your child could lose all control of his bladder and pee all over his big kid booster seat which unlike the infant seat no longer has a pain in the ass convenient, removable cover you can wash so you'll have to add a trip to Wal-Mart for a new booster seat to today's to-do list. NOOOOOOO!!!!!!

Just when I think he's going to lose it, I see our safe haven. Or rather the big yellow "Scrubbs" sign. And I also see Matt's truck in line to be washed. So I know he's there. I pull my boat of a vehicle into a tiny spot, throw it into park, open the door for Henry, tell the others I'll be back in 30 seconds and not to scream or cry or laugh or breathe or do anything to draw attention to themselves, and I run Henry in to find Matt. Surely by now he's seen I've called 3 times and sent a text. He'll know we're in some sort of a bind. Maybe his daddy mind is even reading my mommy mind (we can do that sometimes) and he'll be at the door waiting for his bride and his firstborn. As I open the door and Henry runs toward the bathroom, I spot Matt. And a wave of confusion and envy wash over me. He is sitting in a massage chair (you know those huge, leather "Pay $5 for 5 minutes" massage chairs), TV remote in hand flipping channels, with the most serene, contented look on his face. He is clearly enjoying a moment of pure peace and total oblivion. And I 'm frozen in time for a moment. All while  Henry is sprinting to the bathroom, the other kids are probably talking to the nice lady in the parking lot who is calling the police on her cell phone, sweat is running down my brow, and Matt is in his happy place; the massage chair at Scrubbs Car Wash. I snap out of my trance and walk toward him and my dear, sweet husband finally spots us.

"Oh hi guys."

"I've called you 3 times and sent a text! Henry has to go to the bathroom. The other kids are in the car waiting for me. Bring Henry back when he's done."

"Oh. Okay. Man, my work might be trying to get ahold of me too. I better find my phone." And he calmly reaches into his backpack on the floor.

And I just stare. I don't reply. I don't blink. I might not be breathing. I just turn around and walk out the door because the police are on their way for our other kids. And then, I laugh. From deep in my gut I laugh. Because no single experience so clearly exemplifies our vastly different personalities and parenting styles. Here I am, about to have a heart attack over an everyday occurrence - one of our kids needing to tinkle. And Matt's as cool as a cucumber, unfazed and in his happy place. Which unknown to me is a massage chair at the car wash.

Goals Revised

Henry starts Kindergarten in a couple weeks and according to almost everyone this makes me one step closer to freedom. My first child is starting school, all day kindergarten none the less. A couple years ago I thought having the first of my three in school would put me closer to the goal tired moms everywhere work toward: get all your kids in school. I am discovering that for me and my family I couldn't have been more wrong.

Now don't misundertand. I need time away from my kids. Quite honestly I am exhausted by  them. It's mind numbing work to wipe bottoms, break up fights, listen to whining, buckle and unbuckle car seats, make PB&J's just to turn around and serve another snack an hour later, whip out crafts, break up more fights, wipe noses, and be touched CONSTANTLY by nasty little hands that gross even me - their mother - out! But as I approach the sought after milestone of "finally" having a school age child I am discovering something I missed until recently. The goal of early childhood is NOT to work toward the day you can drop your child off at school. The goal of early childhood is to take full advantage of the time you have them under your wing, making sure to invest diligently, lovingly and wholeheartedly into the lives that have been entrusted into your care. These early years are formative and as Mom I have been given the privilege and responsibility to train my children in the way they should go.

My hearts desire is to see my children equipped with the spiritual foundation, confidence and character to handle all that life throws at them. I believe that these life long skills take shape in the first 5 years of life. And I hope that after they slay the dragons that await them in kindergarten and beyond my children will never be too old to come home for cookies and milk. I will however, gladly leave them to handle their own bottom wiping.

A New Creation

A month ago, over a lunch of PB&J, Goldfish crackers and grapes, Henry asked Jesus into his heart . It was a sweet, sincere and powerful moment. It really started weeks before with questions like "How does God fits in our heart?" and "Do we feel safer when he's there?" During lunch on this particularly sunny day (rare for the wet weather we've experienced this spring) we were talking about all the wonderful gifts God has given us. Adam shared that his favorite gift was his family. Henry shared that his favorite gift was God and asked how he could ask Him into his heart. We prayed a simple, sweet prayer and with the faith of a child a new heart was created in my 5 year old little boy. He instantly wanted to help me around the house, share his toys selflessly with Adam, feed Claire and clean up after himself without whining. In my heart of hearts I knew I was witnessing a heart being molded into the image of Christ.

And then this morning, over a breakfast of cereal and O.J, he drew me these pictures ...



"Momma With a Big Butt"  by Henry Barron



"Adam Going Poop on the Potty" by Henry Barron

... and in a (hilarious) instant I was reminded that the process of becoming like Christ is a lifelong process muddled by our humanness. And made beautiful by God's forgiveness. Thank you Henry Thomas Barron for always keeping me humble. And prayerful. And on the verge of insanity.

(In all seriousness, the moment Henry asked Jesus into his heart was one of the most amazing parenting moments I've experienced. Matt and I celebrated Henry's choice by taking just him to breakfast and giving him a book. We continue to tell him how we see him changing by being more patient, kind and loving with his siblings. I wrote down the date (March 12th, 2012) and we plan to celebrate his "Spiritual Birthday" every year with the gift of a small book or devotional and by selecting and memorizing a new bible verse each year that we hope will be symbolic of his spiritual growth for that particular year.)

What Goes On When The T.V. Doesn't

My parents rationed my television consumption when I was a child. I was allowed tiny bites. Very occasionally. I remember sitting all together on Thursday evenings and watching, The Cosby Show. Sesame Street was allowed on an occasional afternoon but it was quickly changed to Little House on the Prairie as soon as my older sisters dusty shoes crossed the threshold on their return from school. I don't remember ever watching Saturday morning cartoons. I don't remember missing it either.

I spent my childhood reading, listening to stories on record (yes, record) and playing outside. Hour upon hour was spent building forts (with running water and rather large fires), climbing trees with branches that hung precariously over the Sacramento River, riding bikes on the levee, playing on the tin roof of one of the many sheds near our house, and pretending to be Indians by hanging tobacco (green leaves of some sort) and animal skin (grapefruit peels) out to dry. I loved every moment growing up television deprived on acres of land. Don't get me wrong. On the occasional evening when my parents would go on a date and leave my oldest sister in charge we spent most of the night with our eyes glued to the television. We also made sure to turn it off at least 30 minutes before their expected return because the moment my mom got home she was sure to touch the back of the television set to see it if was hot from overuse. True story.

Fast forward 30 some years and I have to admit that my children watch much more television than their mother or father did in their youth. When Matt was young his family had a TV and VCR just for watching family movies. In recent months, Matt and I have taken great strides to limit the amount of television our kids consume. We are not a "no T.V. allowed" household but we have moved toward being an "occasional show when the kids have earned them" household. This movement comes because we know the benefits of rationing television. The biggest in our house being more pleasant children who really enjoy each other and have imaginations that are through the roof!

Here's the proof ...

A display of some sort.

Ping pong.

Taking a monkey for a bike ride.

War.

More war.

The gang. Eating a pizza.

Protecting the gang from a monster.

The monster. Eating the gang.

Baking.

Bird watching.

Bird watching and photo taking.

Pondering the little things.

Trapping animals.

He didn't stand a chance.

Dog trap.

Poor fool.

The monster attacking the kitchen.

"Helping" with dinner.

I have no idea.

Really helping with dinner.