Pop Tart Wrappers, Dr. Pepper, and The Force

I was gathering a load of dirty laundry to throw into the wash as is customary for me to do several times a day on any given day, when I discovered a crumpled shiny Pop Tart wrapper in the pocket of a pair of shorts. Having 4 children in the house, 3 who are increasingly becoming more and more mannish in size and appearance and 1 who is still my somewhat Tiny Princess Warrior, I find myself laughing in these moments when I know, without a shadow of a doubt, the culprit before I even have all the facts. Liam is the number 1 suspect when food wrappers are left in pockets, on the floor, on the counter, in the car, in his bed, under his bed, stuffed between the sofa cushions...you name the place, that boy has left his food wrappers there. What gets me is that sometimes the effort he takes to hide the food wrapper is greater than the effort it would have taken the boy to throw it in a trash can, but I digress. As I reached into the other pocket to empty it, I found yet another Pop Tart wrapper. This time my amusement turned to frustration as I realized that boy of mine had devoured at least 1/2 of the box of the Limited Edition Grape Flavored Pop Tarts in one day...probably consuming both packages within mere moments of each other, and most likely finishing off the entire box before calling it quits.

It's probably my fault as I'm sure his future therapist will tell him. I try to keep healthy food choices on hand all the time. Most days, there is somewhat fresh fruit in the fruit bowl...although today, the bananas and nectarines are looking a little past their prime. There are whole grain breakfast bars and crackers in the pantry and natural peanut butter and real fruit preserves in the fridge. Kale and quinoa make regular appearances on the menu as do spinach and broccoli...but yes, I also keep a small stash of junk food available. We always have chips, popcorn, and pretzels...and I wouldn't dare let us run out of chocolate milk because then what kind of monster...I mean mother would I be? On the other hand, things like Pop Tarts, novelty ice cream bars, and soda make less frequent appearances. Because of this, Liam has developed a Sneak and Destroy Method of snack consumption which he rounds out with the widely practiced Hide and Save-It-For-Later Method.

Just the other day, I found a lone frozen angus cheeseburger in the back of the freezer, past the frozen blueberries, behind the Costco packs of chicken breasts, further back than the icebergs and penguins, all the way back to the way way back where forgotten items are sure to die an unseemly death brought on by freezer burn. This cheeseburger had scarcely been in our freezer for a week and it was already hidden waiting for later consumption. I assumed this was Liam's doing as was the lone can of Dr. Pepper which had been strategically hidden behind the Costco pack of unsalted butter and chocolate milk boxes. As it turns out, I was wrong about the Dr. Pepper. Nathan, young sweet Nathan, it seems is learning the ways of the Junk Food Jedi, and while he hasn't taken on the same Sneak and Destroy Method of his predecessor, I see the Force is quite strong with this one. Liam did find Nathan's Dr. Pepper and yes, he drank it heartily right in front of him as he boasted about knowing all the hiding places. Nathan didn't show any signs of aggravation but I could see the wheels were turning in that clever mind of his. Liam may have met his match with this one because I know something that Liam does not. Nathan has formed an alliance with the Tiny Princess Warrior. Together, they may just change the climate of the Junk Food War. Time will only tell, and since all is fair in love and war, I have those kids convinced that my Healthy Choice Greek style frozen yogurt and my Skinny Cow fudge bars are for adults only. Little do they know, I am the Junk Food Jedi Master.

Every Breath You Take...

Each night when Vivie goes to bed, she walks all around her bedroom and lays down her "people" toys as if they too are going to sleep. The first time I saw her do this, I thought, "Oh that sweet girl is tucking all of her dolls and figurines in for the night." So I sat ever so patiently on her bed watching her make the rounds and after she crawled under her covers, I leaned over her and told her how precious I thought that was for her to tuck in all of her "people." Her eyes widened as she very soberly whispered in my ear, "I wasn't tucking them in bed. They don't sleep. I lay them down so they won't stare at me while I sleep."  Before I could even respond, she jumped up out of her bed, ran over to the shelf where one little friend remained standing, and laid it down on its back. Looking at me, she said, "Whew! I almost forgot one!"

Why, pray tell, are kids so creepy? I know it all comes back to an active imagination...at least for most. Of course, I reassured Vivie that her toys weren't watching her. I didn't bother asking her why she would even want to play with anything that she thought was watching her while she sleeps. I also didn't school her on the proper bedtime closet light and closet door situation. I don't want to scare the child, but she insists on leaving on her closet light and keeping the closet door open all night. This, I'm afraid, is a rookie mistake. Whatever it is that lives in the closet doesn't need a light shining on it making it all the easier for it to escape, and everyone knows it can't open a closed door, but it will however, take full advantage of an open door. I also haven't told her of the importance of keeping her feet covered at all times during the night lest The Under The Bed Trolls should come out and scrape the bottoms of her feet with their spoons. Clearly, I have some residual issues from my early exposure to scary movies.

The other day, Vivie brought home her self-portrait that she made in her pre-k class. She was so proud of it that she insisted I allow her to hang it on her bedroom wall. I asked, "Are you sure you don't want to hang it on the refrigerator door so everybody will see it?" She insisted that her masterpiece hang on her bedroom wall. She picked a prominent spot on the wall just left of the head of her bed. She smiled as she taped her picture onto the wall and then she stepped back and admired her work. I have to tell you that hanging artwork on my children's bedroom walls stretches me as a mom. Their rooms typically are somewhat messy and I have just preferred to keep the clutter at a minimum. Before you start bashing me as an unfit mother who doesn't know how to encourage self-expression and creativity in her children, I do keep some of their art and I display some from time to time on the refrigerator. Also, in my defense, I recognized how important this was to Vivie and I let her tape that picture to the wall and made my peace with it.

At bedtime that night, Vivie stuck to her normal routine of laying down all of her "people." She crawled into bed and as I leaned over her to pray, she told me to take down her picture and hang it on the wall inside of her closet. I took it down but I told her that between the bookshelf and all of her clothes, there wasn't a great spot on the wall in her closet so I hung it on the inside part of her closet door. She then started shouting, "Not on the door! Not on the door! Stick it on the wall! On the wall, Mommy!" Funny thing is, I knew she was worried that picture would either close the closet door or open it up wider at some point during the night. Again, I stopped myself from asking her why she would want something that she thinks is up and about in her room while she is sleeping.

Originally, I thought Vivie's little creation was just so precious but the girl has ruined it for me. She has turned it into Gladys and as far as I am concerned, that drawing needs to be tightly sealed in Vivie's keepsake box where it won't cause any trouble. 

Slice Me Up a Fat Piece Of Humble Pie

A few months back, I submitted a couple of articles to HomeLife Magazine and earlier this week, I received an e-mail from one of the editors informing me that he wants to publish both of them. The first one will appear in the February issue and the second one will be in the September issue. As you can imagine, I am downright giddy with excitement.

When I shared my big news with Jacob, he said, "That's just how Mark Twain got started. Hey...you could be the next Mark Twain." Y'all, I nearly wrecked the car. My sweet kid likened me to Mark Twain. Mark Twain. For the briefest of moments, I latched onto that comparison. Me? A great American novelist and humorist extraordinaire. Wow. I felt my head swell so quickly that it made me dizzy. I looked at Jacob and asked, "Mark Twain? You really think so? That's high praise!" Jacob in all the frankness he inherited from his father said, "I just mean he wrote short stories and stuff before he began writing books. You could write some short stories and stuff and then maybe a book." So he let a little helium out of my overinflated balloon of a head. In this particular moment, I chose to have selective hearing. Any way you slice it, my son compared me to Mark Twain...he just didn't necessarily mean to compare our talents.

Speaking of frankness, while Vivie and I were sitting in my car this morning waiting for Jacob's cross country practice to end, she reached over and grabbed my arm right on that spot all of us women just love to be grabbed. You know the spot....the spot where if you were to morph into an animal based on your physical traits, you would turn into a bat. Just as she squeezed my arm, her sweet smiling expression changed to one of slight horror and concern. She looked at me and said, "Mommy, you are squishy right there." Why yes, yes, I am a little squishy right there but it's because my guns are of the Nerf variety. There is no shame in Nerf.

Because I just can't leave well enough alone and I wanted to reassure her that Mommy's arms are not always squishy, I gave her a ticket to my gun show, flexed my arm and said, "Look at Mommy's arm now. See that line and my muscles?" Vivie promptly reached for that same spot and gave it a squeeze. She smiled and said, "I see your muscles and your arm is still squishy." So trying to show her that we are all a little squishy, I asked to see her muscles. She proudly flexed both arms and noted that her muscles are smaller than mine but only because she is smaller than I am. I reached out and pinched her bat wing only to come back empty handed. She smiled in a way that made me think she knew I was a little disappointed that her arms were lacking in the squish. I said, "Vivie, you don't have any squish on your arms." Girl fell out laughing and said, "Noooo! That's silly, Mommy!" I don't know what I was thinking. My 5-year old daughter is exceptionally beautiful but make no bones about it, the girl is built like a freak of nature. From the time she was old enough to walk, she was climbing. She never really had that toddler softness about her. She looks like she is ready for a starring role in a DC comic. Why on God's green earth would I even think to compare my squish with hers?! I blame it on the deliriousness that stems from early morning cross country practices.

No one will put you in your place quite like your children. God love them.

Mom Fail #76,893

George and I have been teaching a Sunday school class for 2-year olds at our home church for 9 years. Nine. That's a lot of changing poopy diapers all in the name of Jesus. Seriously though, we love it. Every week, we teach Bible stories, make crafts, and get our toddler fix all without having to increase the size of our own family. We have already been there and done that 4 times over (13 really if you count all the fosters we have welcomed into our home and I count them).

At a recent appreciation luncheon, our preschool minister awarded us with a gift certificate to Olive Garden. We'd been planning to use it for a much needed date night and I decided tonight was going be that date night. With Jacob being 15 and really a pretty responsible kid, we have allowed him to earn his keep by babysitting Vivie once in a blue moon so that his parents will be able to remember why they like each other so much. It's a win-win if you ask me. We get free babysitting and Jacob gets parents who still want to be married to each other.

Well, it's cross country season which means it is Team Spaghetti Dinner Season as well. Jacob's team had a meet today and a team dinner tonight which he told me about after said meet. He spends so much of his school year training for his sport and studying for all of his pre-AP and AP classes that on the rare occasion when he asks to do something social, I am hard pressed to say no...as was the case tonight. I told George that our dinner plans had been sauced and he said let's just take Vivie and whomever else wants to go with us. Liam opted to have the whole house to himself for a bit (classic middle kid who shares a room with his younger brother move if you ask me), but Nathan, on the other hand was so excited to try a "new place." Because we have 4 children, 3 of which usually order off the adult menu, we don't eat out often and when we do, 9 out of 10 times we choose Mexican fare. So yes, my soon to be 11-year old son had probably never had Olive Garden. I don't know if I'm sad that he was so stoked about Olive Garden or if I'm grateful that he is so easily pleased. I'm leaning toward grateful.

So our party of 2 was a party of 4 tonight and it was really a precious night of being able to just really focus on the younger 2 for a change. After dinner, we allowed the kiddos to order dessert and both Nathan and Vivie decided on the ice cream sundae. When the server put the ice cream sundae on the table in front of Nathan, my sweet boy looked at me with his dancing blue eyes and said, "Wow. I have never had chocolate sauce on my ice cream!" I looked at him in utter disbelief and said, "Sure you have." He promised me that no he had not. Chocolate sauce on ice cream was a new and exciting development in his experience with desserts. George just shook his head and said, " This is Jacob and the gum all over again."

Confession time: I abhor gum chewing. I think it is just disgusting and even more so if you smack your gum. Because of this, I was never one to buy gum for the kids. If anyone will smack gum, you know kids will. If anyone will get gum stuck in her hair, it will be a kid or at the very least, because of a kid. If you ever find gum smashed in your carpet, you know it's because a kid did it. In my world, gum + kids = mess waiting to happen. So yeah, I tried to keep gum on the streets and out of the mouths of my kids.

When Jacob was 5, he played t-ball. One of the moms (the dealer, as I like to call her) brought gum as part of the team snack. Gum. Seriously? Was gum on the list of approved snacks? Baseball moms are like the honey badger...they don't care about any such list of approved snacks. Maybe soccer moms do, but baseball moms are perfectly content to shove one of those plastic squeeze type bottles filled with nothing more than red dye #40 and high fructose corn syrup into the right hand of your precious little slugger and a Little Debbie Star Crunch into his left hand.  So the snack mom handed Jacob a piece of gum and my little guy held it in his sweet little hand with uncertainty written all over his baby face. He looked at the gum then at George and then at the gum again. All of the other kiddos were standing around smacking their gum like professional baseball players and then there was our sweet innocent Jacob, sheltered from this oral vice, standing there simply dazed and confused. George, embarrassed for Jacob, jumped to his aid immediately and explained the whole nonsensical chew-chew-chew-but-don't-swallow-it concept of gum. On the drive home following the game, I got an earful from George about how embarrassing it was that our kid was the only kid who had never even seen gum. It was done, It was over. My gum-free world was now a world of gum smacking bubble popping and sticky spots on the floor and furniture chaos. From that moment on, George took it upon himself to enlighten our kiddos in the ways of gum chewing when they were no more than 2 or 3 years old. He vowed never to have another incident of gum incompetency in our family again.

Don't get the wrong idea. I'm not as uptight as it seems. I try like most moms to ensure that my kiddos are eating a varied diet with lots of healthy choices from all the main food groups but I also let them enjoy some fun foods, too. For instance, when Hostess scared us all by going out of business, I bought some Hostess Cupcakes and Twinkies so the kids would know what a loss the No Nutritional Value This Can't Be Real Food World was experiencing. And just this summer, when Jacob asked about getting some Pop Tarts. I casually mentioned that when I was a kid, the frosted grape ones were my favorite. He said, "You know what's sad? I have not had enough to know which ones are my favorite." So I spent the next several weeks allowing the kids to try a wide range of Pop Tarts. I haven't bought any in weeks and weeks and you know what, they don't seem to miss them. I also bake cookies (and by cookies I mean real cookies with 2 sticks of butter and too much sugar to acknowledge) nearly every single week of the school year. So don't tell me I'm the food police just because I reserve soda for special occasions and I refuse to buy fruit snacks because their sugar bugs make cavities like rabbits make bunnies.

All is now right in the dessert world as Nathan has experienced the thrill of chocolate syrup on his ice cream.

I Spy With My Little Eye

Ever since I was a preschooler, I have wanted a pet llama. I have told George countless times that if we ever have acreage, I want to raise llamas. Now, I don't know the first thing about caring for llamas. I am a city girl at heart and frankly, I struggle with the day to day mess created by Scout, the ill-mannered white not-so-much-red heeler who drops enough fur all over the house to cause us all to wonder how the dog is not completely bald by now. And don't even get me started on who exactly will be shoveling all that llama poo. There really is no logical reason for me to take on llama rearing but I can tell you from where this deep-seated desire came. I can thank Sesame Street and their catchy little ditty about a girl taking her pet llama to the dentist.

What can I say? For whatever reason, this segment sold me on the idea of a pet llama. Watching this now all these years later, I still imagine what it would be like to have a pet llama and I just know that I would sing, "Me and My Llama" changing the words to narrate the events of our day. Yes folks, TV can mess up kids and put all kinds of thoughts in their heads.

My granddad knew about my plans to have a pet llama and he always told me I should think about getting a goat instead. My granddad was in fact a country boy in his younger years and having been around all kinds of animals, including a pet monkey that he had while serving in the Navy during the Korean War, he said that goats were by far the most fun pet a person could have. 

When Liam was a lot younger, he actually took art lessons from a lady whose husband was a goat farmer. So every week when we went out to her house for the lessons, we would get to see all the goats. They also had a few Great Pyranese and Australian Shepherds to protect the goats from the local coyotes. Those were some gigantic hairy dogs who wandered the property at their leisure and every now and again they would make their way into the house to nap on the cool tile floor. One day, while sitting in the art teacher's living room, I spied a grape on her kitchen floor. I was thinking of picking it up and tossing it in the trash for her but I was afraid I was going to disrupt her lesson so I just ignored it. Well, when class was over, and we were all gathering in her kitchen, I was reminded of the grape on the floor but before I could pick it up, one of the students inadvertantly kicked it and the grape rolled across the floor stopping so close to my feet that I nearly stepped on it. I was just about to bend over and get it when the art teacher noticed it. I said, "Looks like you lost a grape." To which she replied while leaning over to scoop up the grape, "Oh no, this isn't a grape. Apparently one of the goats lost an eye and one of the dogs must have carried it into the house. It happens all the time." All the time?! Let me just be clear. I do not do eyeballs...at all. Knowing I had seen that thing rolling all over her kitchen and that I had almost stepped on it and had almost picked it up...well, it was almost more than I could take. It was by the grace of God that I did not pass out right then and there.

Suffice it to say, I can clearly see that I am not cut out for dealing with farm animals, and as for Scout, she can drop her fur all over my house as long as she keeps her eyes to herself.

From The Other Mother: An Open Letter Response

It's funny how God works, crossing the paths of certain people at a specific time in a way that seems to be all coincidental and then you start to peel back the layers and you realize this was no coincidence. Something that person said or did impacted my journey in a significant way or vice versa. I have a sweet and precious friend that read my post An Open Letter to the Other Woman, and she shared with me her adoption story. She has a different perspective than I do because you see, she is someone else's Other Mother. She shared with me her heartfelt letter that she wrote somewhat in response to my letter. This friend of mine is beautiful and brave but she asked to remain anonymous so as to not potentially hurt members of her family who are unaware that she carried a baby and made the difficult decision to place him for adoption. Her story may not be like all of The Other Mothers because well...it is her story. I feel blessed and honored knowing without a doubt that she has impacted my journey simply by sharing her story with me.

From The Other Mother:

Thank you. These two words are so little and often, so overused, but I want you to know that they are so full of so much meaning...from me to you.

We share something, a connection that no other women can share. Though we have never met, I love you. I love you for raising our baby. I love you for loving our baby. 

Thank you for wiping tears. Thank you for teaching Jesus. Thank you for playing games. But most importantly, and the greatest thank you I have from the deepest part of my heart, thank you for being mommy.

I want you to know that one of the most difficult things for me to say is our… our baby. Yes, I am the birth mother. I gave birth to a beautiful baby. But I was not at a place in my life to be a mother.  You were at a place where you wanted – needed - to be a mother. Our baby was at place where he needed to be doubly loved. In God’s perfect way, He designed those places to all be in alignment with each other.  He allowed me to be a part of the blessing of you becoming mommy. He allowed me to be a part of the blessing of bringing a child into your home.

I think about you often. I think about you on Mother’s Day, on the birthday of our baby, on first days of school, on every holiday, on days that end in Y. I think about everything that you have experienced or will experience with our baby and I am grateful that God put YOU there for our baby. You specifically. Not just anyone, but you. You were chosen to be mommy. I was chosen to be the other mother. While I know you cling to the title MOMMY with honor and grace. I cherish being the other mother. I am amazed that God chose me to be a part of the blessing of this trinity, mommy, baby and the other mother. 

You are mommy. I am the one that is so incredibly blessed to know that you are mommy. In my heart, I am confident that our baby is exactly where he is meant to be, where God planned for him to be, right there in your lap with your gentle caress carrying him off to dreamland.

As you say your prayers and our baby, pray for the other mother, and  know I pray for you both. I thank Him for connecting us all in a way that we will never be separated.

Go, raise our baby. Love our baby. Cherish our baby. Be mommy to your baby… and I will be the other mother to your baby.

An Open Letter to the Other Woman

To My Daughter's Other Mother,

What I want you to know on this day that our baby girl was born is that she is loved...deeply loved and cherished as all children should be with the To the Moon and Back Thank You Jesus For This Precious Child I Would Lay Down My Life For Her kind of love. She has brought so much laughter and love into our family. She is nothing short of an answered prayer and a blessing from the Lord.

What I also want you to know is that I love you. I love you more than I could ever adequately express. My constant prayer for you is that you know real joy, that you have a saving relationship with Christ, that you find yourself in a healthy place in life, that you are not haunted by your decision to place our daughter for adoption, and that thoughts of this day overwhelm your heart with love and peace. I often imagine that maybe one day you and I could meet and over a cup of tea, we could share our love for Vivie. Maybe you would tell me about the day she was born. Maybe you would laugh to know how Vivie scaled the refrigerator to get to the Halloween candy or how she shimmied up the downspout of the rain gutter to pet a green anole. Maybe you could tell me if her asthma is genetic or if those brown eyes are like yours. I could tell you how Vivie and I often include you in her bedtime prayers...how we tell Vivie how much you must love her to make such a difficult choice knowing it was all for her. Maybe we could be friends and our daughter would see a little bit of herself in both of us. Maybe she could love us both and you would see that God had a plan for her all along. Maybe.

Until that time comes, I just hope you know that not a day goes by that I don't realize and appreciate the gift you allowed God to give our family. Thank you. Thank you for choosing life when our throw away society makes it so easy to choose otherwise. Thank you for loving our baby enough to recognize she needed more than you had to give at the time. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. No matter how many times I say it, it will never be enough but here's to hoping that maybe one day you will get the chance to hear it.

May the Lord bless you and keep you.
With much love and deepest gratitude,
Vivie's Other Mother