Spill It.

I'm going to let you in on a little secret. Don't tell anyone. Promise? Okay. Here goes...

I feed my kids McDonald's. {audible gasp}

Oh, it felt good to get that out. Want to know more?

I use TV as a babysitter while I take showers and make supper.

If my kids fall asleep without brushing their teeth, I don't wake them up. They're going to lose those teeth anyway, right?

I count playing Wii Music as our music theory lesson for the day.

I sometimes clean the bathroom floors with baby wipes as opposed to dragging a bucket of soapy water up the stairs.

I Febreezed my kids' VBS shirts one day last week so they could wear them again the next day without my having to do another load of laundry.

I sometimes skip rinsing cans and jars before putting them in the recycle bin.

By sometimes I mean almost always.

I sometimes say things like "don't act like a moron" to my kids.

I pretend not to hear questions that I don't want to answer.

If I forget my reusable grocery bags in the car, I just use plastic bags rather than go back for them.

I almost always forget my reusable grocery bags in the car.

I bribe my kids with candy--pretty much every day.

And I don't feel guilty (most of the time) because I am still a good mom (most of the time). Anyone else tired of all the pressure to be perfect? Well, spill it, Sister. Put it out there that you're not perfect but you ARE still pretty darn amazing.

Going UP

A few weeks ago I was sitting on the playground with my children. I was visiting with another Mama who was watching her littles play, and the atmosphere was chill. I love those days. No worries. Nowhere to be. No one crying or needy but coming by often enough to get kisses and nods of approval at the bouquet of weeks freshly picked. Heaven, I tell you.

The other Mama watched my boys race each other UP the slide and turned to me and asked a question I'd never considered before. "Do you allow your boys to climb up the slide?" Well, yes. Why wouldn't I? Why do I care which direction they go on the slide? If it's more fun going up, I say go for it. Play on, brothers. Play on.

Her question makes sense in hindsight. Last week my big boys were in VBS, but since there was no program for littles under 3, I had the two babies all week. My Aaron needs a routine and was bothered by leaving the two big brothers every morning, so we developed a new routine--drop the big boys off and head for Chick-fil-A where we ate breakfast together, then played on the playground and fed the birds our leftover biscuits. Every single morning I saw other kids rush out the glass door to the play enclosure and head straight for the slide--going up. Do you know that Mama after Mama insisted that those kids climb the stairs and go down the slide like civilized little playground users?

I think the other Mamas were trying for something very noble--respect. If you're going up the slide, those who are trying to come down can't reach the bottom. The thing is, my Aaron got off the slide anytime someone else was trying to come down. Being aware of others--now that's respectful.

I loudly praised him when he made it particularly far up the twisty slide. I'm sure the other Mamas glared. But the Mama at playgroup and I get it. Chill. Create your own sense of chill. Play on.

Good to Be

Tonight at supper I kept noticing a lady at the table next to us watching my family. I caught her eye several times, and she quickly looked away, embarrassed that I made eye contact with her. I wondered what interested her so. I wondered if she envied me with my sweet family. I didn't find it hard to imagine that. If I were someone else, I'd envy me. That's a really good feeling.

It's good to be the Mama.

If I Had Only Known...

I didn't know.

I didn't know that when I chose to feed the boys lunch AFTER Nolan's doctor's appointment on Thursday they wouldn't get to eat until Mike came to pick them up at 3:00.

I didn't know that when I left the house for the routine checkup at 12:00 that I wouldn't return home again until well after 6:00.

I didn't know that when my baby sucked his pacifier so vigorously he was actually searching for food.

I didn't know that when he cried he was trying to tell me that he was literally starving.

I didn't know that every time I put him to the breast he would suck until he exhausted himself and fell asleep but only received a small amount of food.

I didn't know that his tiny body was the result of hunger, not genetics.

I didn't know.

If I had only known. I would have done things so differently. I would have started pumping earlier to increase my milk supply for him. I would have insisted on frequent weight checks to make sure he was gaining appropriately. I would have forbidden pacifiers and put him to the breast every time he wanted to suck, even if it was just 15 minutes after our last feeding. If I had only known. But I didn't know. And this happened.

And now. Now my baby is scheduled to have a second blood test next week. Now he is drinking cold formula from an artificial nipple. Now I'm pumping every hour and a half and nursing too and my breasts are sore and my older children are feeling neglected. And I'm still not making enough milk. His weak suck and my ignorance allowed my milk supply to decrease to nearly nothing, and I'm not sure I'll be able to build it back up. I'm feeling betrayed by the very body I was so in awe of only weeks ago. I'm feeling cheated because I won't be able to breastfeed my very last baby the way I had planned. I'm feeling exhausted because my routine right now consists of nursing the baby, giving him a bottle, then pumping, then about 30 minutes of down time before the process starts over (day and night). I'm feeling ashamed because I let this happen--what kind of mother lets this happen? When I checked in at the hospital for his tests, I was horrified to see that I knew the admitting nurse. I handed her the orders for the tests with the words "failure to thrive" written across the top, and wanted the floor to swallow me up to avoid sitting in the room with her thoughts of how I was neglecting my baby. Failure to thrive is something that drug addicts' babies have. Good mothers have fat babies and laugh about their pudgy thighs. My baby's diaper leaks every time he pees because his legs are too skinny to get a good fit. How could I have not known? I'm terrified that his "failure to thrive"--my failure to parent--will have long-term affects on his brain and his development.

So, if you are so inclined, please pray for my very little man. And, if you don't mind, for me too.

My Many Colored Days

I very firmly believe that postpartum depression is real. After Ei was born, I found myself anxious and angry and sad for no good reason. Prozac is a wonderful thing, by the way. I told my doctor, she wrote a prescription, I took a little blue pill each morning, and in a few months I felt better. It's hard when you're in the middle of it though. You've got this perfect little baby and a wonderful life and then your stupid hormones and sleep deprivation get in the way and make you cry because you're out of toilet paper in every bathroom and you start to think that if you can't even keep toilet paper stocked how are you ever going to remember to feed and bathe two children and what was God thinking entrusting all of this to you. If you've been there, you're nodding your head knowingly right now. If you haven't, just trust me.

It's not like that this time. If there's a such thing as postpartum elation, that's what I've got. I am so sleep-deprived it's ridiculous, but I am getting by on this baby high that feels amazing. All I want to do is hold him and stare at his face. The older boys are all doing fine (to my relief), my recovery was amazingly simple, the baby is healthy and nursing well, and life seems to be falling nicely into place.

And that's all. I don't have anything earth-shattering to write tonight. I just wanted to let you know that my absence in the bloggy world is not due to crippling postpartum depression or even being overwhelmed with my new life. It's just that right now I'm just content to sit and hold this baby and do nothing else. So, I'm going to get back to doing just that. He'll be big far too quickly.

Nolan, 12 days old

R-E-S-P-E-C-T

Parenting is hard. I've written that before, but this time is different. We're having a really hard time at the Sharp household right now, and I'm struggling. The big boys have started fighting, which I know is normal for siblings, but it's aggressive and ugly and makes me so sad. They refuse to clean up their toys. They talk back. The last couple of days I've been standing there looking at them, scratching my head and thinking, "What has happened to my family?"

Yes, I know we're in the midst of major life changes. The baby should be here any day now (the doctor said on Monday she'd be surprised if I lasted another 10 days), and that alone is bound to cause some ripples in our usually still waters. Aaron is outgrowing the baby stage and becoming both a playmate and a real nuisance to the big boys. We've started homeschooling, so our days are no longer full of free play (although we do still get plenty of that). So, I know that there's a lot going on in their worlds, and I've tried to be understanding. But enough is enough.

I got really strict about time outs. I started using a timer and had very specific rules about what constituted a successful time out. I was consistent, for the most part anyway, and tried to be calm but firm when sentencing. Aggression was a non-negotiable time out, as was talking back and acts of defiance. And they just didn't care. 5 minutes later they came bounding out of their time out spots, offering a half-hearted apology only because it was required. Nothing changed.

The other day I did something I thought I would never do. I spanked my child. Ei bit Jackson on his face, leaving a nasty looking bitemark next to his eye. I asked him why he would do something like that (not that there is any good reason, but I needed to know if Jackson also deserved punishment), and he said that they were playing ball and Jackson got to the ball first which made him mad. I wanted to cry when I realized that my sweet little boy had the potential to be so very mean. So, I spanked him twice, while Jackson watched, and thought that this would surely put an end to this recent streak of ugliness. Afterwards I felt like throwing up. I'm not judging others here--just being honest. I just can't figure out how someone can spank a child and walk away feeling good about her parenting skills. All day I wanted to grab Ei in a big hug and tell him how sorry I was, that returning violence for violence was a terrible thing to do. But I talked to Mike about it, and we decided that it might be good for him to see that parents do have bigger ammunition than just time outs and that he better get his act straight. We agreed not to use this particular method of punishment on a regular basis (in fact, I think I'm done with it), but we thought maybe some good might come of it. It didn't. He has bitten Jackson 3 times since then.

Today I walked into the bonus room of our house and took a good look around. There were toys (so many toys) on every inch of the floor, despite my pleas that they clean up for 4 days in a row. I walked the boys into the room and showed them what I saw and asked if they thought it was acceptable. They said no. They asked if they would still get their allowance this week, but they made no effort to pick up their toys. I wanted to bang my head into the wall. What have I created?

And so, today begins a new experiment in my parenting career. We skipped our regular trip to the library for storytime, and instead I emptied the toy room. I gutted it. While the boys screamed and begged for me to stop, I loaded up all their toys into boxes and took them to the garage. Afterwards we had a discussion about how they are not entitled to a room full of fancy toys, dessert after every dinner, and fun outings every day. I told them very calmly that they've become spoiled brats, and that I'm accepting part of the blame for what's happened because I'm the one who buys all the toys, gives them treats, takes them for outings, and doesn't expect an ounce of respect in return. And I told them that today things change. They will earn their toys back by keeping their room clean, respecting others, following directions, and refraining from acts of unkindness. Time outs will continue. Rewards (treats, fun outings, etc.) will be just that--rewards for good behavior, not a part of our regular routine.

Yes, this is poor timing. The baby will be here before we know it, and all of this will be put on the back burner while we just try to survive those first few weeks. Yes, it's going to be hard on all of us to change our old habits. But it's a good start, and I feel hopeful about things for the first time in weeks. Parenting is such an incredible responsibility. I have such a short amount of time to teach these little people to be responsible, compassionate, KIND adults. There's no room to be wishy-washy, even if it's more fun and seems to make the moment easier. I get it. I know this. Now, doing it is the hard part. Prayers, please.

Today...

Today...

my youngest child went back on ear drops (which he hates more than just about anything) for ANOTHER ear infection. If you're counting, we're on number 10.

my middle child threw tic-tac-toe pieces into the air like confetti. My youngest child scooped them up before we could reach them and put several in his mouth. I think I got them all out before he swallowed any, but there was a brief moment of gagging that was pretty scary.

my oldest child looked at me and flat out said "no" when I told him to do something.

I separated approximately 50 fights between the big boys.

my middle child decided he was big enough to put the toothpaste on his own toothbrush. Normally the toothpaste would have been far out of his reach, but I just bought a new tube today, and it was still sitting on the counter. He squeezed about half of it out of the tube onto the floor and then proceeded to try to put it back in. Have you ever read the Ramona books? Yeah, that's what happened.

my oldest child tried to "help" clean up the toothpaste mess (I suspect that he might have had a part in it) by wiping the bathroom floor with half a roll of toilet paper. He threw it all in the potty and then tried to flush. The toilet is now clogged.

I think we're all at our limit with this traveling Daddy thing. Around 5:00 today I started thinking that I would lose my mind with disobedient, disrespectful children. This is the point when I would normally begin the countdown to pass-off time. I might even call Mike to get an ETA so I could mentally coach myself through the last few minutes. But today, like every other evening since February, I could only count down to bedtime, knowing that before I could tuck them in bed I would have to feed the children, bathe them (we had Ravioli, so baths weren't optional), and do the bedtime routine (which is my least favorite part of every single day). I'm trying to be patient with them. I know the bad behavior is just their way of showing their frustration with Mike being gone. But I can only take so much. I'm tired of being the bad guy. Tonight when we were doing our chore chart I took away 3 smiley faces from each of them (because their rooms weren't clean, they didn't obey me, and they weren't nice to each other). They both cried. I wanted to give them a last-minute chance. "Quick, clean up your rooms and hug each other and I'll give you the smiles," but I knew that would reinforce bad behavior for the following day. I just reminded them that they could start over tomorrow and get all smiles to earn their rewards, and they cried and begged for mercy.

I'm not sure where I'm going with this. It seems a bit rambly and muddled, but I just needed to get it off my chest, I suppose. I am tired of always being the heavy. I am tired of working around the clock with no relief. I'm tired of my baby always being sick and no one being able to help him. I'm tired of picking up after kids all day and still having a house full of dirty dishes, laundry, and random toys strewn across the floor at bedtime. I'm just really tired.

When Good isn't Good Enough

Today I was having a conversation about Jackson with a friend of mine who knows him well. She asked if I had decided what do to about his education, and I told her this: next year we are doing kindergarten off the record (meaning I'm not registering him as a kindergartner), and at the end of the year I am going to have him tested and see where to do from there. In my head this made perfect sense. I work with him all year on kindergarten skills, then test him and find out that--low and behold--he'll be ahead in all areas. This will justify homeschooling him rather than sending him to school to relearn all these skills he's already mastered. But as soon as I said the words aloud I realized that this is just my way of justifying to everyone else what I've already decided to do. See, I just feel really good about teaching him at home, at least for now, and I need everyone else to feel good about it too. And somehow I think that crazy high test scores will do that. Maybe it will, but I'm afraid of what I'm setting up.

I don't know where I got my inner need to be the best, outperform everyone else, and excel at everything I do. I don't recall my parents participating in that obsession. In fact, I once told my mom that I was afraid I might make a C in a class in high school, and she offered to pay me if I did. I'm not kidding. She thought that taking the rest of the semester off and letting myself chill out a bit was more important than my grade point average. But I didn't listen. And I didn't make a C.

The point is, something inside me demands that I not only meet expectations (in a timely and organized fashion) but blow the top off of them. I don't want to be a good employee. I want to be employee of the month. Three times. I don't want to make an A. I want a 100%. (Is extra credit an option? I'll make a 105.) And it might sound lovely to come out on top, but I assure you that it's not. It's not because while I should be celebrating one victory, I'm instead trying to figure out how I can raise the bar. And at some point, I'm bound to miss it. And it hurts every time.

Last Sunday my son received an award at his cello recital. He practiced more in the month of April than any other student in the studio (44 times in a 30-day month). He was so very proud. He talked about it all day and wanted to show off his certificate to anyone who would listen. Then something very troubling happened. He said that next time he would try to practice 45 times. See, it's not good enough for him that he's the best. He wants to beat his own score. A little piece of me panicked. It's going to hurt when he misses the bar. Did I do this to him? Or was he born with it like I was?

So, I wonder what I'm doing with all this testing business. It's kindergarten for goodness sake. I know Jackson. If I tested him today he would already excel kindergarten standards. Do I need a test to tell me that? Am I just putting pressure on him to excel? And if he is a grade level ahead this year, will I just push for him to be 2 grade levels ahead next year? How can I teach him to let himself relax if I can't? And, even if his test scores aren't ahead of grade level, doesn't he still deserve the same loving home-based education that I have planned for him? This isn't a reward for outstanding performance. Somehow those things have gotten entwined in my head, and I'm having a hard time separating them. True, I think that my children will receive a better education at home AND will excel if they receive a one-on-one education. Who wouldn't? But that's not what is driving me to homeschooling, and I need to be honest about that. I think that my Jackson needs some more time in the nest before he is ready to fly outside on his own. That's the bottom line. I don't know when he'll be ready. First grade? Fifth? Not until college? I know that I'm his mom and I pray for him every day, and I feel sure that this is right, at least for now. Now, the hard part is deciding where to draw the line between gushing with pride over his accomplishments and pressuring him to do more.

Parenting is hard.

Parenting is Dangerous

Aaron is having a terrible tantrum. He wants me to put him down, but as soon as I do, he screams and tries to climb up my leg. I pick him up and he struggles to get down. I'm tired. I don't know why he's so grumpy, and at this moment I don't really care. I just want him to stop screaming for five minutes so I can close my eyes for a second before I have to go downstairs and cook supper. I hold him tight hoping that he'll settle into my embrace. He struggles. He throws his head back. The hard part of his head hits the bridge of my nose. It makes a horrible cracking noise, and pain shoots through my entire body. I swear I see lights. I think for a moment that I might have been struck by lightening. My husband runs into the room and looks terrified. I realize that I'm crying and that I can't speak yet. It hurts. A. LOT.

That was yesterday. Today my nose is still very sore. I can't wear glasses at all because I can't stand anything touching the bridge of my nose. I even flinched when putting on makeup because the mineral brush hurt just brushing across my nose. There's a big bump at the top, and it's a bit swollen. I'm pretty sure it's broken, although I don't fully understand how you can break a nose if it's all cartilage. I'll read up on that when I can hold my eyes open long enough. For now, I'm thinking it's time to head to bed.

Oh, and we did find out why poor Aaron is so grumpy. He has an ear infection in both ears. Yes, ear infections again. He had tubes less than 2 months ago, and we're already on our second round of ear infections. Two weeks ago they had to reopen his tubes because they were blocked AND infected. Seriously, this kid can't catch a break. It's no wonder he's so mad he wants to break his mother's nose. And he has a big bump on the back of his head in the shape of my nose.

The Secret Life of Moms

I couldn't find the exact place, but I remember that in The Secret Life of Bees, Lily says that telling the truth means telling even the worst parts. This is my worst part.

I am tired. I am so very, very tired. And hormonal. And irritable.

My kids are energetic. They are so very, very energetic. And loud. And messy.

I spent two hours today sitting in a doctor's office, being poked and prodded and exposed. By the time I picked up my children, my patience was spent. They didn't have a chance.

They fought about which CD to listen to in the car. They ran in the house and kicked off their shoes in the middle of the living room floor. They passed too quickly by the baby and knocked him down. They let out all of the energy and noise they'd pent up all day. They were preschool kids, is what I'm trying to tell you. And it was more than I could take. I yelled. I didn't just raise my voice. I yelled. I was so very, very ugly.

Tonight I put them to bed and told them how sorry I was for my bad behavior. I explained that I feel kind of funny right now with a tiny person sucking up all my energy, but that it didn't excuse my behavior. And they forgave me. They hugged me and told me that they loved me. How could they love me today? I don't love me today.

Just recently I preached a sermon on how God loves us, not because we earn it, but just because that's how purely He loves. My kids get it. I could learn a lot from them.

BE KIND (and please rewind)

I had this thought the other day: "They aren't mine." Yes, they're "my" kids. Yes, I birthed them, diapered them, fed them, clothed them, disciplined them, played with them, loved them. But they still aren't mine. Although they grew in my body, I didn't make them. These precious people are on loan to me from the One who made them. Eventually my job will be done. I'll have to send them into the world and hope that I've taught them to love God and respect others.

Loan me a book, and I'll read it very carefully so that I don't crease the spine or wrinkle any of the pages. Loan me your car and I'll drive it like it's made of glass so I don't scratch the paint or dirty the tires. I'd NEVER return a movie to the video store without rewinding it. (Those of you who are of the younger generation, we used to borrow VHS movies from Blockbuster roughly 100 years ago.) Yet, I've got 3 great kids on loan, and I often forget to take such good care of them. I damage their spirits by using a harsh voice. I damage their creativity by focusing on the mess they made rather than the masterpiece they completed. I damage their understanding of what it is to be a Christian when I don't live what I teach.

It makes me cry to think of the day that I drop them off at college and return home empty- handed. I know that on that day I'd give anything for one more chance to sit in the floor and make play-doh food or curl up on the bed together and read them a story. So why do I fly through those things like they're mundane chores now? The "return by" date is coming up. 18 years is a very short time to get it right. I'm wasting time. There are books to be read, pictures to be painted, walks to be taken, cuddles to be shared.