Ally, Age 9
Emma, age 7
Clark, age 2
Luke, age 5 (6 days before he turned 6)
My sweet girls
I love this backdrop
Potential Christmas Card photo. I was asked at work last night to name something I have done that I am really proud of outside of work. I have to admit, aside from making four babies in recent years, I had a hard time coming up with something that happened in this century. I was stumped, so we moved on. The girl next to me starts into her schpeel about how she was graduating from college in a little over a month and she was so proud of everything she had gone through to get there over the last few years. How she is the first female in her family to get a college education. How she finished her program in four years when they warned her freshman year that most people have to go five.
I have similar stories. I was the first person in my family to graduate from college. I worked super hard and had some amazing experiences to be proud of.
15 years ago.
This has been bothering me a lot since last night. I do stuff worthy of praise. I must. I am busy ALL THE TIME. Somehow cleaning up the mac n cheese Clark dumped on the floor at lunch just doesn't make me feel all warm and fuzzy inside.
And it is not just the pride thing. When people ask me "what have you been up too" I instantly think of my kids and husband and what they are doing or what they are involved in. I love to talk about them and the great things in their lives. After all that IS what I am doing right. Being their cheerleader. Taxi driver. Personal chef. Housekeeper. Laundress. I am not unhappy with this situation either. In fact I love being a mom. I love watching my kids grow and change and being a part of all that great change. It just makes me take pause because I am not answering the question with the answer they were looking for. If this were an essay question, I would fail.
Here is the reason this bothers me: what happens in 10-15 years when they no longer need those things? When they all move out and learn to take care of themselves. Go and get real homes and real jobs and only come to visit when they are in town. Am I going to be THAT grandma who makes huge amounts of food for 3 people just because I now have a reason to cook?
My point is this. What am I doing that sustains Lisha? What more can I do to feel a sense of accomplishment in myself? With the little time and energy I have left at the end of the day, how can I make the most of those moments to fill MY cup? Just saying it out loud makes me feel selfish.
I enjoy reading. I like to knit. I guess finishing a book or a project makes me feel good. But that seems insignificant to me because I have been doing them both for so long, it is just part of my life. Maybe that is my problem. I have let great things become small. I think I need to start to look at life with rose colored glasses instead of the greasy ones I wear now.
In short, I need to be more humble and have more gratitude in my life.
So what sustains you? How do you fill those fleeting moments in life for YOU. What do you say when an old friend or a new boss asks you "What are you proud of in your life? What have you been doing lately?" Me? I am raising 4 little kids who are brilliant and inquisitive and love to explore new things. AND I am working on improving my physical health by working out and eating better so I can keep up with them. Not to mention supporting a husband who is a very dedicated teacher and who will be starting his Masters Degree in a few months. Oh and we are working toward buying our first home in a few months. Talk about taking on a new project!
Hey.
This is Ryan. Just in time for Father's Day.
It’s that time of year again when I realize how hard my wife’s life is and, in turn, all mothers’ lives. I’m officially Mr. Mom for the summer. With me teaching high school, we've always kind of agreed that I’d be the “house spouse” during the summer and Lisha would work. Lisha got a job at The Olive Garden as a waitress (ka-ching!) and started training this week. That means all four kids are my full-time responsibility. Add to the cooking, cleaning, feeding, washing, toddler butt-wiping responsibilities, Clark is still breastfeeding, so Lisha has to pump and I have to fight to give him a bottle. It did not go well at all today.
First, we both work at our gym here so that we don’t have to pay $90 a month for a family membership. We work in the day care which is great because our kids get to go with us and hang out at the gym. So, a lady called today to switch shifts at around 8:30 a.m. This was perfect because Luke’s game was in the middle of my shift on Wednesday and I needed to trade anyway. Her shift was at 10:30 a.m. I thought, “This is my chance to show Lisha that all her whining about getting out the door is a bunch of hooey. I can get out so fast and then gloat about it later.” Funny famous last words. How do women do it?
I got the kids fed, did the girls’ hair and changed and dressed Clark – all simple tasks in my inexperienced mind. Here’s how it really went down: At breakfast, as told by Emma in pouts and pointing, I made the cereal wrong. Apparently her cereal needs to be drowning in milk. When it was time to do hair, I might as well have been skinning cats. The sounds that came out of the girls’ mouths alerted me that I was pulling way too tight. I knew Clark would be easy. I change diapers all of the time. What I didn’t know was that the little wet spots on his back weren’t from the spilled milk on the kitchen floor. He had pooped so much that it had come out of his diaper all the way to the middle of his back as well as past his belly button. I didn’t even try to wipe it all off. I put him in the tub and washed everything off with the faucet.
The other mistake I made was allowing him to crawl around naked because I had about five minutes to jump in the shower and get out the door to make it to the gym in time. Seriously! And I packed my backpack, which I now call my DadPack, to make sure I had all the essentials: two pairs of underwear and pants per kid, the digital camera, the zoo passes, three diapers and a newly stocked (and girly) wipe box, two Onesies, socks, and a missionary planner that I am now using to schedule our days. I was NOT going to carry around a diaper bag.
I am happy to report, however, that I made it on time to the gym. The moms laughed as I told them they were all saints. The kids played well until Emma thought she’d carry Clark to me. She dropped him on the floor right on his face. He started screaming that silent, shaking sob and I did my best to comfort him as a bump on his forehead slowly made its way to an Everest-size peak. I nervously glanced around at the other moms, who gave me a pitying “Ohhhh-is-the-little-man-trying-to play-mommy?” look. I ducked behind a wall and sat on a rocker and tried to comfort Clark. Suddenly, another mom swooped in and snatched Clark away as I sat dejected in the corner. And, to add insult to injury, Clark laid his head on her shoulder and looked at me. I swear there was a little smirk on his face as if to say, “You don’t have breasts so you’re not worthy.”
My shift went to 1:30 p.m. and despite my best efforts to include everything I thought necessary in the DadPack, I did not calculate that the shift would go through lunch. Guess what I didn’t pack? Yup, the kids’ lunch. At about 12:45 p.m., Luke started rolling around on the floor of the day care, clutching his stomach and moaning, “I’m huuuuunnngggrryyy! I’m soooooooo hungry!” I had only brought some Kix and a bottle of breast milk for Clark. So, once again, the moms’ judgmental eyes were upon me.
One particularly sympathetic mom walked by Luke, looked at him rolling on the floor and muttered in my direction, “Jeez, what’s the matter with him?”
“Hungry, I guess,” I said as I laughed a little nervously. “We’ll eat when I get off, heh, heh.”
Then, I glared down at Luke and growled, “Luke, stand up! We’ll eat when we’re done!”
"Awwwwww!" he cried. That didn’t satisfy him, especially when Overhelpful Baby Stealer Mom’s son came in with a Wendy’s bag. Luke saw that and changed his whine from I’m hungry to “I want Weeeeennnndddyy’s!”
Just then, Clark started whining a little and I knew it was time to feed him as well. I grabbed the breast-milk bottle and shoved it in his mouth. He spit it out. I shoved it in again. He spit it out again. I didn’t even need to look up to know the pity looks were back. I finally gave up and replaced the bottle with his pacifier. He took that and stopped whining – much to my relief!
My shift finally got over and I met Lish at home as her shift ended about the same time mine did. Clark practically unbuckled himself and sprinted across the room to get to her. Another pity look came my way. But, there are about three months left to this summer. I have time to win him over.
