From The Looney Comes The Deep

It's been quiet here on the blog for a bit; quiet on the computer, but full of life at home, as I think it should be for this season of raising littles. But more on that in a future post! 

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Monday, after dropping off our mini-van at the body shop for some repair work due to a parking lot dent that no one claimed responsibility for, we fit four car seats in a tan courtesy-rental Ford Taurus (which one son calls the "Ford Tortoise," and another nicknamed the "Tan-tan-tangerina") and stopped quickly at the grocery store on the way home. As any mom knows, a "quick" trip with kids, just to get a few things for dinner, is really never quick. (One of my friends has a seven-minute guideline that I think is great: if you're taking your crew in a store, she aims to be in and out in seven minutes).

One of the first displays was the fireworks--which aren't really fireworks in our county, but rather, popping things that release tons of tiny bits of paper. Tried it once. Never again. Yet, my sons yearned for them throughout the store. It went something like this,

"Mom, please? I'll use my own money. I'll pay you back at home."
"No."
"Please, Mom?"
"No."
"Mom, I promise I'll do all my chores for a whole week. Could I get them, then?"
"No."
"Mom, I promise I'll pick up all the paper that comes out. Can I please get them?"
"No, put them back."
"Do you think Dad would get them for me?"
"No."

Finally, the "fire"-works were put back. Except one son opened a package and tried to stuff two poppers down his pants. He was caught (by his brother, who told me), corrected, and apologized to an assistant store manager.

As I was fielding fireworks questions, one son said, "Mom, I have to go poo-". (I am trying to train them to simply announce that they need to use the bathroom--not announce what they need to do in it!). Off to the family restroom we went, where I waited outside the door with the baby asleep in her carseat in the cart, and where one son kept running over to drool at the fireworks display.

"Are you done yet?"
"Nope." (Repeat several times).
 "Mom, I'm done!"

 Helped him, washed hands, and off we went...or so I thought.

Another son exclaimed, "Mom, I have to go poo- too!" Repeat same scenario.

Made it out of the store without much further fanfare.

That evening, after the kids were in bed and my husband was home, I headed to another store. In the check-out lane, a woman in her sixties, I'd say, wearing a long, gray wool coat (even though it was in the 90s outside) and best fitting the description of the witch in Looney Tunes but minus the green face and pointy nose, came right up to me, got a foot from my face, pointed her finger at me and said,
"If you're related to Fred and Jerry, you tell them..."
"Mam," I interrupted, "I have no idea who you're talking about. I don't know those people."
Unfazed, she continued in a worked-up voice,
"You tell them they're exiled! Exiled! You all need to get the [expletive] out of town--every last one of you. I don't want anything to do with anyone of you." (and on and on she went, while I politely reasserted she had the wrong person and then began to tune her out).

As she decided maybe I didn't know Fred or Jerry after all and started to walk back to her check-out lane, she turned, and very loudly for all the other customers to hear, shouted, "Well, your NOSE JOB looks real good, by the way."

I just started laughing and said, "I've never had plastic surgery in my life. This is the same nose I was born with, thanks!"

What an event... The cashier next to my lane was quite upset about the ordeal and wanted to reassure me that Albertson's protects its customers. She walked me out to my vehicle. I called the manager to talk to him the next day about it, because if a customer is that unstable, who knows what she might do to someone else?

At home, after unloading groceries, I pondered through what all had happened. It was somewhat unsettling. And who were Fred and Jerry, and why was she so upset at them? Was she schizophrenic, and they were imaginary? Was she under the influence of something? Were they real people who had hurt her terribly?
I don't know.

But I did know that, however uncomfortable I felt, she went home and probably felt worse. It seems like she battles some real problems. Big problems. I wondered why her path crossed mine and why she unloaded on me like that.

Then it hit me--

Could it be I was supposed to pray for her? Could it be I was the only one in this crazy circle of Fred and Jerry (and whoever else was exiled?) that would actually care about her spiritual condition and pray for her?

So often, whether it's training our children and correcting them as they do wrong, or meeting messed-up people, rather than feeling wronged by them, what if we took them to the throne of grace, instead? It's there we all find mercy and receive grace to help in our time of need.

Sharing with:
Raising Homemakers
Women Living Well

Lord, Where are My Keys?

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Ten o’clock Sunday morning, and we were ready to head out the door. We were on schedule to arrive 15 minutes early to church—unusual for us, on its own, and even more unusual considering I had singlehandedly gotten four children and myself ready for church. Not just “average-day” ready but looking nice! 

My husband was playing guitar on the praise team for the first time at our church, and I was looking forward to hearing him play.

“Let’s go,” I announced.  “Where are the keys? Who took the keys?”

No answer. Repeated a little more loudly and frantically this time, and the next, and the next… Finally, the culprit confessed (or his brothers confessed for him).

“Where did you go with the keys?” I asked, with increasing inflation in my voice (obviously not as calmly as I would have liked, if I could do it over).

“Outside, in the garage, and downstairs,” he responded.

Lots of ground to cover there.

Out I went to search, while urging the troops to come search with me. I wish I could say I acted like a loving coach motivating them to action, but it was more like a stressed-out mom on a rant about why we have rules that kids do not take keys, why we don’t lose keys, how we won’t be going anywhere until we find the keys, how we’ll probably be missing church and hearing Dad play guitar, and how we spent all that time getting ready and it was all a waste, since someone decided to run off with the keys and lose them.

We looked through the garage. Under and over things and in the minivan. We searched outside, around the house, the patio furniture, in the grass, in the window wells for the basement, and around again (I think I even checked in the mailbox). We searched downstairs. I searched the main floor and upstairs for good measure. No luck anywhere.

We spent the better part of 45 minutes looking. (The “better part” is an interesting phrase, since no part of those 45 minutes were in no way “better” than how I could otherwise be spending them.) I encouraged my son to pray and ask Jesus to help us find the keys. Crying, he said, “I did pray, but He’s not helping me, because I can’t…[out-of-control crying] find…the…keeeeyyyyyys [more out-of-control crying].”

My son was crying so hard that he summoned the attention of a neighbor, who came out to look at why this boy was wailing uncontrollably. Partly it was because he felt sad for losing the keys, but mainly it was because his sensitive spirit couldn’t stand that his mom was upset at what he thought was him, but was really the situation (good luck explaining that to a five-year old).

Finally, I gave up and sent everyone to their room. “If we aren’t going to church,” I said, “you aren’t playing” (in case it was a con to get out of going).

I went outside to read my Bible, reflect, and pray.

Here’s what I was thinking about: 

• Just because I wasn’t spending those hours in church on Sunday morning didn’t mean I couldn’t worship God
• When you don’t get to use your time the way you thought you were going to use your time, how do you respond?
• What was God trying to show me through this?
• If I was upset that we were dressed up and looking nice but with nowhere to go (and no way to get there), is this not pride?
• If I was upset that I had spent my time getting everyone ready, which seemed to be a waste of time, was this not a trivial thing to stew about?

I’m glad that even in my frustration and anger, God gave me the grace to hold my tongue. I wanted to go into a tirade about why they are never, ever to take my keys. The accusation--“because you’re not responsible”--was wanting to leave my lips. But God’s mercy and grace helped me to picture what that would do to my child’s spirit. I remember what it felt like to receive stinging comments as a child.  Luckily, I refrained.

The Lord brought to mind the parable of the woman who searches her house for her lost silver coin. It’s in Luke chapter 15, along with a parable of the shepherd who loses one sheep out of a 100 and searches for it, as well as the parable of the prodigal son.

My sons came up from their time-out, and I read them these parables. We discussed how, even though we had lost our keys, it is more important that our souls are not “lost”, that we find Jesus, and help others find Him, too, and that even someday, if we get “lost” from Him, that we—like the prodigal son—find our way back.

Right at that very moment, my son exclaimed, “Mom! The keys!”

They were sitting on top of the barbecue grill right next to me. I can’t tell you how many times I had looked on and around the grill. It was as though the Lord had blinded my eyes to the keys the whole morning, up until that moment.

Why? I don’t know. Perhaps there would have been an accident on the way to church. Perhaps there was a lesson I needed to learn. Perhaps it was a lesson one of my children needed to learn. Perhaps the story is something someone needs to be encouraged by. I don’t know.

I just know it was ok with God that we weren’t in church that Sunday morning, because He kept us home.

Sharing with:
Women Living Well  
Raising Homemakers
Heavenly Homemakers

Should Moms Wear White?

Shopping in Target the other day, I had to run back to the fitting rooms to nurse my baby before leaving the store. Of course, as you walk through the clothing department and see all the new spring styles, you find some things that you fall in love with. (Plus, I've just been thinking that I really need to get a cute pair of pants that fits...comfy sweats and yoga pants around the house until I can zip up my pre-4th pregnancy pants only work for so long; still love skirts, too, but I don't wear them everyday).

One of the always-in-style pieces for spring and summer is a pair of white jeans or capris. They're so versatile. You can wear them with anything. They look crisp.

But do they stay clean? That's the problem when you're a mom.

I skipped out on the white, and bought myself a pair of these instead:

The best part is the elastic/drawstring waistband. :) And still more fashionable than sweats...

Yet, during a recent dinner, they still managed to collect splashes of orange baby food and drips of Italian salad dressing (while eating and holding my baby at the same time). Said splashes of baby food also ruined my brand new white t-shirt (although I put some Dawn on the spots right away and sprayed Oxi-Clean on it bbefore bed, so we'll see when it comes out of the wash...).
I gained new confidence in my decision to forgo the white in this season of raising little ones.



What do you think? Is there a way for moms to safely wear white (and keep it white)?!


Sharing with:
The Better Mom Mondays
Raising Homemakers 

I Didn't Plan for Chaos

copyright Moms In Need of Mercy

Today was just a day. I didn't plan for it to be the way it was. But then again, I didn't really plan for success, either. Going to bed with nothing more than a vague plan for the coming day allowed a whole lot of chaos to enter in. Just the general structure of: "I'll get up, make some breakfast, throw in a load of laundry, start homeschool stuff, and maybe run some errands" just left way too much free time for everything to fall apart. And it did.

Although I have a homeschool routine down for my oldest son (he's six; it doesn't take that long), I didn't really have any structured activities for my other two boys, 3 and almost 5. So they made up their own. Really creative play with manipulatives, like dumping out our small crock that sits on the kitchen counter and holds spare change, keys, and other random items. Now this was all over the kitchen floor. Since baby sister is starting to crawl, and since I would like to avoid another coin-swallowing event, we had to get the change off the floor.

Today's obedience department was closed. But the disobedience section was full of customers. The sole clerk (Mom) grew tired meeting the back-to-back demand for attention and correction.

Really, it's the phone's fault. It rang way too much today. Despite my requests to please let the answering machine get it, sometimes, one of the boys just allowed his desire to be friendly to outweigh his desire to obey Mom--although today, I'm not sure there even was a desire to obey Mom...

So I'd get on the phone, and the boys would get into the cereal--even though they had just eaten lunch. I'd get off the phone, clean up more food messes, and the phone would ring again. And the boys would do their own thing while I was on the phone, which wasn't necessarily a good thing, and usually incurred fighting, whereby one boy would start crying and trying to talk to me while I was still trying to talk to someone else on the other end of the phone. (This is a good way to get off the phone, though, if you're looking for an excuse to cut a call short...)

Nearing the end of the day, we decided to take a walk. Which would have been fine, except for the fact that when we reached the nearby playground, one son came running up to me and announced, "I have to poop!" Yet, off he went to play for a few more seconds, until he would run up to me again and make the same announcement, and then go play again. This happened several times. It was time to go, but no one would go (for reasons above), even though one really had to go.

Finally, everyone decided to obey and home we went. Just a little way from the house, one of the boys decided to top it all off by taking a mud bath. He wasn't trying to. He was only trying to copy his brothers who were climbing snow drifts piled up in our high school's parking lot. He climbed, then climbed down...into mud, and got stuck. As in quick-sand stuck. Me, wearing my new white Marmot parka my husband got me for Christmas, wanted no part of the rescue. But he was totally stuck. So I reached out to him from the curb, and told him he was absolutely not to touch my coat (he obeyed on this one), and I grabbed his arm and pulled him out of the mud. Somewhere in the rescue, he face-planted. But the coat made it out unscathed.

What all this taught me today is that by not more clearly planning for success, I did in fact, plan for chaos.

My next post will address planning for a successful day. I just have to plan one.

(If you like this post, can I humbly ask you to take a second to vote for it here?)
(linked to Raising Homemakers)
Part 2: Planning for a Good Day

The Coconut Cake and Febreeze: Spring Renewal

Last week, I made this coconut cake using a recipe in The Coupon Mom's Guide to Cutting Your Grocery Bills in Half: The Strategic Shopping Method Proven to Slash Food and Drugstore Costs. It's a pretty easy recipe, using a white cake mix, sour cream mixed with sugar and coconut, and then topped with Cool-Whip mixed with more coconut and grated coconut on top. Easy, that is, if you purchase already dried and flaked coconut. Not quite as easy if you start from scratch with the coconut.

But since we received a coconut in our Bountiful Basket, I thought that making this cake would be a good way to put some of that coconut to use.  My boys were super excited to crack it open. First step, drill holes (it's a guy thing) and drain the water.

\

Next, wrap the coconut in a towel and prepare to crack it open. Super excited little boys at this point, if they weren't already. (Even our dog was licking her tongue in anticipation in the background).

Study coconut. Interesting....

Now walk away and leave Mom to do all the rest...the hard part, like peeling and then grating (although my husband did help with one section).

So since I had all this coconut on my hands, I decided to grate some and make that cake. Grating the amount needed for the cake was no small matter. It took awhile and worked my triceps like I haven't done in quite some time. 

We each enjoyed a piece of the finished cake. A few days later, we enjoyed another piece. Then, while it was sitting on the counter, looking pretty and beckoning me to come grab a bite, I snitched a little section.

"Yuck," I thought. "This tastes strangely like the Febreeze the boys have been spraying way too much of lately." 

I did some investigating. Sure enough, the cake did smell distinctly like Febreeze: Spring Renewal.  
 
So I did some asking around. One son admitted to spraying Febreeze on the cake. "Why?" I asked.
 "I wanted to make it smell good," he responded.
 
So glad I at least got that second piece of cake before I had to throw the rest of it away.  Who knew you had to add "Don't spray Febreeze on the food" to the list of manners you're trying to teach your kids?

But what I want to add on here is--
The very next question my son asked was, "Are you mad at me?"
This was an instant heart check to me, because yes, in fact, I was kind of mad. I realized, then, though, that how I responded to him would make all the difference. I can make another cake. It wasn't that hard, after all. Besides, all that coconut grating is good for my upper arms. What I can't replace is my son's heart.
As one of our friends says, "Do no harm."
This Valentine's Day, may we remember to always hold our children's hearts carefully--even as we correct--and fill their hearts with the security of our love, even if they spray Febreeze on our food.

A Roll of Toilet Paper a Day: How to Make it Last Longer

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With little boys who are learning to do things themselves--including taking care of themselves in the bathroom--there are both pros and cons. The upside is there are fewer, "Mommy, I'm done!" calls to respond to. This in itself is a huge milestone in motherhood. I would just get one taken care of, and wash my hands, and then another little boy would run in the bathroom. Repeat. Wash. Repeat. Wash. It's no wonder my hands are so dry in the winter, from all that handwashing!

The downside, however, is I've noticed we are going through a lot of toilet paper, as in a roll a day (or two days max). Is that normal? I don't know. I remember a few years ago when Sheryl Crow tried to tell everyone to use only one square of toilet paper, and more for those "pesky jobs." I know that's also not normal.

What I do know is I've come up with a plan to try to stretch it out a little and save some money.

1) Train the boys to take no more than five to six sheets at a time. Die-hard frugal zealots recommend three to four sheets, but sorry, I prefer things a little more cushy.
2) Train them to fold it in half, then in half again. Then there is still enough area to fold in half again before having to start over with new toilet paper.
3) I found this idea here. It's kind of interesting. "Separate two-ply paper into two rolls. A friend of mine swears this works. When she gets home from the store, she and the kids go to work separating out the two ply roll so that there is a layer or 'ply' per roll. She uses empty toilet paper tubes to roll the separated toilet paper and keep things neat."
I'm sure you could save money this way but I'd prefer to save time and just buy the toilet paper.
4) I know some people use newspaper and other items (like cut flannel). Yet, there are just some places where I draw the line. We are not in a third world country. I can afford to buy toilet paper. I prefer to.
5) I really like the Charmin brand best. So I watch for good sales, use coupons when I can, and stock up when it's on sale. A few weeks ago, our Kroger-affiliate, Smith's, had 12 double rolls of Charmin for $5.99.

A few weeks before that there were $2 off coupons in the blinkie by the toilet paper. I took a couple. The coupons were gone during the sale, but I had saved mine for such a time as this. I think I bought four packs. We're on our last one now, hoping to stretch it until the next decent sale.

It is a bit tongue-in-cheek that I ask this, but still, I'm curious to know--
How quickly does toilet paper disappear in your house and what have you done to conserve?

The Fiery Room of Hell

A few days ago, we were at a house that screamed 1950's, complete down to the thick red shag carpet in a paneled basement room.  We're talking blood red. And thick, with giant loops.

My boys--probably thinking that we went down into the depths of the earth--thought we were in hell.

One exclaimed, "Mom! Look, the fiery lake of hell!"
Which prompted another to ask, "Mom, are we in hell?"
Another son asked, "Is this the fiery room of hell?"
 
They enjoyed running around in and test-driving the fiery room of hell, squealing, "We're in hell! We're in hell! We're in hell!".


But then, our oldest son reasoned it out for his brothers (and for his own peace-of-mind). "No, this isn't hell. We're not going to hell, because [with a crescendo] WE BELIEVE IN JESUS!"
 

My Son Swallowed a Quarter

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In a newly invented game--one that he thought of himself--my six-year old son swallowed a quarter. The game? A spin-off of Hungry, Hungry Hippos: "Stuff Your Mouth With Coins--See How Much You Can Hold." Except he couldn't hold as much as he thought he could, and down went the quarter.

He came upstairs, crying and scared. "Mom, I swallowed a quarter. Am I gonna die?" Me, not thinking he was capable of such a feat, wondered why he would be making up a story like this. But after lots of questioning, "Are you serious? Are you really serious?" and affirming he was in fact serious, the second line of questioning was, "Are you sure it was a quarter?" We are learning about the different coins right now, and I told him to show me exactly what coin he had put in his mouth. He produced a quarter.

With the coins from his piggy bank spread in piles (pennies, nickles, quarters minus one) all over the living room, he began to cry. "I don't want to die. This was too short of a life! I didn't even get to fly a plane."

I assured him that I didn't think he would die. He assured me that he would. We went in for the x-ray. On the way, I lectured him about how we don't have insurance and Christmas is in a few days (this was last week) and this is not what I want to be spending money on. Then, thoughts of surgery, flashed through my mind, and huge, horrible bills. I just prayed the quarter would go down and out quickly.

I realized he did not need lecturing in what he believed were his final moments on earth, but rather compassion and mercy. I stopped lecturing and drove silently the rest of the way. That was as much mercy as I could muster right then.

Sure enough, the x-ray showed a quarter. Fortunately, it was in his abdomen--not his trachea or esophagus, which would have required surgery in our nearest metropolitan city four hours away, since no surgeon will touch that kind of surgery here in our smallish city.

I think it's since entered the sewer system. Despite our daily checking, I think we missed its exit.

Tonight, our middle son began crying before bed and asked if he would die if he swallowed a nail. After another line of intent questioning, he admitted he did in fact swallow a nail.  My stomach sunk to the floor.
I buried my head in my hands. My husband asked him why in the world he would do such a thing. Through tears, he answered, "Because my nail was sharp and I was mad at it, so I wanted it off." It was his finger-nail.

Men Should Not Send Women to Buy Mouse Traps

On the way out the door to Wal-Mart, I asked my husband if there was anything he wanted me to pick up for him. "Yeah, mouse traps," he said. "And if there's a difference between the cheap ones and the more expensive ones, go with the more expensive ones." Ok. Buying mouse traps can't be too hard, right? Wrong.

Standing in the aisle looking at all the different ways to kill mice, I was overwhelmed. The pictures got me. Little mice laying upside down, gagging. Definitely not buying that one. Poor little mouse. Then it hit me--I was about to murder a mouse! Although I have no problem swatting flies (and find it strangely gratifying-- kidding), I suddenly had a conscience problem selecting a mouse trap. Here's where packaging definitely matters.

Check out this picture.



Doesn't that just tug at your heart? Even a little? To know you're the person buying this trap to do that to a mouse is a terrible feeling--even though the mouse did get into my bag of wheat. Revenge aside, I couldn't do it.
 
But in the end, I did. The covered lid convinced me. I wouldn't have to see the poor creature. What you don't know you can justify.
 
Once I got home, I read the reviews on Amazon. It sounds like the traps I bought don't really work that well anyway. My conscience feels better. But that doesn't solve the problem of the mice in the garage...
 
To get the job done right, I am sending my husband to buy the traps. It is, after all, a man's job.

Why You Need a Friend

I commited to blog every day for the next 30 days with BlogHer's NaBloPoMo challenge.
Whew!

Everyday, I have ideas of what I want to write about. Everyday, I can't seem to find the time to sit down and write as thoroughly as I'd like to. So I don't. I wait until I can say it all, the way I want to say it. (Sometimes, I need to process my thoughts, too. Like this week, I'm thinking through big things--adversity and motherhood, handling challenges, not feeling depressed. Through God's grace and mercy, I'm reaching conclusions. I'll share them with you...soon).

But, for the next 30 days, I will not let my hesitancy to post until I'm ready to write it well hold me back.

So off the top of my head, today I just want to say:

You need a friend.

Blogs are great and a wonderful source of encouragement. But what I'm realizing lately is you need a real-life friend--someone you can call in the middle of the afternoon and say, "I'm having a really bad day, wanna take the kids to the park?" Or, "I'm about to lose it. Can we meet at the park?" Or, "I need to get out of the house for a bit. Wanna go to McDonald's play land?"

Friends help us keep our sanity when our husbands are still at work. Friends help lift our spirits. Friends encourage us simply by sharing that they're struggling with the same things we are. Friends inspire us by sharing what's working for them. Friends give us new ideas. Friends even order pizza for us, when they know our mother-in-law is coming and we need a crash-cleaning day.

Friends are a blessing. Celebrate the ones you have. Pray for a good one if you need one now.

It Was Just a Test

I awoke this morning to blaring sirens. The emergency alarms in our city were sounding over and over again. I jumped out of bed, complete with nursing infant in my arms (no longer nursing), and rushed over to the door of our upstairs master bedroom so I could hear the announcement following the sirens.

"Take cover immediately. A tornado warning has been issued. Take cover immediately," urged the robotic voice of the pre-recorded siren message.

But it was snowing softly...

Maybe there was warm air high above?

Thoroughly puzzled, I booked it downstairs, where my husband had fallen asleep in our boys' bedroom, after he had gone down to help them in the middle of the night, since they are sick. We were all awake and confused. Ready for the tornado--the kids in their warm footy jammies, me in my fleece bathrobe, the baby in her nightie, and my husband in his...well...Hanes.

Turns out the morning news host was confused, as well. When we finally fumbled around and found: 1) an alarm clock downstairs, and 2) the proper radio station, the host was saying he thought it must be a glitch.
My husband thought the emergency management coordinator hit the wrong button on his alarm clock this morning: "tornado warning siren", instead of "snooze."

What a way to wake up on a rainy, 39-degree morning, otherwise perfect for staying under the covers for a few extra minutes.

The benefit of the glitchy sirens is they roused me from my bed, bright and early (ok, at 7:00). But that's better than staying in bed until almost 8:00. I got up and got going, just like in the pre-4th-baby days. Despite our nudgings, the sick kids chose not to go back to sleep and woke up, too.


Having everyone up early worked out great. I have to say that using that 7-8:00 hour sure made the day more productive. It ran more smoothly from the get-go.

Even if there isn't a tornado warning tomorrow morning, I think I'll get up and get moving as if there is.

Wordless Wednesday: Wyoming Wind

Compared to Chicago, we live in the real windy city. Where we sit in the Northern Rockies, the wind can get pretty gnarly. On this day last week, gusts were up to 75 miles per hour. Let's just say the kids were definitely not playing in their sandbox that day!

The wind gets worse in the winter, making those of us who live here in definite need of God's mercy to  remain cheerful while the wind blows through the winter months.



(linked to Wordless Wednesday)



Where Do Smiles Come From & Where Do They Go?

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Have you ever wondered how it is exactly that a baby learns to smile? A baby innately learns to mirror expressions by simply watching the faces that smile down upon him or her.  Yet, it is also somewhat of a complex skill. The actual physical act of smiling requires both the will (choosing to smile) and the act (moving the muscles to form a smile).

Isn't it neat that this is one of the first skills babies learn? I marvel at how fearfully and wonderfully they are made. In the face of a smiling infant, we see that smiling is an instinctive response to the joy and love one feels inside.

We coo over and smile madly at our newborn babies to the point it would seem silly if we were to look at anyone else that way and smile at them as long.

What happens to these smiles? I've smiled incessantly at all my newborns, showing them how to smile at first, and then smiling back at them when they show me those great big happy grins on their own.

But where do those smiles go? Chances are, you don't smile at your six-year old the same way you smiled at him when he was a six-week old. (I know I don't). Yet, this reflection caused me to realize, no matter what their age, they still need us to smile at them. Lots. The kind of smiles where you just sit and stare and smile at them and remind them how much joy they bring to your life.

So let's sit and smile today. Silly long smiles that teach our newborns to smile big, happy smiles; and the kind that cause our older children to stop and say, "Mom, why are you looking at me that way?"

Let the love you feel inside come out with a smile, just like a baby is learning to do.

(linked to We are That Family)

Missing Toilet, Cleaner House

It is amazing how simple things are taken for granted until they're gone. Then you realize how much you appreciate them.

Take our toilet, for instance. Stinky thing. Wondered why, no matter how much I wiped it clean, it always smelled like pee.

Now I know.

Son sitting on it this weekend. Announced, "Something's wrong. Water's coming out of the back of the toilet." Handy man husband checked it out.  Discovered broken tank. Took toilet apart. Went to Menard's. Realized it would just be easier to install a new toilet. Bought new toilet. Came home.

Removed old toilet. Discovered old toilet installed incorrectly by previous owners. Leaked under toilet. Leaked. Leaked. Leaked. Ruined tiles. Removed tiles. Discovered rotted floor. Could not install new toilet as planned. Cleaned. Cleaned. Cleaned.

Travelled back to Menard's. Bought shop-vac. Cut out old floor. Vacuumed up rotten wood.  Thinking about new flooring options. Waiting for new toilet. Missing main floor toilet.

Not missing cleaning main-floor toilet. Boys learning about the importance of not missing, too.

Now for the moral of the story:

When doing a job, do it correctly, the first time. I know I wrote last week about not taking too long for routine chores. Dusting doesn't have to be perfect, just done. But when it matters (like installing a toilet), do it right. Or else, down the road, you'll pay the price for what seemed like a shortcut at the time.

The $27 Nap

Photo credit

You know you're desperate for sleep when you drive your kids to the nearest drop-in daycare (for the first time ever) so you can try to get a nap. Twenty-seven dollars later ($27.08, to be exact), I'm still as tired as I was when I dropped them off.

That's because I kept my two-year old with me, thinking that he, I, and the baby could all get a little sleep. Wrong. For the hour slot that we had, he cried and threw a royal fit on the stairs because he wanted to be with his brothers. He ended up falling asleep...right when I needed to leave to pick the boys up. Nap derailed.

Especially with a newborn baby (and the lack of sleep that accompanies it), I am working hard on instituting a quiet hour rule in the house in the afternoon. The only problem with that is that the boys (ages 6, 4, and 2)  all fall at different points on the obedience spectrum. Mom can't rest when she's worried about what sort of mischief they could be getting into (they've done some doozies in moments unsupervised).

So today, in a classic mom's-in-need-of-mercy moment, I did the only thing I could think to do to keep from snapping: call the daycare and see if I could drop off my children for a wee little bit.

When I picked up the boys, we had a long talk about obedience and adhering to the quiet time rule from here on out. Unfortunately, to my disadvantage, they really enjoyed the drop-in daycare (complete with a giant ball pit). One clever son asked, "So Mom, if we get into mischief again when we should be having quiet time, will we get to go back to [said daycare.]" Nice try, son.

The baby's sleeping. I'm going to try to get some rest now, too...

If you've also been there, I'd love to hear about the desperate measures you've gone to in order to get some rest in your most sleep-deprived moments. One mom friend of many littles told me once that she used to barricade a door with a mattress and lay on the mattress while her children played inside the room. She could rest knowing they were safe and wouldn't be able to get out. Creative idea.

Mop 'N Slide

My floors haven't been this clean in quite some time. You could chalk it up to
pre-baby nesting, except I'm not the one who's doing it. In an effort to earn some money (I told the boys long ago I would pay them 50-cents for mopping the kitchen floor and they're trying to save up for gumballs, monster trucks and other toys), the boys have been mopping like mad. (Well, ok...two times in three days...but that's more than I was getting it done lately).

The product we're using must really be working, because the floors are squeaky clean. Slip and slide clean. So clean the dog can't even walk on them. She sits at the entrance to our kitchen/dining room, where the carpet meets the tile, gets down on all fours, and proceeds to try to step slowly, carefully, like the scene in Bambi of Thumper on ice. The boys have even come up with a game that they call "Slick and slide," where they get a running start from the living room and see how far they can slide on the kitchen floor. So far no badly wounded heads or broken bones.

So what are we using? Well, I wrote the other day how I found a bottle of "Mop 'N Shine" at the Dollar Tree. I figured, for only a dollar, I'd give it a try. Plus, if the kids can use it and do the chore, without having to deal with a bucket full of soapy water (think flash flood on the floor), so be it. So we bought the Mop 'N Shine, and the boys squirt it on the floor and mop it up with damp microfiber cloths that we clothespin on the Swiffer. (A more frugal way to get the job done).

They're earning money; I'm getting a squeaky clean floor. It's a win-win for everyone. Except the dog, that is...

Funny Pregnancy Comments

So I am officially due with baby number four, our first girl, August 16. But I must look ready to deliver any day now, based on the comments I have been receiving while out and about. Here are some of my favorites. They just make me smirk and giggle. The things people cannot leave unsaid...;)

• "Wow! You're ready to pop!" (as if it were that easy)
• "When are you due?" Upon hearing my due date is still 2-4 weeks away, the follow up by at least two people:
• "Are you sure you're not having twins?" and
• "Just one baby in there???" (ok, go ahead and call me huge, that's fine). :) I'm 5'4", and what can I say--short women tend to be all baby up front. We can't help it. It's called a short torso.
• "Going for a basketball [football/baseball] team?"
• "Are you gonna make it?"

Sometimes you just have to smile and go with it. Although I should come up with some great one-liners in response...

Have a great day!

The Octomom's In-Need-of-Mercy Moment (On Live TV)

Controversy surrounding her aside, when I checked my email today, I came across a link to a news article that made me curious: Octomom Brings 9 of Her Kids Along for Chaotic 'TODAY' Visit  .
Reading the article and watching the video made me feel empathy for her. Imagine trying to answer questions in a live interview on national TV with eight two-year olds on an open set with no one to help you but your 9-year old daughter. I know how hard it can be to corral my three in certain places, and I know how stressed out I would be in her situation. Add that she has three times the number of children I have, and no husband to help her, and my heart went out to her.

If you get a few extra minutes, browse the article, watch the video...
Ir's humorous, partly because it's so realistic of 2-year old behavior. I bet we can all relate!

Something Frugal and Fun

Beautiful summer days can sure put you in a fun and festive mood, can't they? On one such day last week, the kids and I were driving back home from an afternoon out, and I thought it would be fun to stop at our local coffee shop and pick up some blended coffees for my husband and I to enjoy as a "mini-date" when he got home from work. But since we are working extra hard to discipline our spending , I remembered that I had some cappuccino mix at home. Surely I could use this to create some blended cappuccinos, and I would save about $10 and also save the stop with getting three boys out of the van, in the coffee shop, and back in the van and into car and booster seats.

Once home, I looked on the back of the cappuccino package from Sam's Club, and sure enough, there was a recipe for blended drinks. For one drink, use 1 cup ice, two scoops of powder, and 6 oz. of milk (I mixed in some flavored vanilla creamer too). I poured the drinks in cappuccino mugs I had picked up at Walmart for $1.50 each. It was a fun treat, and my husband appreciated the impromptu surprise and his wife's happy mood.

I'm sure you could easily do this with green tea, or regular coffee, as well, that has been brewed strongly. I think it would also be good with some of the flavored syrups you can pick up at Sam's and other stores. Just something a little out of the ordinary to create a moment to celebrate.

It doesn't have to be a coffee drink that you whip up to bring an air of joy to your home. In Family Fragrance: Practical intentional ways to fill your home with the aroma of love , Gail and Lois Ledbetter write:
"Laughter and enthusiasm are the glue that make the...family fragrance stick together. Without merriment, family life is staid and stale. Most parents are all too familiar with the downward spiral family morale can take. It usually begins with an ungrateful spirit or an attitude of unthankfulness somewhere, and will drive any parent to the brink of insanity. But just as certain steps lead to the downward spiral, certain steps will create an upward spiral."

They define a home filled with merriment as an "atmosphere of enthusiasm coupled with uninhibited laughter and noise." Merriment makes the house fun! It is the opposite of an environment marked with boredom; morale is generally high; the house is lively, and there is animated laughter. Moments with merriment help us get through the hard times.

The authors suggest asking family members for their ideas of what they find fun to do as a family. Then, you can write these on slips of paper and put them in a "paper cookie jar" and draw one out when you need a little pick-me-up.

So today, I encourage you to find at least one practical way you can bring a little more merriment to your home.

Here are some ideas:

• If you have daughters, what about at-home pedicures?
• A picnic on the lawn
• Fill up a kiddie pool and play, or go to a local pool
• A bike ride
• Play a game

(linked to Frugal Friday)

Does Anyone Use Towels Anymore?

What a week it's been! Actually a couple of weeks. Last week, I took two boys to get tested for strep (they didn't have it, fortunately); I was up all night with one boy who was puking. Then that went away, only to morph into a different form of stomach virus; that gave way to croup and an ear infection, which is what we're dealing wth now.

As if that wasn't enough, we recently learned through the rumor mill that the high school our property borders wants to buy up the neighboring properties and tear them down to have room for expansion. I did confirm this rumor with the school district, but we still have not received formal notice or information from the district. With a baby coming in August, this is not great timing. Actually, there is probably never a good time to learn something like this.

So we've tentatively been looking at houses to see if there's anything out there in our price range that we like. I thought that I had a lack of storage space in my house, but compared to some of the houses, I feel blessed.
After touring bathrooms--some with no vanities or cupboards or hall closets--I wondered:

"Where do people store their towels?"

Surely, they must use them! But where they put them is beyond me.

Maybe we just have too much stuff. After all, how many towels does a family really need? What do you think? Maybe two per person per week?

I'm in the mood for downsizing. I'd love to hear what you think!