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A Trip To Paris At Home

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Alright. I’m not gonna lie to you.  When we got the call yesterday morning at 6:30, I groaned. I did.  I’m pretty sure I whined shamelessly.  It went a little something like this: “Seriously?! Again?! AH! That is the fourth time in seven days. You’ve got to be kidding me!’

Yeeeeeeeeep.  Here in the snowman capital of the world we had ANOTHER snow day. Sheesh!  With subzero temperatures verging on fifteen below, I guess I can see why they thought it necessary to cancel again. But, really, could they have asked me first? I have orders I am behind on, not to mention dishes, housework and Downton Abbey!

Alas, though, I gave in and accepted that all of that would have to wait. Again.

A very sweet friend sent me some tea in the mail and I caught a glimpse of it sitting on the side table while aforementioned tantrum was transpiring. It was so charmingly called “Breakfast in Paris” tea. Ah! Breakfast in Paris, I thought to my little ol’ self. If only……

The best part of being a parent, in my opinion, is that I really don’t have to act like an adult all the time and I have a great excuse for it: I’m just being a good mom!! If I want to take the whole day and pretend that I am strolling the streets of Paris, shopping and visiting the Louvre and sitting in cafes admiring the Eiffel Tower, then by golly I will! You know….for the sake of the kids….

Here is the schedule for our day.  We started by listening to the “French Traditional” station on Pandora to set the mood. Then, I taught the girls the three French words I actually know: Bonjour, Au revoir, and Merci. Of course I used a very obnoxious and completely off accent all day and called the girls Mademoiselles.

We put the kettle on and used our finest china, pretending that we were taking our tea and breakfast in a street café.  We imagined it was sunny and warm and there were birds chirping (or at least I did. The girls kept contradicting me saying, “Nu-uh, Mom. There are no birds. It’s cold!”).

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Then we made crepes using this yummy recipe. I did add a little canned pumpkin for nutritional benefit as well. We filled them with jam and fresh fruit. We sipped tea and talked in accents and dreamed of a warm morning in Paris gazing at the Eiffel Tower.

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After breakfast we took a stroll down a street lined with blooming flowers (or really took a walk up to our second story bathroom) to the “salon” where we had French manicures and did our hair in French braids.

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Then, alas, because the house and messy kitchen sadly won’t clean itself we pretended to be French maids. The kids weren’t really buying it, but we had to stay in theme, right? 😉

Then we went “shopping” at the Le Petit Closet (again, insert me in French accent, “Oh yes! Dis is da finest Fraunch boutique in all of Par-ie.” And the girls groaning, “Mooooom. It’s our closet!!”) We put on our finest duds and put on a fashion show.  I draped a tablecloth over the door as a backdrop. Verrry hip this year on the Paris runway. Then we struck some serious and very chic poses. Do you see the pure diva sass I’m dealing with here, people?!

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Before lunch, we took virtual tours of the Louvre and the Eiffel Tower. They both have A-M-A-Z-I-N-G sites with 360degree views. On the Louvre’s site you can click on paintings and statues and such and get a larger view of them and information about them. You can see the museum room by room. I was IN LOVE! Je T’aime, Louvre! They also have a whole wing dedicated to Egyptian history which was a great opportunity to tell the girls about the ancient Egyptians and what they believed and how it differs from what we believe as Christians.  It turned into a little theological/Bible lesson. Bonus.

After all of that, we took a tour of local attractions via our very own, personal tour guide, Pinterest. Do you know there is a trampoline bridge over the Seine?!!! WHAT?!! That alone makes me want to visit the city of love for real!!! Did I say yet that I like to act like a kid sometimes?

 Then for lunch we had veeeeeeeeery authentic French cuisine: French (garbage) fries. Hey! I did crepes, alright?

Then we strolled to what I would like to pretend was an outdoor theater in the park and watched the movie “Madeline” (on Netflix).  It’s a story about a little French girl in Paris who is trying to save the girls’ home where she lives. Cute.

After the “theater” we had pumpkin lattes (DECAF!) with chocolate on a veranda overlooking the Seine river.

Then I about collapsed from exhaustion. Who knew touring Paris could be so tiring?

So I made the girls rest for a few minutes while I prepped for our next item on the venture.  I told them we would paint pictures of the Eiffel Tower (because, honestly, you can’t go to Paris and NOT do something artistic, right?). So I googled a silhouette of the Tower and then traced it onto a piece of watercolor paper. Then I used some handy dandy rubber cement and painted over the silhouette.

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You can also use art masking fluid but it is WAAAAAAAAY expensive and a bottle of rubber cement is only a couple of dollars and change and does the job nicely.  I told the girls to paint all over the paper in any colors they so desired.

While they worked I serenaded them because that’s what they would do in France, right? Artists need mood music to get the creative juices flowing. In this case, “Fire and Rain” by James Taylor because that’s pretty much all I know at this point.

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Then when it was done and all dried and the masterpieces were created, I took an artist’s eraser and rubbed off the rubber cement revealing the tower beneath it and voila (as the French would say).

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We ended the day with French onion soup for dinner (which I would not recommend. I don’t believe it’s really French or a favorite with kids). Lesson learned.

All in all, it was a pretty romantic day….for me at least! A couple of times Ev said, “This is the best day EVER!” So I think they enjoyed it as well.

Disclaimer: I do always like to have a reality check though, for those of you who might think this was all kittens and unicorns and kittens riding on unicorns and are tempted to be discouraged. It wasn’t all sunny. I did plenty of scolding in my French accent, the girls didn’t dig all of my ideas, and at one point I just threw my hands up and really scolded…in clear English….and SUPER loudly. It was fun, but not perfect, even in Paris!

Here is a FREE printable in case you feel inspired to do your own stay-cay vacay to Paris!

Revoir, mes amours!

paristicket

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Identity Theft: Being a Wife and Mom

identitytheft I stood beside my husband trying hard to maintain eye contact with the speaker with two little hands wriggling for freedom in mine. I had given them the speech before we went in: though I understood the temptation, they were not to ask for candy and needed to understand we were not there for them. I was exhausted, overwhelmed and ready to cry but knew it was important that I be there. So as I waited in one of those rooms, filled with mourners and smelling almost nauseatingly of chrysanthemums, we stood in line with others who came to pay their respects to the family of the man from our church who had recently passed away. I had never even actually met him because we haven’t been at our church all that long and for a lot of our time there he has been sick and unable to come. Still, I had spoken with his daughters and wanted them to feel loved and supported. I scanned the room and smiled, but as I saw the people approaching I inwardly groaned, because by now, I was well acquainted with this routine. People walked up to our girls and gushed over how beautiful they were and, “oh my, look at those dimples.” While I tried my very best to concentrate on what people were saying, the girls whined about when we were going to leave. My husband was introduced over and over to family from out of town as the associate pastor and father of these two charming and delightful children. I waited patiently.  Anytime now, surely someone would acknowledge me. But as I stood them, smiling politely, I was no more than a footnote on a page. When I was acknowledged at all, it was to be told what a wonderful husband I had and how blessed I was to be his wife. If introduced at all, I was nameless. Just an accessory, really, on my husband’s arm. I felt as important as the tie he was wearing. “This is his wife and his lovely yellow tie.” His wife. Pastor Sam’s wife and Evie and Nora’s mom. Nameless. Faceless.

The girls began to really get antsy, as little girls do in a funeral parlor filled with nothing to do but to try to wriggle free from their mother’s iron fist grip. After twenty minutes of “your husband is the best thing since cherry pie” and “oh. You are so lucky to have been blessed with such a husband and children. Count your lucky stars the heavens were smiling down on such a person (I’m sorry. What’s your name again? Yes. Yes. That’s right. Sam’s wife)” I gave up and let go of their hands. Before I knew it, they were trying to race each other down the hallway all the while I was trying to keep my attention on the funeral director who was shooting jokes at my husband left and right. I told them they needed to sit, which to them translated into jumping violently on the couch. The elder of the two smirked at me, knowing full well that my blood pressure was rising, which meant her fun was just starting. Through gritted teeth and a plaster smile I told them to sit quietly in chairs within arms reach of me. Once they had done so, the older one began to bounce in the chair, again to try to see if she could crack me. I really think this girl has a future in interrogation some day.  At this point, my head was throbbing, my feet were screaming, and my heart was drumming in my ears. I shot the girls that look that only mothers can give that says something like, “I love you but if you choose to cross me again I will sell you to the circus and make sure they give you a terrible job like cleaning up elephant poop and scraping gum off of bleachers and brushing the lion’s teeth…” A man from our church chose that moment to mosey on over to us and tell my girls how good they were and how sweet and charming and pretty they looked. Again, I was acknowledged only by a conspiratorial smile as if I would readily agree how well behaved they had been. The elder of the two flashed me her dimpled, smug grin that I know translates to her, “I win”. At that point I think my smile must have looked akin to one someone must have when they are sent to an insane asylum because her smile faded quickly. The gentleman from our church must have seen it, too, because he chose that moment, the first time I had been acknowledged as an individual the whole evening to say chidingly as he walked away over his shoulder to,” enjoy the journey. ”

Then I screamed. I did. I yelled that I, too, was trying to be thoughtful and considerate by being there and that it had been by my choice, not obligation. I shrieked that I did, in fact, have a name. When I was born to my two, lovely parents they did not put on the birth certificate “Sam’s wife”. I stomped my feet a little, threw some really poetic insults at the condescending comment, and stormed out of there, wives and moms around the world applauding me, my oldest daughter gawking at me and my husband giving a great speech to everyone about how I was the love of his life and what he, in fact, would be without me

…… In my head. That whole, lovely scene only played out in my head. What actually happened was I smiled again, politely, not really dignifying the comment with a response, then grabbed the girls by their hands, ushered them outside, put them in the van and lamented to my husband about how I have lost all identity as a mom and wife, how no one seemed to even see or acknowledge that I was even there, other than to scold me for not ” enjoying the journey “. I may as well have a name tag that says ” Hi. My name is wife and mom. ”

This idea of identity theft is sort of a recurring theme in my tales of woe, actually. Just yesterday I was crying to him about it again. I have people tell me all the time how incredible my husband is and how lucky I am to have him. Though I usually respond with a very sincere and hearty word of concurrence, it can also be discouraging, because though he has earned every single word of praise, I can’t even be introduced by my name if I’m introduced at all. When I begin my lamenting it usually sounds a little something like this: I feel like a job. I am the packer of lunches, the finder of socks, the kisser of boo boos, the maker of meals, the comforter, the cheerleader, the team mascot, the folder of laundry, the discipliner, the cleaner….. You get the idea. I’m rarely even called by my name. I’m, “Moooooooooooooom!!!!” most of the time. There are so many days when I sit back and wonder how it came to this. How did I lose all sense of who I am as a person and become a job? When did I become so faceless and nameless? When did I become nothing more than arm candy for my husband and a convenience to my children? If I’m honest, some days I can be downright resentful of my family, because, in the spirit of being totally candid, so much time spent being a mom you are undervalued. You are taken for granted and abused. In fact, there can be an attitude that you should be cleaning up after them, cooking for them, and taking them where they need to go. And my husband, who truly is this amazing man and great spouse, can’t meet all of my needs all the time and can get wrapped up in work or coaching soccer, because, despite popular belief, he really is only human and the poor guy can only do so much. So he can’t always see that I am drowning sometimes in loneliness and frustration. I heard once that when people were polled, what they wanted most was to be appreciated. I also read this somewhere: you know you don’t appreciate someone when you think it’s their job to do anything for you.

A pet peeve of mine is to go to a restaurant and see people treat the service there like their own personal slaves. My mom used to be a waitress and I only know a fraction of how hard that really was on her to be on her feet all night, dashing to fill orders, to be hit on by drunken men, to have people yell at her because their steak wasn’t prepared to their liking though it was no fault of her own, to work for crummy tips, all with a smile plastered on her face. But I have been out with friends and witnessed some of them treat our servers in this way, making snarky comments, ignoring them when they check on our table, and not offering any word of gratitude and say something like, “They’re getting paid for it.” As if passing them a lousy tip gives you the right to treat them any way you want.

OK. I digressed a bit. But here is my point: Just because someone has a job it doesn’t give anyone the right to treat them as less than human. As a means to an end. A job. Hence my point. As a wife and especially as a mom it so often feels like I have lost all sense of self and feel underappreciated. My children, as I did to my own parents, don’t get how much I sacrifice for them on a daily basis, and honestly, I don’t expect them to until they have kids of their own.

As I have been sitting here writing, I wanted to tie this up with a nice little bow; a word of encouragement and enlightenment to those who are struggling like me, most days just trying to keep my head above water and sanity in tact. So here it is, my incredible words of wisdom: you’re not alone. When I talk to my friends, most of ’em feel the exact same way. Being a mom is tough. Sometimes being a wife, even if you’re married to a really great guy like I am, can be really tough, because all of a sudden you wake up one day and realize that you have lost so much of who you used to be. I think I used to be fun (I think??). I used to be spontaneous and go out swing dancing. I used to hang out with my friends on weekends and NOT talk about kids. I used to be the interesting girl across the room that you wanted to get to know better. I used to have a name.

My mom recently handed me a folder full of all these papers, mementos of things I created as I grew up: report cards, pictures, essays. I came across one essay I had written as an introductory paper for a creative writing class. It was titled “Mirror of my Life.” As I read it,I was reminded of the girl who wrote it. She talked about her dreams and ambitions, her frivolous activities. She talked about making up skits when she was all alone, talking in different accents and dreaming of a life on stage, perhaps.  She talked about her fears and hopes and the world that was wide open before her. At seventeen, anything seemed possible. As I read those words, I missed that girl.  I missed the girl who was carefree and laid back, who spent her free time writing poetry and daydreaming and reading books.  Then as I read further, I caught a truer glimpse of her, reading between the lines: a girl who dreamed of being married and having kids.  She was a girl who prayed for and laid awake at night dreaming of and writing letters to the husband she couldn’t wait to meet.  She was a girl who was at times lonely with the ambition to have her own family someday, lonely in the waiting. Then I was reminded of the girl who just a few years later married a man beyond her dreams when she was so young, but who cried herself to sleep so many nights and sat in lonely corners during the day aching to hold a baby of her own. For years, she sat and prayed and waited, empty in heart and womb. Then I am reminded of the person I am now, living out those very dreams written down on the paper in my hands. After that, I come to pity the girl on the paper because though she may have had much less responsibility, she had much less to be thankful for.

So here it is: my secret to sanity when I feel like I’m fading into absolute oblivion, because, as with all things in life, it usually comes down to perspective. I will take a few thoughtless comments from people who can’t see what I do, though I know I do them. I will take not being introduced properly to so-and-so’s second cousin twice removed who I will never see or remember again in my life.  I will take the forgetfulness, being taken for granted, and yes-being walked on at times, because even on the most exhausting of days I wouldn’t trade this life or what this girl has for anything in the world.

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Diy Thanksgiving Plate

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I’m so excited to share this super simple, festive plate for Thanksgiving. I teach art at our small, Christian school and my oldest class only has four girls in it, so I can do fun projects like this with them. So tho do these plates all you need are the following:

*white dinner plates (I got mine for fifty cents each at a secondhand store)

*sharpies

*clear contact paper

*turkey silhouette

I started off by googling a turkey silhouette then drew it freehand on the back of the clear contact paper and cut it out. I then peeled the paper off the back and centered it in the middle of each plate. Then I encouraged the girls to make a pattern around the turkeyturkey with sharpies ( I suggested the dots, but one of my students opted to do stripes instead), then they each wrote a message on the outside border of the plate. Once their patterns were done, we pulled the contact paper off, leaving the turkey silhouette in the middle.IMG_20141117_133910986 IMG_20141117_133954268

Pretty simple, right?  It only took them fifteen-twenty minutes each to finish this project. Then, today, I plan to bake them in the oven at 350f for a half hour. With these sharpie plates, I recommend only using them for decorative purposes because the sharpie will fade and wipe off over time.

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Display on a plate holder or put some wrapped candies in it and enjoy!

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Christmas Crafts Day 3: DIY Band T-shirt

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So I know this is an odd choice for a Christmas craft, but if you are anything like me, I like to make a lot of my gifts. It makes them more personal and I can often make them cheaper than buying them. Hence, this project.

This is the cover to my brother’s band CD. As of yet, though they have a rockin’ CD, they don’t have any accessories.  So for Christmas, I decided to make my brother a t-shirt to wear to his gigs. Thankfully, though his cover looks complicated, because of it’s haphazard nature I figured if I didn’t get the design exactly duplicated it would still resemble the CD cover moderately.

I confess I am not entirely done with the shirt yet. I wanted to be able to keep up with my “24 day” commitment, but I figured you would get the idea anyway!

So to start, here’s what I used:

*Fabric paints as well as silkscreen paint picked up from any craft store

*Plain t-shirt (I got this one for $3 at Hobby Lobby)

*hair dryer

*Alphabet stencils

*Contact Paper

To start, I cut little strips of contact paper in jagged strips to mimic the pattern on the cover. Like most of my projects, it wasn’t too scientific. I just taped the strips down and painted in between the lines.ImageImage

After I had painted in the lines, I used a hairdryer to dry the paint to make the process go a lot quicker. It took an average of ten minutes to dry between each application when using the dryer.

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Aaaand, that’s about it! I know, I know….super complicated! I just kept doing layer after layer until I got a pattern that looked like the one on the CD cover. I still have yet to stencil the letters on, but this project pretty much took me an hour or two to do. Not too bad! I hope he likes it!

Merry (almost) Christmas!

***DISCLAIMER: If my instructions on anything don’t make sense sometimes, it’s usually because I am being bombarded with a barrage of questions at any given moment; anything from: “what time is dinner” to “MOOOOOM, why doesn’t this Barbie have underwear”

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Making a List of Thankfulness

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If you have followed this blog at all, you know I have been trying desperately to teach my kids an attitude of gratitude in a very entitled world. In the car, I point out all of the beautiful things that God has created. During the day, I try to use the moments when they are complaining to make a list, quick, of at least five things they have to be thankful for.  And, most frequently, I nag them, as all great mothers do, with guilt trips and say things like, “I’m sorry. Did you just say, ‘Wow, Mom! Thank you so much for making this nutritious meal for us because you love us so much,” when they have really said something like, “Ugh. I HATE broccoli.” It feels like an uphill battle most days, but at the end of them, I look back and realize how many times I complained about trivial things that were not going my way.

So I’m always wracking my brain for new ideas of things to do to teach not only my kids, but more importantly myself (because an attitude of gratitude is caught more than taught) how to be thankful for those people and blessings in my life. With Thanksgiving just a week away, I wanted to do a week of thankfulness with my kids, hoping it will become a new tradition in our house.

Now, if your kids are anything like mine, I have found it is much more successful when I “suggest” something, rather than demand it.  So, I was cool. I was sly. I said to the girls, “Hey. Just wanted to let you know about this new thing I was going to try for people I am most thankful for. Do you want to hear about it? You can even do it with me, but, you know…only if you really want to.” I showed them my little jar that I had filled with flutters of paper, all with names of people I am thankful for.  I told them that I was going to pull one out every day between now and Thanksgiving and do something special for that person and include a note that listed the things I loved about them.

Much to my surprise and pleasure, they loved the idea and went about making lists of their own with little prodding from me.  Evie pulled down her class picture off the fridge so she could copy  names of classmates she would like to add to her list, and they sat there for an hour and painstakingly made a list of people they are thankful for. You have to understand, they just started Kindergarten this year, so they can’t spell yet and are just learning their letters. But, they both insisted they write the lists themselves.  PicMonkey Collage

Now, I do need to make a note here, lest you think this was an afternoon of sunshine and roses. I am one of those people who reads other people’s Facebook posts or blogs about the special project they did with their children baking cookies, building snowmen, or crafting turkeys out of Popsicle sticks and picture something akin to a Hallmark commercial and sigh, wondering why my motherly attempts ended in tears rather than hugs.  They did have fun (I….um…it was….hmm…well…). They got distracted by the cat, they fought about who had the class picture, they said things like, “Um..no, Mom. I already wrote Grandma Lynn. I want to write Grandma B,” with as much sass and condescension as any six-year-old can produce. They shoved. They rewrote the letter “G” six times because it looked too much like a “D” and I had to wait “patiently” for ten minutes while they wrote down one name. I just felt the need to clarify that, because I understand that any endeavor like this, especially with children, is never easy and I never want to make something sound easier than it is.

So, having said all of that, we each drew names from our jars. The girls each picked the name of my brother and his wife, which was perfect because we were able to do something for them as a couple. I asked them what they would like to do. Their answers were: “make soup” and “bake cookies”. In the end, we decided on the cookies. So we made them snickerdoodles and a card. In the card the girls listed (with my help this time) all the things they liked about each of them. This was my favorite part of this whole experiment because some of the things they said were too cute such as: you are wild, you run really fast, you are really good at juggling (news to me ;). After the cookies were packaged up, we put them in a box and we are going to send them in the mail today.

I picked my Dad’s name out of the jar, so I am planning to surprise him at work. Despite the frustrations of last night, I am super excited to see whose names we pick today. I will let you know how it goes.

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Ode to Moms (especially mine)

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I sat across from my mom at a restaurant and she handed me some money for gas, which I refused. I wanted this day to be for us, no strings attached, on me, but like most moms, she couldn’t let it go.  She is a caregiver, a provider, she has the innate need to take care of her children. “Mom, you took care of me for twenty years, I owe you.” That’s what I said, as if a ten dollar bill could begin to cover what my mom did for me in twenty years.

You see, I am THAT person-the one who lived in blissful denial of all my mother did to care for me until I became a mother myself.  We wanted to have children for so long that when I heard other moms complain about the woes of motherhood I would smile politely and nod my head sympathetically but inwardly be rolling my eyes and think something like, they call them bundles of JOY for a reason. Even then, I wasn’t seeing the whole picture.  This was before the middle of the night calls to change a wet bed, to clean up vomit, or to soothe away a nightmare.  This was long before the unspeakable trials of potty training and being woken up every morning to screaming (yes, even now).  This was before the frustrations, the heartache, the total exhaustion of motherhood.

Don’t get me wrong, I am so blessed to be a mom. I am so deeply fond of and completely in love with both of my girls.  I truly understand what it means to be a “mama bear” when someone has tried to mess with my girls (yeah-this a warning- DO NOT mess with my children.  If you do, well….just don’t. I have a clean criminal record and I’d like to keep it that way).  Still, no one tells you how much pain your children can inflict on you in just common, careless, everyday ways.

Yesterday we took our girls to a local fair.  We saw and petted pigs, horses, rabbits, cows, sheep, goats, chickens and alpacas. Yeah-alpacas.  We saw a miniature pony show, rode rides, watched a sheep fashion show, and two magic shows.  Oh yeah, and they got to jump in a bouncy castle.  It was….um…it was….how do I put this…..frustrating.  It went a little something like this, (me) “Honey, you can’t pet a horse from behind….just trust me. You really don’t want to pet it from behind….because you don’t if you want to keep your teeth and face in general!…don’t put your fingers in the rabbit cage, they might think they are carrots…..no, we aren’t going to buy food right now. You just ate, you will be okay. Stop whining now or we will go home right now!…sweetheart, watch out so you don’t get run over by that mini horse cart……honey, it’s okay. It will be okay. See? Daddy’s ok. The magician just wants Daddy to help him with a trick….please, please, please for the eighth time stop putting things in your mouth….Nora, stop running ahead. I don’t care if you want to go that way, we are going this way…..Sit down….I told you to sit down while the ride is going….sit down, please, you are scaring your sister….SIT DOWN!!….” You get the idea.  One of the hardest things about being a mom that no one tells you, that I don’t think anyone can tell you until you experience it for yourself, is the total heartache and courage it takes to be a mom.  Even without me giving you every detail of our day, I’m sure you can image the scenario.  The kids complained about how hot it was. No sooner would we walk into one barn they would want to go to another one.  At the top of the ferris wheel, one child kept tormenting the other one and terrifying her parents by not sitting, trying to look out over the edge, rock the cart, and stomp her feet repeatedly for the sole purpose of getting a rise out of the rest of us.  They whined, fussed, dragged their feet, bickered, tried to take charge, scowled, cried….again, you can see where I am going with this.  But despite all of that, we are trying to make memories, because we believe one day they will look back and say, “Do you remember going to the fair? I used to love going to the fair. And do you remember that one time…..”. Yet not once did they say “thank you” without being prompted.  Not once did it occur to them that this was a treat, not something they somehow had earned the right to.  When they misbehaved or complained and were corrected for it, they resented us for pointing it out to them.  It rarely occurs to them that perhaps they were at fault and not us for their unhappiness.

Again, my point is NOT to complain about my children, or even about being a mom, but more as a very small, minute way of thanking my own mom.  I remember one time when I was just out of high school pulling a favorite jacket of mine out of the dryer, and the zipper on it had melted.  I stormed up the stairs to my mom who was faithfully making dinner, that I was NOT helping with, I might add, with hands on my hips demanding why she had put my favorite jacket in the dryer.  Did she see? Did she see what had happened when she put my jacket in the dryer? It was my favorite jacket. Now what was I supposed to wear? And do you know how my mother responded? Did she throw it back in my face and tell me that maybe I should be doing my own laundry? Did she tell me off like I deserved? No. She apologized.  My poor mother apologized to me. I will never forget that.  It took years after remembering that incident to even feel remorse for the way I had acted, to feel shame for the level of ingratitude I displayed.

I can clean up all sorts of bodily fluids while gagging my way through it.  I can wipe runny noses, scrub crayons off the walls, make breakfast, lunch and dinner, kiss boo-boos (real and imaginary), put Barbie heads back on, pick out outfits, write “I love you” notes in lunchboxes, give baths, read stories to, sing to sleep, help find shoes….this is the part of motherhood that is often exhausting, but so rewarding.  I love nursing my children back to health when they are sick.  I love that when they are really hurt, they only want me.  I love that they ask me to make them pink eggs or have girl day or a tea party with them.  I love helping them learn new things and watching them explore a new world.  I love, absolutely LOVE when they are trying to learn a new word and say it wrong.  I didn’t have to heart to tell the girls a backpack isn’t a “pack pack” and even found myself calling it that.  I love that they want me to scratch their backs and sing them a song every night before bed.  I love the special memories that we are making together that only we can boast, like watching trains from the porch with a hot cup of cocoa before school.  These are the picturesque moments I only dreamed about, and they are so much better than I imagined they would be.  These are the moments you want to capture in a bottle and hope they never fade away.  These are the moments that make me sigh when I check on the girls after they have fallen asleep and make me wish they would stay this little forever.  This part of being a mom is something priceless.  This is what makes it all worthwhile.

But, those other times, when it feels nearly impossible NOT to nag them every moment of the day because you have their best interest at heart that makes this job so difficult.  Whether you are a mom like me and don’t want them to get kicked in the head by a horse or a cow and are forced to hold their wriggling hand in yours knowing they are resenting the heck out of you for it because they refused to listen, or the mom of an older child who has to be the one to tell them that they need to find a job because sleeping in and playing video games is not a viable option for a career choice.  The hardest part about that is because every mom knows these moments are investments.  Right now they won’t see your love, your sacrifice, they will only see how you are spoiling their fun.  Every mom worth her salt knows that you have to prod, correct, and discipline for the well-being of her child that she loves more than life itself, even in a world where so much seems to be going against her efforts.  Still, she must try because she loves her children so dearly.  There is a verse that my mentor growing up always told me and still says to me now that is the mantra of every mom, “So I will very gladly spend and be spent for you, knowing the more I love, the less I be loved.” (2 Cor. 12:15)

True love is a sacrifice, because true love means putting someone else’s needs and desires much above your own.  My desire to be liked, to be adored by my children (and this is such a great desire) often takes a backseat to what is best for my children.  I think this, in my own humble experience, is the hardest part about being a parent.  Parents (dads, too) know this more than anyone. So, finally, I want to thank my mom (and dad) for the sacrifice of love made to me growing up and even now.  Thank you doesn’t begin to cover it, I know. A lunch out is a pitiful compensation.  Still, thank you for cleaning up my messes, physical and emotional.  Thank you for taking care of me with so little gratitude.  Thank you for your diligence in correcting me though it took me years to acknowledge this as a sacrifice of love.  Thank you for nagging, even when it’s not necessary, because you truly want what is best for me.  Even now, I see you having trouble letting go because you want the very best and to see me be the best version of what God can make of me.

In short, thanks so much for being my mom.

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Pottery with a Purpose

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For about two years now we have been sponsored a child from Haiti (Ermione)  through World Vision and the girls have loved praying for her and sending her specials cards and pictures.  When we were searching for a child to sponsor, we chose Ermione because she is from Haiti which is still reeling from the earthquakes which ravaged their land a few years ago. Also, her birthday is just one day prior to Nora’s, so they feel a special bond to her because she is so close in age to them.  As the girls have gotten older, my husband and I have been wracking our brains in how to teach the girls gratitude for all that God has provided for us and for caring for others beyond themselves; hence this little project. It’s experimental, to be honest, but we wanted to involve the girls more in sponsoring a child of their own, earning the money themselves (well, with our help of course) to care for another child overseas. Rather than spend time telling you about it myself, I thought I would let my guest bloggers speak for themselves. 🙂

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EVIE:

“My name is Evie and I am five, almost six. I like to play with my Mommy sometimes and I love Mommy. I like to play games, eat popcorn and watch a movie. My favorite movie is Tinkerbell and I have a necklace and I make pretend food for everyone.

Today we painted plates. What colors were on the plates were brown, pink, purple, black and let’s see….think, think, think, think, think, think, think….We did the plates for us to keep and to tell everybody in our country about Jesus…um…I meant about to make money for other kids like Ermione and other kids so the Moms and Dads and kids could buy food in a poor, poor, poor, poor place. I was on the plates. I showed what face I wanted to do and color things in.”

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NORA:

“My name is Nora and my favorite thing to do is play outside and I like to eat macaroni and cheese and have some color in my macaroni and cheese. I like to go to the candy store and especially is go to camp and get popsicles there too; eat there, spend time there, too. Go in the pool and play in the playground.

We colored the plates and that was really nice and we did pictures on the plates and smiled. We did the plates to spend money to eat because it’s for them to have…um…for Ermione. It’s cost some to buy food and it’s for them to help buy food because they don’t have much food. It’s for them to learn about Jesus and to help them go to school to learn about Jesus. Ermione has the same skin as me and her birthday is the day before mine. She’s the same age as me and Evie which is five….the same thing as us. Some day we would like to play with her sometimes. “

I am going to be offering personalized plates like these and other hand-painted pottery by me and the girls in my Etsy shop and other pottery (like these mugs) and all proceeds will go to our sponsored child. Who knows? We are hoping to be able to earn enough to sponsor more than one a month!

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