For Mature eyes Only . . .

Now that I have peaked your curiosity let me back up a bit . . . 

This is my Beckham.  I only recently decided he looks like me. 

He is our first born.  The one we made all of the mistakes on.  The one we fell in love with first and knew we had never loved someone so much.  He just turned 11 years old.  (p.s. Beckham is in the belly.  Sadly someone stole all the photos of his first two months of life.)

Beckham is and always has been a brilliant, imaginative, particular, funny boy.  Yes he has multiple binkies in his mouth.  He could count to ten before he was two.  He could say his alphabet backwards faster than any adult who challenged him at the age of three.  He wrote his first book about dinosaurs in kindergarten.  He has told me stories since he could talk, my favorites were about his friend the moon.  Beckham has the greatest knowledge and love for animals I have ever seen.  He wants to be a Zoologist when he grows up.    

Beckham is the oldest 11 year old I have ever met (besides my 11 year old self).  He is the protector of our family.  He can't help it.  Sometimes I worry he will explode because he worries about all of us so much.  At my lowest of times, I truly feel like he is more mature than me.  However, he also has a silly fun side and if his brothers catch him in a good mood he shows them just how fun he can be.  I love when we get some one on one time because he will talk my ear off.  I hope that never changes.    

I caught a snapshot of him with his friends and he was just so cute and relaxed and happy.  He looked like the near teen he is instead of my little boy.  

Turning 11 comes with a lot of growing up.  Each year seems to bring more of that.  This year was his last Pine Wood derby.  He is now a boy scout instead of a cute little cub.  He is approaching his last year of elementary school.  It is his last year of Primary.  Last week he unwillingly sang in his last Primary program.  

Now here is the part for mature eyes only . . .  This was last Christmas and sadly this is my only picture of his last Christmas believing in Santa Clause ( my excuse I was pregnant, sick and exhausted.  Not a very good on I know).  

All last year he asked me if I believed in Santa Clause and of course I said yes because I do.  Tonight as I asked the boys what they wanted for Christmas and he started again, but asked in a different way, "are you Santa Mom?"  I don't like to lie to my kids and I know some people think that is what Santa is, but for me he is a symbol. So, I tried to use my standard reply, "what do you think?"  This time he was not having it.  I told him he could text me instead as all the little brothers were with us.  After much bullying, I mean prodding, from Beckham I finally gave in.  Ugh, my little big boy is growing up.  One more piece of innocence gone.  A little less magic left in his childhood.  (I had to give him the birds and the bees talk this year too, and this was way harder!) Here was my answer, (as I texted him tears streaming down my face.)

"Yes I am Santa and it makes me sad that you are so big.  Because the magic of Santa is so amazing and wonderful that I hope you keep believing forever.  I hope you never tell anyone that there isn't a Santa because there is.  He is the magic, the wonder, and the joy of Christmas.  He is the spirit of giving just as Jesus was born and given to us so that we can become who Heavenly Father wants us to be.  So never stop believing because Santa is real.  I just put the toys under the tree.  I love you buddy, wish I could keep you little for forever.  Now you get to help make the magic.  p.s. Me and Dad are Santa, not just me."  

Beckham's reaction, (tears in his eyes) "My world is now broken."

I can't remember how I lost all of the magic in my childhood.  I only remember being excited about helping my mom put the toys under the tree for my little brother and sisters.  But as I let go of that piece of Beckham's childhood and as I watched him lose it at the same time, my heart broke a little.  My first baby is getting too big.  

I know that in the large scheme of things this is so trivial, but I don't think it is meaningless.  Kids grow up way too fast and I have needed Beckham to grow up faster than I want as I rely on his help so much.  It was painful for me to realize he is so big, he is 11, he is becoming a man a little more each day.  But it hurt me so much more to watch as the innocence and the pain of that loss rolled down his sweet little cheeks.  

Happy Birthday to my number one son.  I hope the next few years slow down a little bit more, and I take the time to watch and listen before your childhood is gone.  

"Out of suffering have emerged the strongest souls; the most massive characters are seared with scars." -Khalil Gibran

A German philosopher, Friedrich Nietzsche created a famous philosophy, “That which does not kill us, makes us stronger.”  While I believe this to be true, some days it just does not feel that way.  Some days the scars that life has left on my mind and soul do not remind me that I am a stronger person now.  Some days they rip wide open and bleed again.

My husband started traveling again this past week.  He was home for an entire month and it was amazing.  I almost had myself tricked into thinking that the traveling would perhaps be done.  Funny.  It has started again.  Before he left I tried telling myself that it would be easier this time.  I thought over and over that I was going to be ok this time.  As hard as it is to not have him here physically, in that he isn't home to help, to see, to talk to.  When he goes, mentally and emotionally I fall into a whirl wind of pains from the past.    I am grateful that I can recognize what my mind is doing.  It is crazy how powerful the mind truly is, and it is scary when coupled with a vivid imagination.  

All it takes is one tiny trigger.  One tiny bump in my expectations and I fall into what feels like  an uncontrollable emotional state.  I go through all the stages.  Feeling abandonment, sadness, anxiety, anger, depression, and finally acceptance.  I wish I could derail my mental train sooner and avoid all of the pain and suffering but I haven't figured out how yet.  I have all of the tools, I know the ways to, but for some reason I resist.  Another lesson I learned from counseling is that resistance + pain = suffering.  So, instead of getting a handle on my reactive mind, I suffer. In my opinion the exhaustion that comes with it weakens my acceptance and fuels my imagination.  Making myself rest and recover with six littles is not always easy during my single mom days.  Instead, I struggle to survive through the post-traumatic stress.  Until my husband returns home I feel constant unease.  I slip back into dark places.  I want to give up because feeling all of these horrible feelings is almost unbearable.  

That is when I feel weak. That is when I do not believe this philosophy.  That is when I pray that my husband will do all in his power to help me heal.  

Healing is a painful business.  I remember reading about the painful treatment of a burn victim and how they clean and dress the wounds.  Each day they have to scrub the dying skin off of the wound in order to prevent infection and to promote healing and growth of new skin cells.  That is what I relate the mental and emotional healing process to.  It hurts.  It is slow.  It has to be repeated over and over again until all that is left is healthy flourishing growth.  You have to scrub and work through the pain in order to promote growth.  

That is where I believe this philosophy to be true.  Each small step toward healing has made me stronger, even if the pain from the layers below still resurface.  I continue to scrub out the bad even when it hurts.  I continue to ask for a hand to hold even if that means exposing my pain.   

Stay At Home Mom . . . It is a love hate relationship for me.

I recently read this article by a stay-at-home mom that is literally pissed off at other stay-at-home moms for making her look bad.  She basically says that she is sick of moms complaining all the time. Yes, I don't think any mom should complain all of the time, however, who doesn't complain once in a while.  Even non-moms complain, shocking.  (Men, hello!)  Maybe this is just a psychologist term to help people feel better about complaining, but the word they use is "vent".  Honestly I think that every single person no matter who they are or what they do in this life needs a source to vent to.  Whether it be your spouse, significant other, neighbor, friend, clergyman, counselor, a blog, a journal, or working it out in your head while pounding a punching bag or running or biking mile after mile, or lifting as much weight over your head as you possibly can (you get my point), everyone needs to vent.  If we don't get the babble out, the frustrations voiced then they are never acknowledged and then the worst thing of all happens, we bottle.  I have been a bottler most of my life.  Bottle it all up and bury it deep deep deep down inside.  Well, you know what happens to a bottle that gets too full and gets shaken one too many times.  It explodes.  I have also been an exploder most of my life.  I have found that talking, not screaming, and letting someone (or writing for me) know what I am going through (acknowledging it) helps me work it out and let it go.  When you bottle you just hold onto things creating a deeper problem that comes out as a catastrophe when you finally can't take it any longer.

Yes, I think it is a blessing to be able to stay home with my kids.  I am grateful that I don't have to drop them off somewhere everyday for someone else to take care of.  I am happy that my husband goes to work and I get to be here for my kids.  However, now here is the clincher, even though I love that I am a stay-at-home mom, it doesn't mean that it is always sunshine and rainbows.  It doesn't mean that it is always easy.  It doesn't mean that I love every part of the job.  Most of all it doesn't mean that my frustrations are any less valid than someone else's.  For example who cleans up throw up for over a week straight, does countless loads of extra laundry (several extra on top of the two loads a day norm), disinfects the house over and over as the stomach flu wreaks havoc through five of the six children and themselves (cleaning up throw up while you have the flu, yuck) and doesn't feel like complaining about it a bit. Yes, that was my last week, and yes it sucked, I truly truly hate throw-up.  When that sickness hits, the only person I feel has it worse than me is the janitor at my kid's school and I am sure his person is more than willing to hear how disgusting his week was, and how much he hates throw-up.  Maybe, maybe not.  Now, I know that many people have much bigger problems than cleaning up throw up, or other daily frustrations.  I know that truly it isn't the worst thing, but at the time it sure doesn't feel good.

Now, I am not condoning the people that honestly have nothing to say but all the negative things in life.  I am saying that everyone needs an outlet to vent their frustrations however little they may be, they are still frustrations.  I personally like to find the lesson in the frustration.  I like to find how I can do better the next time.  Do I do better, not always, but I like to process things and either find a solution or let them go through my venting.  As for all the "mom blogs" out there that sound like they are complaining about their blessed jobs, I think they are just trying to find people to relate to.  Being home all day with littles can be a lonely job sometimes.  So much that when you finally have an adult to talk to you are so excited, but your day is filled with all things kid, so that is all you have to talk about.  It may come off as complaining, but that is just reality sometimes.

So, if I complain or vent to much I apologize, I truly hope I am positive more than negative.  For those of you that are always smiling and perfect I commend you.  For those still trudging in the trenches, taking it one day at a time, and trying to remember the good with the bad I am right there with you.                  

Residual Pregnancy Brain

Dear Mail Person, 

Thank you for not yelling at me for not getting my mail for over two weeks. (Yes, I have had a mail lady actually bring my mail to my door and yell at me for not emptying my mailbox often enough.)  I simply keep forgetting to walk across the street and get it.  

Sincerely, 

Mailbox number 4, aka the always full one.  

I finally got my mail today, after carrying the key in my pocket half of the day to remind me, I felt something in my pocket hours later to see what was in there and remembered!  It's comical and frustrating all at the same time, but honestly I am ready to feel like a functioning intelligent human being again.  I have never had pregnancy brain lapse into postpartum quite this long.  Or (now this could really be it) perhaps, my fog has been constant for the past twelve years and has just gotten progressively worse with each baby.  

I was reading some online tips from Fit Pregnancy about the fog that seems to be lingering, and they said it can last up to a year.  A YEAR!  I can't imagine continuing in this dumbfounded, forgetful, mentally and physically exhausted state for that long.  I get that I am not getting enough sleep, I get that I am older now (I don't want to be older), I get that I have six boys and that besides one of them taking the majority of my time with breast feeding and poopy diapers and the sweetest snuggles ever, I also have to cook, clean, do laundry, do homework, buy food, be a taxi driver, pay bills, exercise, entertain, did I mention laundry, and more; however, I don't think that feeling foggy and sometimes just plain dumb is really fair at all.

You know how you sometimes hear that baby number three is the hardest recovery and/or adjustment.  Well, perhaps its because most people just don't have six kids anymore, but for me baby number six has been baby number three times way more than two in the recovery and adjustment department.  I had a neighbor tell me that her daughter took three years to feel normal again, mentally and physically, after she had her twins #5 and #6 in line.  Let me repeat, three years.  Whoa!  Please, I'll take a year or less!  I am ready now to function both mentally and physically.  I am glad that I am older and wiser in many ways however, I still have my very very low moments.  I get overwhelmed much earlier in the day.  I feel done with the many messes and fits that come with littles on almost a daily basis.  Laundry may even cause me rage and tears from time to time.  But, I feel like I appreciate it all a little bit more.  I feel like it takes me longer to get to yelling than it once did.  I feel like despite my fog, I pay more quality attention to my boys, at least I try.      

I did also read that your actual I.Q. is not affected, which is comforting, because there are days when I can barely string a coherent sentence together due to forgetting basic words such as remote control, or lunchbox.  After searching the internet, and therefore finding that it is fact, I did feel very validated that pregnancy brain is an actual thing.  The fact that our hormones are on overkill and our sleep schedules erratic actually causes this state of complete forgetfulness.  So until all the hormones simmer down, and the little babe decides to sleep through the night, I guess I will just try to remember that when I forget the boiling water on the stove for half an hour, or re-wash the same load of laundry three times, or when I pace from room to room trying to remember what in the world I was doing, or when I can't remember what I was saying mid-sentence, or when I lose nearly every trivia game to my husband over and over again that someday I will actually feel like an intelligent adult again. 

p.s. I may have already written about this very subject, but truly if I did, I forgot :)    

Writing the Next . . .

"You can't start the next chapter in your life if you keep re-reading the last one."  

I don't know where that quote came from besides the internet, but for me this tends to be true.  Today I stumbled across some things I wrote in one of the hardest chapters of my life.  As I re-read them, images and memories that haunt my dreams came rolling to the front of my mind.  Sometimes I think I should erase the things I wrote so that I don't see them again.  Some of them I do erase.  Yet some of them so poetically describe the pain I felt that I can't seem to let them go.  Why is letting go of the pain so hard sometimes?  It's like a sad movie, that you bawl through, yet it so beautifully captures the story that you want to watch it again.  I started seeing this pattern in my Cohen.  He would tell and re-tell me all of the awful things.  He was holding on to his pain and in that he was suffering.  As I talked to him and told him that he could always always tell me the hard things, the sad things, and that after I wanted him to try and let them go, and think of the happy things I realized I do the same thing.  While, remembering the bad is good in that it protects us from repeating the same pain, holding onto it and reliving it only keeps us in that dark place and prevents us form healing and growing.    

For me writing is a release, a way for me to let go of what is boiling in my head, a way to help me heal.  I have found that in the past few months as I have written, I have experience more healing and calm in my life than I have had in a very long time.  Something about putting my life on paper, acknowledging it somehow and then letting it go so that I can live the next moments, the next days, the next chapters in my story.

This is my best friend.  My baby daddy.  My soul mate.  My boyfriend.  My husband.  Fifteen years ago I saw his smile and loved him from that moment on.  We were pushed together and torn apart.  Our start was rocky, many ups and many downs.  We were both a little lost in a world that pulls people under if you're not careful.  Running away was how I coped, but from him, I could never stay away.  We married at twenty-two and our whirlwind family began.  Pregnant within the year and every year following, that became our norm.  Somewhere along the way life began to consume us.  The present, the past, the kids, the job; overwhelming to say the least.  The "us" we knew started to fade away.  Nearly three years ago a nightmare began and I thought it was the beginning of the end.  For the following fifteen months I fought not to lose this man.  He hurt me, yet my heart was not whole without him.  

When I thought I could take no more of the pain, God gave me a gift.  As I prayed to be able to let this man go, He reminded me of his face.  In my minds eye, I saw my best friend, the one who held my hand, kissed my lips, and walked beside me throughout our life.  Because of this gift I kept fighting, I didn't give up hope.  This gift felt fleeting however.  Fear kept reminding me of the past.  It was hard to love him some days because of the pain I held onto.  Yet, if I think back on that day, if I remember the feeling I had, the gift is still there.  A new chapter ready to begin.  I am turning the page.  Another healing miracle written this day.  

I love this man.                    

I cannot erase the past, nor the writings that I wrote to cope, but I don't have to re-read the pain.  I can walk in this day where the sun shines.  I can hold my best friends hand and hug him tight.  Although some days life still feels like a fight, this far I have survived.  I can heal and grow and know that tomorrow is another day and better if I make it so.    

I am thankful for healing.  I am thankful for forgiveness.  I am thankful for love.  I am thankful for my forever, my love, my husband.  

"In the eyes of a child, you will see the world as it should be." -unknown

It's amazing how we are all so different, yet so similar in so many ways.  As we were walking down the road today in this gorgeous weather we are having, we hit a little bumpy patch and Ramsey started singing "aaaaaaaaaaahhhhhh" to hear his little voice vibrate.  Whenever we go through the tunnel on our path, he always yells his chewbaca style words to hear the echo of his voice.  When he hears music, he almost instantly dances.  If there is a fan on he has to try and stick his fingers in it, every time, then he sings into it.  And of course there is the shoe phase, where they have to try on everyone else's shoes, they are obsessed with shoes.  My closet gets rearranged weekly from Ramsey's shoe escapades.  It was funny because as we were walking I could remember doing all of these things myself as a kid.  

Ramsey's favorite Christmas gift, a box and a cape.

Who doesn't hear fun music and instantly want to dance or drum the counter, or tap your toe at the very least?  When your favorite song comes on, who can resist singing along?  Maybe this is just me, but who sees an amazing hill and doesn't at least consider rolling down it, or a beautiful climbing tree you know is begging to be climbed. I love watching my kids discover all of these little wonderments.  I love that each one discovers them differently and reacts not quite the same as the others.

Rylan climbing trees.

Sometimes I wish these little things always felt so wonderful.  I wish my body would let me roll down hills without me instantly regretting it, or even swing without getting dizzy, or jump on the trampoline without having to go pee.  Gavin will tell me how he stops to watch ants or bees and how cool they are.  Rylan loves to catch rolly polies and make them his friends.  Beckhams greatest joy in life is looking for lizards and snakes and frogs.  I peaked through my window yesterday and watched Cohen and Ramsey wrestling on the trampoline, huge grins on their faces.  All my boys can look in the sky and find wonder and shapes in the clouds.  I wish the little things would still amaze me.  I wish I could find joy so easily.  It's sad that life hardens us so far past the innocence of a child.  It's sad that we need more than the natural pleasures around us.  

Gavin catching caterpillars.  

Gavins first birthday balloons.

I wish I could do some of it over again if but just for an hour.  Time travel for this alone would be amazing.  To run with the wind and feel like you're flying.  To jump off a high dive for the first time.  To ride your bike without hands.  To do your first cart wheel or front flip.  To catch snowflakes on your tongue for the first time.  To spin in circles until you fall down giggling. To lay in the grass and watch the clouds or stars. However, watching my little guys discover and experience is almost just as good.  That is one of the greatest gifts of parenthood, watching them grow.

Cohen flying with his magic cape. 

Beckham's first snow.

Cohen's first time feeling grass. 

Perhaps if we could see life through the eyes of a child more often, there would be a little more peace.  If we could remember that we have felt that way once too, then we can be a little more playful. A little more remembering, and maybe, just maybe there will be a lot more joy along the way. 








“Except ye be converted, and become as little children, ye shall not enter into the kingdom of heaven. Whosoever therefore shall humble himself as this little child, the same is greatest in the kingdom of heaven” (Matthew 18:3–4).

Beckham always climbing.

Beckhams first diving board jump. 

Gavin's first trampoline.  

        

Happy Birthday to my #2

This is Cohen, my #2.  He is also known as Cono and Coco.  Last week he turned nine years old.  This boy is maybe the sweetest, most thoughtful boy I have ever met.  A couple weeks ago while I was cooking and cleaning and helping with homework, Cohen disappeared for a few minutes.  When he came back he said to me, "Mom, maybe since you are always doing nice things for us and other people, maybe someone needs to do nice things for you. So, I made you this."  He then handed me a cute little note, nothing huge, but he had drawn a picture of me and him and wrote, "You are the best and nicest mom in the world." (A few days later his dad got a note too:)  Then last week he came in from playing outside with his big brother and said, "Man, Beckham is so much fun.  I love playing with him.  He just made up the funnest game.  He is so funny and just so fun!"  I don't know, nor have I known, any other nine year old that is so aware of others around him.  It was so very sweet.  

Cohen is our peace maker.  He plays so well with his little brothers, even when he doesn't really want to.  He hurts down to his core if he ever does something wrong (which is rare).  If he gets in trouble I always feel bad afterwards even though he did something wrong  because I can see the pain it causes him.  He thinks of others.  He compliments people.  He is tender.  He is funny.  He is kind.  He always tries to make your day better.  He likes to be alone sometimes.  He keeps everything inside so much that I worry he might explode.  He never wants to disappoint anyone.  He loves soccer.  He even loves playing Fifa with his dad.  He still loves super heroes and playing ninja turtles or legos.  He is unique.  He hates his puffy hair.  He wants to be an inventor which is perfect for his puzzle solving, lego building, creative mind.  He is silly.  He loves to giggle.  He knows when its time to be quiet.  He loves to solve things.  He loves to make things (I finally had to corral all his paper creations into a shoebox because they were taking over my kitchen).  He loves babies.  He is a little "absent-minded professor" sometimes, which makes me wonder what all goes through his mind.  He is sweet.  Hugs make him nervous, but he is starting to love him.  He wants to be a dad more than anything.  He is smart and clever and oh so cute.  

Birthdays are a little rough at our house.  With six brothers all so close together there is a lot of present envy.  Even Beckham was a little guilty of this this time.  I like my kids to share and more often than not whatever they get, minus bikes and scooters and such, goes into the common shared toy category.  Honestly we have so many boy toys it is ridiculous.  But, I always tell them for one day, on their birthday, they don't have to share, they can, but they don't have to.  Unfortunately, this makes all the brother envy really bad for that one day.  I think his birthday was filled with a constant whine and lots of alone time for everyone.  If I did not have this rule though, his brothers would never let him play with his own toys.           

I think Rylan asked me when his birthday was about 100 times that day and for the next few as well.  He kept telling me, "but I want it to be my birthday now."  He even helped Cohen blow out his candles.  

Despite, the brother envy, I think Cohen had a pretty good birthday.  He definitely told me and his dad that we were the best parents ever a time or two.  I love that he is so enthusiastic about his gratitude.  I remember when he was two for his birthday and Christmas he just kept saying "WOW! WOW! Thanks! WOW!"  He still gets that excited and I love it!  I really love his face while we sang to him.  Sums up this silly, thoughtful, fun kid perfectly! 

"Slow down, you go too fast . . ." -Simon and Garfunkle

Do you ever feel like maybe you're not a bad parent, but perhaps you could be a much better parent.  I just listened to a recording my #4 made on my phone.  Albeit, it was obviously bed time and he was not in bed, which is normal for him, but I was so dismissive.  He kept trying to tell me about a sweet new game while I was watching a soccer game and he kept getting the, "cool buddy, good, sweet," dismissive replies.  After three minutes straight of him trying to get my actual attention, some eye contact perhaps, I said, "please just go to sleep, I don't care anymore."  Rude!  Now, I can rationalize that is was probably well past bedtime and he was on the couch, where he ends up when he won't let everyone go to sleep after at least an hour of pleading, and so I was most likely exhausted and ready for some kid free time, but that still does not make being rude ok.

I have said it before, parenting is hard.  It's hard to always be the good example, to always be on your best behavior, even when you are an adult.  I think if we looked at how we reacted sometimes we would give our tired, fit throwing, fighting, whining kids' moments a little more patience.  In fact most of the time when my kids exhibit bad behavior I can see my bad moments looking me back in the face (shame).  Its a never ending circle of teaching and learning and growing.  Getting on the right track is the hard part, and relearning and reteaching is definitely the most difficult thing I have ever tried.  Old habits most assuredly die hard.  I remember when I was at least eight years old laying in my bed trying so hard to fall asleep without sucking my thumb and thinking, "I am never going to be able to do this, how will I ever fall to sleep?"

All we can do is learn and grow, break the bad and turn a new leaf.  Even if that leaf has to be turned over and over again, try is all we can do, and hopefully after 30 consecutive days of success a new good habit will be formed.  Those 30 consecutive days are definitely feel unattainable some days.  With Positive thinking in place, good thoughts, groovy vibes and all that jazz, I am on my way to trying.

One other quick thought.  I wish I could go back in time (and in the present) and pick up each of my two year olds and just hold them for an entire day and giggle and run and swing and play cars and explore everything on their level with them.  I have always had a new baby with each and every one of my two year olds.  As I have watched my #5 the past few months and how he has changed, had to change, it makes me a little sad.  With Ramsey I have noticed it the most for some reason, perhaps because I was sure he was my last baby and so I was holding onto the babiness in him.  Perhaps because with my others life was too busy or hectic or stressful, not that it isn't now, or perhaps I have grown.  I'd like to think it is the last.  Before #6 Ramsey was my shadow.  We cuddled in the morning.  We rocked throughout the day.  He played at my feet no matter what I was doing.  He was my velcro baby.  He wasn't needy, he just never got too far from mom.   Slowly as I have had to pass him off to dad or brothers so I could take care of Enzo, he has let go, and I am the one having the separation anxiety.  He is so independent some days I feel like I barely see him.  He loves to play alone.  Most days, once he realizes all the brothers are gone, he disappears into the toy room for hours only emerging for food or sleep.

On random mornings he will climb on my bed to cuddle, or try to rock with me and Enzo and even though I am the middle of a baby sandwich I let him because he just wasn't my baby for quite long enough, none of my two year olds were.  Slowing down and being still and noticing those moments when they just need to be with me, be my baby once again, even my ten year old needs them is something I have had to learn and am still perfecting.  Life is to busy and too short, but I want to remember those moments more than any other.

                        

 

Oh Blah Dee Oh Blah Dah . . .

I haven't written in a while because I have had so many thoughts bouncing around in my head.  It's amazing how hard it is sometimes to focus when there are so many things happening all around you.  I don't know about the rest of the world, but the Fall season for me is like a slam in the face of busyness and adjustment from the easy going life of summer.  Usually, I am distraught at the end of summer, and I dread the school year.  I don't like schedules, I am not a very structured person, although I should be.  I like having my kids around and doing things with them, that is until they start fighting.  I don't know if it because they are getting older, or the fact that I was pregnant and then recovery from baby has taken forever, so we were home a lot this summer and before, but my kids started fighting so much.  It makes me a crazy person.  So, this year, I was kind of excited for school just for the fact that they wouldn't have quite so much togetherness time.  Someday I hope they become best friends, and they have their moments now, but I truly hope that sooner than later they want to play and have fun together more than with anyone else.  I mean come on, to have five brothers to hang out with, how sweet is that?  This Fall has been no exception to the craziness that comes with it.  Everything starts and then some once school begins.

As all parents, I want the best for my kids.  I want them to succeed and excel and enjoy it in the process.  With this new school year (some dribbling over from last school year), we have had some new (and old) stresses.  I had a friend tell me that she was thankful for her kids personalities, even if sometimes they could be difficult at times, because at least they weren't boring.  My kids all have very distinct personalities and sometimes with those personalities and unique traits come some difficulties, but they are definitely not boring.

We will start with Gavin, my six year old.  As I have shared before, Gavin is hilarious.  He comes up with the funniest things.  He is a social butterfly, never stops talking even in his sleep, and loves to make people laugh (or cry, depending on the day).  Pre-school and Kindergarten for Gavin were a struggle.  It was almost as if he was stuck being three years old.  He didn't want to try new things: new things are too hard.  His Pre-K teacher started noticing a few weeks into his four-year-old class that he was just not interested in doing the work, he couldn't focus and plain didn't care to try.  When she bribed him it helped a little until the bribe didn't feel worth it either.

This dribbled over into Kindergarten where sadly his teacher basically wrote him off after the first six weeks.  At our conference, she basically made me feel like she believed he wasn't smart enough.  She started sitting him in a separate desk away from the class, she assured me this was better for him, but after reflecting on the year, I am pretty sure it was for her.  Now, I know Gavin is brilliant, anyone who talks to the boy knows he is intelligent, but he sure doesn't want to show it on paper.  At home he would do the work with me, but it did take a lot of coaxing and after school he was just ready to play.  So I struggled with what to do, his K teacher suggested redoing kindergarten and medication.  Those who know me know I do not do medication and by this time after she basically admitted that at first she thought he was dumb and now that she new he wasn't dumb, but needed medication, there was no way I wanted him to repeat Kindergarten with her.  I basically got the feeling that Gavin didn't fit into her mold and she just didn't want to deal with him.

I wrote a long note to the principal in hopes of getting the right First Grade teacher.  I am so glad I did because Gavin's teacher this year is amazing.  She loves Gavin!  Although, the first day she could see he had some issues with sitting still and staying focused, instead of separating him and making it known he was struggling, she gave him a reward.  Oh my, he was so proud of this reward (it is still on our fridge), and now he is doing so much better.  He actually brings papers home with writing on them!  Last week he brought home his first math homework, and I discovered he actually grasps math better than my older boys, win!  Yesterday he had his first spelling homework, which he did by himself and did it correctly.  Then, he read to me from his school books (he is in a reading and writing program to catch him up) and I nearly started to cry I was so so happy with how much he has progressed in only a few weeks.  I barely had to help him and he actually wanted to read.  I wasn't begging him to look at the next word, to sound it out, to try.  For these two women that have helped Gavin have some confidence, focus and pride, I am so thankful.  I am thankful they have the tools, that I do not, and the patience, that I do not.  Also, I love that both of these women have told me how much they love working with Gavin and appreciate how socially advanced he is.  Apparently he calls them both by name every time he addresses them, instead of saying teacher, and he wishes them both a good day when he leaves.  I love it.  I love that others can see the positive in this complicated little package who, if you try, you can see how amazing he is.

Now, I could write an entire book about my oldest (honestly I could about each of my boys), maybe someday I will, but this kid has always been amazing.  Beckham, he is ten going on twenty.  He is funny.  He is smart.  He is artistic even though I could barely get him to color when he was little.  He can tell you more animal and dinosaur facts than you can comprehend.  He loves nature.  He's been speaking sentences since a year and a half.  He could count to ten before two and tell you the name and sound of at least twenty animals.  By three he could say the alphabet backwards as fast as he could forwards.  He could count to a thousand before kindergarten.  He wrote a book about dinosaurs and won an award when he was six.  He loves to talk (he and Gavin have several similarities and yes they drive each other crazy), he loves to share everything he knows, he has an amazing imagination, he loves his brothers so much (even if he doesn't always act like it), he worries about others, he cares about others, he is silly and loves to laugh and play.  He makes friends easily.  He is shy only around girls he likes.  He wanted to get married when he was three.  He is unique.  He has long surfer hair, and despite the fact that the culture around us is primarily buzz cuts and he gets called a girl, he doesn't care.  He knows what he likes.  He can be annoyingly particular.  The sooner I accept it, the sooner the fight ends.

I have only ever had two people complain about Beckham.  His second kindergarten teacher (we moved in the middle, poor kid) and his current teacher.  His kindergarten teacher wanted him suspended the second week he was in her class for basically acting like a five year old boy.  The moment I met his current teacher, she reminded me of his kindergarten teacher and I had a knot the size of a bowling ball in my stomach.

I should have requested a change right then, but I decided to see how he did and how she did really.  I decided to let Beckham learn to deal with hard people.  He definitely does better with nurturing, loving teachers that allow a little fun. I should have known that when he threw away her handout in front of her, as he had read it and already knew the information before anyway, and she lectured him for a good two minutes (she was definitely offended) that this was a bad combo.  Beckham also has a need to understand why rules are what they are.  Which for me and my husband is still a lesson we are learning.  The "because I said so" doesn't work and really it shouldn't.  It should be ok to understand why something is required or asked of you.  He questioned some of her reasons for her rules (offended again).

For the first few weeks of school I kept encouraging Beckham to try and get along with his teacher, to respect her and her rules, despite the fact that he thought she glared at him everyday.  I reasoned with him, "well maybe that is just her face," but he insisted she smiled at others and only glared at him.  I tried to believe that he was internalizing things and it was in his head.  The first time she sent him to the hall was for laughing at someones joke.  They were talking about gas, and of course what ten year old boy doesn't automatically think of a fart joke.  Well, she deemed this inappropriate, and although Beckham was laughing as well as others, he was the one sent to the hall.  The second time she sent him to the hall was after he had already come home crying once.  He was feeling singled out and blamed for things he wasn't doing.  When he came home crying the second time in one week, I knew it wasn't just him.  He did make a comment under his breath about how it was just as he had thought after once again being blamed for someone else's noise, but come on.  How frustrating to feel like your teacher is singling you out for every noise in the class when you are trying your hardest to be good.  My heart was broken as he cried and told me, "she hates me mom."

How could someone hate or even make to feel hated this amazing, kind, helpful, funny kid.  Now mama bear was out of her cave.  No more benefit of the doubt.  You don't pick on my kid and get away with it.  I am ok with her strict rules.  I am ok with her nit picking, point taking on every homework assignment down to taking points away because a checkmark was placed instead of initials on my part.  I am ok that she isn't the warmest fuzziest teacher of them all.  I am not ok when you constantly call my kid out for something they are not doing.

When I spoke to her about it, she was immediately defensive and projected the issues onto the whole class.  She claimed not to ever say Beckham's name, but to address the whole class when a noise was made.  She claimed that the whole class had more noise and psychological issues than any other class she had ever taught.  She said that Beckham must be feeling guilty for his behavior and think she said his name every time.  She asked me to apologize for her and assure Beckham that she did not hate him, which I could be wrong, but I thought that was something she should clear up with him herself.  I asked her to please give Beckham some positive reinforcement so that he knew she saw him as more than a noise, maybe not in those words.

Now that I had the, he said she said, all I could do was wait.  I asked Beckham to pay attention when she asked that a noise stop, to make sure she was actually saying his name.  Sadly, the very next day, she called him by name to stop something he wasn't doing.  This continued for the rest of the week.  So now as a parent, I feel stuck.  I don't want Beckham to feel like I can solve every problem in life for him, but at the same time, I want him to know I will always be on his side even if its helping right something he did wrong.  I gave him the choice.  I said we can request you be moved, but that means you will start in a new class, and you will still have to see her for some section work they do with other teachers, or you can stick it out and just know that she will continue to single you out.  At first he wanted to stay, but after the fifth time of the same story he changed his mind.

Now I am waiting to talk to the principal where I feel like I will be defending my child and he the teacher.  I myself could not be an elementary teacher.  I don't have the patience or the love for all children.  I love my children and some other children but not all children.  I know it takes a special person to be a great teacher, and I really want that type of person for each of my kids.  I want my kids to feel loved by their teacher and excited about school.  You shouldn't be shut off by education in the fifth grade because of a teacher.  So, I am going to battle for my kid, which I will always do, and I hope its not as hard as I imagine.  I hope that the principal will see and believe Beckham's side and gladly give him a teacher that will love him and will teach him in a way that he can learn best.   He has had two great teachers the past two years, they loved him, they helped him, so I know its not Beckham.

Well, there is a portions of my stress.  It's amazing how writing things down helps me see them more clearly.  I know things won't simmer down until after Christmas, but I truly hope that I survive gracefully!      

    

Bright Eyes

                                                          

They say the eyes are the windows to the soul.  I believe to truly know a person, you have to know their eyes.  It's amazing how changing and how constant they can be.  I may or may not be alone in this but more than once with each of my children at different ages I have felt like I could see their soul through their eyes.  Almost as if I could see the man they would become.  Its a strange familiarity that I cannot quite describe and it comes and goes.  I was holding my baby Enzo this week and I had this deja vu sort of feeling as I looked into his eyes which suddenly seemed so full of wisdom (the day he was born I thought he had such wise eyes, an old soul) and it was as if I could see him for who he is inside instead of this sweet infant I have been sent to care for.  It truly is a remarkable feeling.  Almost like a glimpse into the future and the past all at once.  My belief is that as families we knew each other before we came to this life, that we loved each other long ago.  I think that is how we know our babies, love them so much from the minute we see them and even before.
         














This connection is sweetest I think when I have it with my babies, but I also love it when I am talking to my other boys.  As I watch my ten year old and see his mind work, and listen to his personality and I can imagine him fulfilling all of his dreams chasing animals and traveling the world.  Or, when my eight year old tells me how much he wants to be a dad when he grows up, so much, that he hopes his wife will work and he can stay home with the kids.  He is so sweet with all his brothers and I can see the dad inside of him already.  Or when my six year old tells me yet another tall tale and I just know in my heart that he will be a writer some day.  Or as I listen to my four year old playing alone and his imagination creating whole worlds.  Or when my two year grabs my face to make me look him in the eyes and gives me a kiss and I know he loves me even if he did lose his baby throne and feels often neglected.  Even with my thirty-four year old (my hubby), there were times when I didn't know which direction to go with him and then I would see his eyes and I knew he was still mine.  No matter when or where I have felt this, it has always been their eyes that give them away.  It has always been their eyes that seem to let me see into their sweet spirits if for only a minute.  I love it because sometimes we forget that people, even little people are more complex than we can see and this is my deepest reminder that we are all bigger than we know.

Enzo up until recently has been in the baby routine of eat, sleep, poop, but recently his little person has started to show his colors.  He is an amazing baby.  He rarely cries unless he is tired or hungry.  He has some cranky minutes at night, but basically he is perfect.  Well, yesterday he had been chillin' in his seat while I helped with homework and suddenly got whiney, then mad.  Scream-yelling (he really has the funniest cutest cry) that normally means he needs food or sleep.  When I sat down to feed him, he wouldn't eat, but just looked up at me with the biggest grin and started talking baby talk.  He just needed some mama time snuggling and chatting.  It was seriously so so sweet.  We sat there and talked for a good 20 minutes, then he snuggled into me and fell asleep.  I loved it!  Holding a baby as they fall asleep is honestly one of the best feelings in the world (as is watching your children sleep).  He is my last baby.  Despite all of the chaos I cherish the moments I get to just be with  him and relish in his sweetness.  Sometimes I forget to sit and enjoy my kids, but yesterday Enzo made sure I sat and enjoyed him for a minute.      

It is remarkable at how much our hearts can love, and it is so great that we have each other in this life.  I have said it before that sometimes I want to run away, but at the end of the day, after the chaos of after school homework and activities and dinner and bedtime, I wish I took the time to just be still more often and watch these boys before I blink and they are grown.  Maybe these moments of clarity when I can see through their eyes are a gentle reminder to slow down, take a breath, and live in the moment instead of rushing to whatever comes next because truly it all goes too quickly.  My oldest was just a baby I swear and now I have six babies, and the youngest is already growing too fast.

"Lightbulb" - Gru, Despicable Me

I know God gave us hormones for a reason.  Several reasons.  I know our bodies are these amazing functioning, reproducing, self-healing machines.  I am sure that when everything is in balance and functioning harmoniously, peaceful bliss charged with energy when needed is achieved.  That is what I want, and that is what I have not felt for a very very long time.

Part of what comes with being pregnant Every. Other. Year. for the past 11 years is the fact that nothing ever quite gets balanced out.  Your (my) hormones are constantly fluctuating trying to figure out what the crap they are supposed to be doing leaving you (me) with an emotional, angry, crying, tired mess.  I've had a rough few days.  By thursday the past few weeks I am literally wiped out.  Its like all the trying to be a good mom (yes, this takes serious effort on my part), to keep up with the house, the homework, the activities, the birthdays, the baby, the toddler, the tantrums, the fighting, the everything just slams me past overwhelmed and I feel like I can barely get out of bed by Thursday.  I need my Friday to come one day sooner I guess.  Thursday and Friday of this past week I felt like sleeping all day, I didn't, but I sure felt like it.  When I get to this point, everything feels so hard.  Replacing the water jug the other day caused me dehydration because walking outside and lifting the five gallon jug and carrying it ten feet just did not seem worth it.  And to top off the exhaustion of the new fall chaos, I mean schedule, my hormones have decided its time to change a bit resulting in the cascades of what feels like never-ending hair fallout and sever moodiness laced with anxiety.  SO MUCH FUN! GRRRRRR!!!

While I am in it, it is so hard to see past my bed.  I just want to lay in my bed and cry.  Unfortunately, (well sort of fortunate as well) that isn't aloud because so many little people have so many needs all the time.  After I simmer the hormonal surge down a bit I can see a bit more clearly and am reminded that I also have to take care of me.  Sadly, that is harder than ever to do.  However, I still need to find a way.   Through all of my trauma in life, the one and possibly best thing I have learned is that self care is so very important.  I know this example has been used a thousand times, but it is just so perfect.  In an airplane emergency you are instructed to secure your oxygen mask first and then assist others around you.  Now, to the mama in me, this does not make sense.  If I am in an emergency with my child, my instincts are to protect them, help them first and foremost.  But, if I pass out from lack of oxygen, what good am I to my child.  Right?  Exactly the same in life.  If I am so far past exhausted and burnt out that all I do is get frustrated and want to climb into my bed then I am truly not helping my children.

I had a good friend who has experienced a traveling husband with small children in her life tell me that the best thing she finally figured out was that she had to let some things go and not beat herself up about it.  Now beating myself up is one of my specialties.  My mom taught me well.  While I can tell her that she shouldn't do that to herself and that she is this amazing woman and has to believe that, it is harder to give myself that same self-talk.  If I take a nap, albeit very much needed, I feel guilty.  If my house isn't clean, which it rarely stays as clean as I would like, I yell first, then I feel guilty.  If I don't give each child special attention each day, I feel guilty.  Honestly, there are not enough hours in the day for me to do it all and have any sort of self care whatsoever.  So what is sacrificed, me. Somedays, its the shower, others my much needed exercise, and most always its the fun.  Especially since hubby has been traveling and we don't have our weekly date, the fun has gone way down.  There are many scriptures that talk about how men are to have joy, and I am not a scriptorian so I can only quote one, and I don't know the reference, so I won't.  But, it is time to find the fun again.  I used to be fun and silly and laughed and teased and danced and sang.  I really need to find that me again, for me and my families sake.  

So, after my third blow-up of the week, and all I could think of during it was that I wanted more out of this life than cleaning up after people over and over again, and wiping poop off of bums, and making other people food and breaking up fights and hearing "MMMOOOMMMM!"  I finally snapped out of "it" and remembered I need to take care of me too, otherwise, I am no good to anyone.  So, I used my hormone balancing oil, again, I got a drink of water  and took my pills, and I lay on my bed (after I vacuumed, and wiped all the pee off of everything in the bathroom of course) for an hour doing nothing but talking to my sweet baby boy (saving me once again).  It is my goal this week, even if it seems harder to keep this goal and fit it in to the chaos, to keep exercising everyday (keeps me sane), and to build something, even if its little.  I will let you know if I succeed.  I hope I do because I know there is so much more to me than cooking and cleaning and I will be a better mom and wife when I be all of that as well being me.

Mother's Intuition

Today I took #4, who is 4 to preschool! We tried last year and it was a battle everyday.  After a couple months of dragging him kicking and screaming, while I tried not to throw up, into the school, I called it quits.  It wasn't worth the trauma or the extra work while feeling miserable 24/7 on my part.  Now, this year he has been so excited to go to school.  It starts a week after all of the other boys of course, so he has been begging every morning since last week to go.

His name is Rylan, he answers to RyRy, and just recently decided to claim Rylan as his name as well. Rylan, as a baby, was perfect.  He was fat and rolly and happy.  He smiled and laughed all the time.  He was supposed to be my last, so I relished in all of his babyness.  I didn't push him to sit or roll or crawl or walk.  In fact I was happy for the three and half short months that he didn't move at all (yes, all my boys figure everything out way to early!).  I nursed him until he quit on his own, I know you're picturing a three year old still attached, but no he was 15 months and done.  He was easy, and sweet, and loved everyone.

When our family trauma hit Rylan was almost two years old.  My husband left.  Within maybe 2-3 weeks after he stopped coming home Rylan changed.  We all did honestly, but Rylan's change was the most apparent.  It breaks my heart to remember the day my sweet RyRy stopped laughing and hugging and began clinging to only me and screaming at everyone else.  I remember my mom came to dig me out of my black hole and he screamed at her the entire time she was here.  Anytime she tried to help him, he screamed and growled and ran to mom.  Two years and two babies later, Rylan is finally starting to let other people help him.   To let other people in.

My husband has been home for a year and seven months now after 15 months of roller coaster up and down, in and out.  In the beginning Rylan still screamed at him, refused to let him help him with anything, and refused to pay him attention or give him affection.  I can't imagine how badly that hurt my husband, but at the same time perhaps it was a hurt he needed to feel.  I know it saddened me to see how much damage had been done to my RyRy, how as a 2-3 year old he already harbored so much distrust, anger and pain.  I kept encouraging my husband to keep trying, but to let Rylan decide when he was ready, not to force it.  Little by little, Rylan let him back in.  It wasn't even every day at first.  But maybe just five minutes a week, he let his guard down and started to rebuild his relationship with his dad.  Now, after baby six, Rylan realized mom can't do everything.  He still has his moments where for whatever logic in his cute little noggin, only mom can make his cereal or start his movie or wipe his bum, but for the most part he will first ask for me then if needed ask for dad.  It was funny in the beginning of his trust building he would ask me then after I said hold on a minute, say, "can I ask Dad to do it?"  Rylan gives his dad hugs and kisses freely now as well, only on a really bad day will he refuse, and I love to see that healing and forgiveness that has taken place inside my sweet boys heart.

Back to today.  I was supposed to take Rylan to an open house to meet his teacher, the same teacher from our attempt last year, at the elementary school sponsored pre-school.  All summer I have been fretting about school for him.  Rylan, unfortunately still has a lot of the anger that he doesn't know how to handle.  I missed many teaching moments with him in some of my darker days and learning how to correct that has not been the easiest as I have my own impatience and anger to combat.  With this anger, Rylan tends to scream and yell when he doesn't get his way, and he also has a hitting issue.  With these issues, which I know where they stem from, family break down, and hello, fourth boy aggression, not to mention the overload of testosterone flowing through our house, but not everyone knows that (sometimes even those who do are not very understanding, another story).  So the elementary school preschool also has special needs kids, and Rylan is to be a role model and helper as well as a student.  Well, I was just feeling uneasy, as I had all summer.  Maybe it would have been good for him to be a role model, but my fear was that it would hinder his already faltering social skills rather than build them, add to his anxiety and anger, rather than diffuse them.  My fear was he would be too overwhelmed to grow.

At 8:30 this morning (after many many promptings in my thoughts, I'm not the best listener) I sent a text to #2's and #3's preschool teacher, who I loved, but she didn't offer 3 year old classes last year, and asked her if she had a spot for Rylan knowing that she probably started class today.  I had to swallow a bit of pride, hello flakey mom, texting the first morning of school asking to sign her kid up.  But, once she confirmed that she would love to have him and yes he could start today, I felt SO MUCH BETTER!

I am still nervous about how he will do, if he will scream at other kids, or hit them, or scream at the teachers, but I feel better.  I feel at peace with where he is.  This teacher knows me.  She knows we had a rough patch.  I will keep praying that I will know how to teach him, as well as my other boys, instead of react to their behaviors.  It is much easier to react than to teach, but not beneficial in the least.  I will also keep praying that Rylan will find a friend, a kid that is calm, and will see that you can react to life calmly and maybe I will learn to put that lesson into practice as well.

I am thankful for what some call intuition and what I like to call the spirit.  I am thankful that as mothers and parents, we have this gift, for without it I would surely be stumbling blindly throughout this life.  I am so thankful to have three, count them 1-2-3, mornings a week with only two kids at home.  It is so quiet!  Yes, my two year old has already picked up baby from the bouncy seat and hopefully set, not dropped, him on the floor after I hastily set him there unbuckled trying to get something done more quickly, but another lesson learned, and it is so quiet!  I am thankful for forgiveness and healing and the tender moments that make all of the hard work worth it.  I am thankful that after talking about the rules of school, that Rylan quietly went in and sat down and even though I could see he was a little nervous and overwhelmed when all the others started coming in that instead of crying and clinging to me, he asked me for a piece of gum to feel better (this is his prize for going to primary at church without crying).  I am thankful for the days I focus on my boys instead of reacting to them.  I am thankful for learning and growth.  I hope to continue down this path and pray that the stumbling rocky days will get far and fewer in between.