Parenting Moments: F is for Fail…

 

I think I must be doing this wrong. Somewhere along the line, I missed out on some essential child-rearing information; maybe I lost the manual…

Okay, okay. But if there had been a manual, I would have lost it.

Every day, my seriously awesome and adorable children come home from school and I pull up their daily school report thingy.  It tells us what grades they got on what and if there are any missing assignments still outstanding.

And this is when I start to feel twitchy.

‘Why is this still showing as missing?’

‘I don’t know. Maybe the teacher forgot to enter it in?’

‘REALLY?’

‘Er. I don’t think I turned it in’

Frustration starts to set in.

‘This one is STILL missing?!? It’s from March!’

‘I finished that. But I don’t remember if I turned it in either.’

At some point in this process, I become completely amazed that I haven’t pulled all of my hair out. Or thrown something. Which only happened once, scared the bejezus out of both myself and the kid, and left me with an underlying guilt concerning books and how they’re not known for their flying ability.

It’s also at this point that I begin to feel that somewhere, somehow, I have failed to teach these kids how to be successful in school, which in turn will lead to their failure at adult life, and that in twenty years, I’ll find them living in a van down by the river.

I guess I assumed that if MC and I always made school a priority, that the kids would too.  Not the case, as I’m finding out. But maybe that’s okay… no, really!

Because it makes me have to look at my kids as a whole and not just the reflection of their grades, I have found some really amazing qualities that I might not have noticed otherwise.

Also, I might just be saying that to make myself feel better about this situation. 

How do you feel when your kids don’t  perform to your expectations?  Or perhaps this only happens to my kids…

(sigh)

A Few Selfish Sentences…

I am supposed to be cleaning all the junk that’s lying around our house, leftovers from our recent trip to Arizona. But nothing is done and I’m still in my pajamas at 11 am. 

{I spent an hour last night picking out Bitty’s outfit for today}

As long as I was pretending to be some expert, easily spouting out medical terminology and assuring everyone that this thing is really nothing, just a little thing to get mended up… I was fine. 

{It seemed incredibly important to me that she look her absolute cutest for this appointment}

But yesterday, I realized how scared I was.  When she came to me, told me ‘it’s happening again’, and I picked her up and felt the frantic beating of her heart… I wanted to hold her close and squeeze her and never let go… but I set her down and told her to go rest until it stopped. 

{I tore apart all her bins until I found the matching hair bow}

Because I can feel it when I’m holding her. And it feels like it’s beating out of her chest. And that… makes it very, very real. And suddenly, I am selfishly wishing this wasn’t happening to her and that I didn’t have to be so worried.

 

Philippians 4:6

{Not} Thinking Out Loud…

Yep.  I’m holding out on you, people. 

I have a lot buzzing around in my head, but I still can’t bring myself to say it out loud.  Maybe I don’t want to jinx it.  Maybe I’m afraid what people will think.

It’s not a bad thing, to be sure.  But instead of just writing it out and being all excited, I keep typing a sentence, then deleting it.  Then, staring at a blank screen…

Maybe it’s because I’ve started so many things that I never followed through with.  Maybe I realize that once I write it down, I have to accept the truth of the statements I write.  Maybe it’s because I want everything I write to only be the truth and not some gloss over.  Maybe, maybe, maybe…

Although I’m tired of the maybes, I guess I’m not ready to say it out loud.  I really thought I was… honestly and truly told myself that I’m not afraid anymore.  But the fact remains:  I can’t write about it right now and the original post I wrote in April is still sitting in my drafts.

When I read over the one I wrote in April, it makes me happy and it makes me cry at the same time.  It makes me sad for the past and excited for the future.  That should be a good thing, right?

So what’s holding me back?

I guess for now, I am…

Thinking {In My Head}.

Barbecue Safety…

Here I was, surfing the Internets looking for lovely ideas for my back patio, when I came across the most horrific, terrifying picture that I have ever seen. 

Alright, I take that back as I might have been exaggerating a bit.  It is certainly the second most horrifying picture I have ever seen though.  And I immediately thought of the safety of you, my readers. 

With the upcoming Fourth of July holiday coming up, many holiday revelers will be hosting fabulous barbecues in their backyard.  And among your guests might be someone you know… maybe you’ve known them for a long time…

But did you know… that in the comfy confines of their own yard this person…

This person… is willing to do this (for the squeamish, please avert your eyes now):

 

 

 

{WHAT PERSON IN THEIR RIGHT MIND TOOK THIS PICTURE?!?  AND WHO IS THE PERSON HOLDING THAT SPIDER?!?} 

I assume this photo was taken right before the spider performed a super-tastic death leap at the person holding it and then ate them.  Because it’s that big.

*I am also assuming that everyone else is afraid of giant, hairy wolf spiders.  And also of people that are willing to hold giant, hairy wolf spiders. 

So, in the interest of safety, I think you should screen all your future barbecue guests just to be sure that none of them are secret Spider-Holders.  Spider-Holders that are willing to compromise your family’s right to a safe and spider-free backyard get together.

I apologize in advance for the creepy crawly feeling you will probably have for the rest of the day… 

*If you really want to see the source of that picture, then click on it.  I dare you… ; )

Confessions #1

 

I don't know about you, but I like the thought of spending a little quiet time with God everyday. Offering up my prayers and praises and allowing God to be the center of my day sounds great. 

But sadly, I have to tell you that it rarely happens that way.  Instead, and I am slightly ashamed and embarrassed to tell you, I find that my quiet time with God ends up being in the bathroom. 

Sorry... but I labeled this post 'confessions' for a reason.  If you're offended and would like to leave now, please follow this link that will take you to an awesome post that doesn't involve bathrooms.

I would like to point out that I have now deleted several sentences using the word 'throne' because they were irreverent and possibly sacrilegious.

Getting back to my point, I've come to realize that I've filled my day with all the trifles that swallow up our time:  Kids dressed, kids fed, to school on time, playtime with Bitty, cleaning, laundry, checking email...

The only time I'm not completely engrossed in an activity is, well... potty time.  At some point, since I was sitting there with nothing else to do, I began praying about things going on in my day.  Almost immediately I would then pray an apology to God for praying while sitting in the bathroom.

Worse, I usually ended up with a back and forth dialogue in my head that sounded something like this:

Me:  Oh my gosh, really?!? Who prays in the bathroom?
Me:  C'mon, God doesn't care where you are when you talk to Him.
Me:  Okay, but seriously... there's no other time in you can set aside to do this?
Me:  You know, God made your body and He's not asham…
Me:  WHAT?  Where are you coming up with this stuff???

Now, my question is this:  Besides the fact that (based on the conversations going on in my head) I sound like a complete nut case, is there anybody out there that thinks praying in the bathroom is acceptable?  Is anybody else doing this, or is it just me?!? 

                                   {The room where all my best thinking takes place?}

 

 

Our Easter Involved Rodents... Did yours?

This is a cautionary tale. Or tail, as it were...



It was the Saturday evening before Easter and the Easter Vigil Mass had just ended. Since it was a little after ten P.M. the Master Chef had taken the BLT (Bitty, Lovely L, and T Bub) home to put them to bed. I stayed behind and helped clean up the snacks and goodies provided to help welcome our newest members into the Church.

So it was after eleven when I pulled into our driveway, tired and happy, and looking forward to climbing into my jammies before getting eggs ready for the Easter Bunny. The Master Chef had already gotten the Easter bin out of the garage and brought it into the living room. Settling on the floor beside him, I began pulling plastic eggs out of the bin and popping the two halves apart. The next five minutes sounded something like this:

Me: Hey. This egg has a big hole in the top. How'd that happen? I don't think it could've broken in a perfect circle like that... (looking closer) Is that scratch marks? WHAT THE HECK?!? OH MY GOSH, THAT'S MOUSE POOP!!! THERE'S MOUSE POOP IN THE BOTTOM OF THE BIN! HONEY!!!!! LOOKIT!!! OHMYGOSH THAT'S DISGUSTING, IT'S EVERYWHERE! THEY TRIED TO EAT THEIR WAY INTO THE EASTER EGGS!!!!

Master Chef: Oh. Okay, so what do you want me to do?

Me: HONEY ARE YOU SEEING THIS? OHMYGOSH, THAT IS SO NASTY!!! THEY TRIED TO CLAW AND CHEW THEIR WAY THROUGH THE EGGS!
At this point it is now midnight, and technically Easter morning. And although I knew our options were slim, I had absolutely no desire to use those eggs. But really, what choice did we have? I couldn't think of any stores that would be open after midnight on Easter and we had no other Easter eggs.


My absolute horror at the situation did not make an impression on the Master Chef, however.

Master Chef: So you want me to wash these? I'll use Lysol.

Me: (to myself) I... I can't touch these... mouse disease... mice chewing, clawing... mouse poop..

Master Chef: Okay, so I used disinfectant, and these are dry.

Me: (still muttering under my breath) Mouse disease... on the Discovery Channel... really bad... mouse poop... diseases...

Master Chef: Are you going to help or what?

And then the Easter Bunny hid the eggs.


Thankfully we've never had any mice in the house (except for one time, but that's another story). However, it's clear that we need to do some mouse removal in our garage *shiver* Ugh...

Apron & Chef Hat, Part 1...

I haven't sewn many things in my lifetime, and those few things were generally pretty awful. I mean, I could mend things like a hole in a shirt and sew on Boy Scout patches. But true sewing, no way.

Because if I’m being honest with you, I am afraid of sewing machines. Seriously, what’s not to be afraid of? In my middle school Home Ec. class three kids ran the needle through their fingers, people! Let’s read that again: RAN A NEEDLE THROUGH THEIR FINGER. So I pretty much said goodbye to sewing machines after that.

Fast forward (mumble, mumble) years later, and Lovely L gets a sewing machine for Christmas. I realize that I either have to learn to use the thing to teach her how, or just let her go at it and hope I don’t have to make a trip to the E.R. to have the needle removed from one of her fingers.

The first project I decided to tackle were pillow covers for our couch.

I was so astonished that they turned out great (my exact thought when I finished them was, ‘holy schnikes, these aren’t crappy!’) that I set about finding other projects I could sew. I knew Lovely L was having a cooking themed birthday party and thought how cool it would be to make her an apron and chef hat to wear for her party.

In the meantime, I sewed the top of these curtains together. The red part and the stripy bit had been hanging for a year held together by just sewing pins.

And still enthralled with my pillows, I pretty much barraged the Master Chef with my constant insistence that he look at my amazing creations.
‘I made these! Sweetie, can you believe that I MADE these???’ I don’t do ‘amazing’ all that often, so apparently I have to beat it to death when I do.

Full circle to Lovely L’s apron. Even after finishing my (angels singing) amazing pillows, I found I was still hesitant to sit back down and sew again. My head was filled with all the various ways the needle could stab and attack me.
And so on our dining room table the machine sat, with its giant man-eating needle, mocking me and forcing our family of five to sit at the dinette table, where only four of us fit. This was getting ridiculous. I was just going to have to bite the bullet and do this.

Next time: How I overcame my fear of sewing machines and a how-to make your very own apron : )