Managing five

It wasn't so long ago I sat in Kristina's living room and listened to several women I admire talk about five children being the testing point in their careers as stay at home superstars. These women have amazed me in many ways. These are the kind of women who lovingly place their warm apple pie in the window sill to cool while they help their children understand everything from Paul to polynomials, then off to soccer practice then back to their immaculate home in time to have dinner steaming on the table for their husband.

For lack of a better word it was wonderful to see the human side of these women. Now I am there, where they were... at five kids, trying to figure out how to balance it all "through my Christ who strengthens me."

Celi

Baby Maria Andrea is here

Well, the baby was born one month ago and now I find the time to post here about her arrival. Baby Mary is here. She was born on February 14, 2010 at 12:02pm. She weighed 7 lbs 8 ozs and was 19 inches long. The labor was manageable and never got very intense. In fact, I remember vividly cleaning Joshua's Valentine candies off of his face and hands at nine centimeters. The birth; however, was a different story. Fortunately, the keen observations of the midwives saved Mary's life and maybe my own. One emergency c-section and a lot of pain meds later we were both nestled in our hospital beds (she in NICU and me too far from her) ready to start our new adventure together.

Unfortunately, I am on a different computer which does not have her picture on it but I will TRY to post it later.

Love and hugs,
Celi

Myths

Visiting my sister has been long overdue. It was good to see her. She looked good. Happy. Carrying this large book in her arms she plopped it on the seat next to me, "Look up your birthday. This book is amazing."
"What?" I replied. I stared at the image across it and knew within moments what was before me. It was an astrology book. For a brief period of my former life I did dabble in making astrological charts for people. Making those charts helped me realize how truly general and sensational astrology was. "No thanks, Sis" I responded handing her the book. I could read May 25th or September 17th and still find something that related to me.
"Sash," that's my family nickname, " Don't be such a dork. Just read it." So I flipped it over to my page. My sister grabbed the book and started reading on my behalf.
"This is so you," she said, "You love to write. You're creative. And independent?" I caught her pause, "Hmmm... well, maybe BEFORE you got married."
"What's that supposed to mean?" I asked. She didn't respond but I knew.
Homemakers aren't seen as independent, or strong, or self-sufficient, or anything other than some weak, mild mannered bread baking homely pilgrim farmers wife doting on her ungrateful husband and raising his brood of unintelligent, sarcastic kids.
Awhile ago, Todd Friel of Wretched radio brought a guest on his show: Suzanne Venker. She is the author of Seven Myths of Working Mothers. You can find her book here: http://suzannevenker.com/content/book.asp?id=Description
During the interview she spoke of the flawed viewpoint much of modern day society has on the role of the homemaker. One was that men have it all. "Why can't women have it all?" These people say. Ha. Like some thief came in and robbed us of all independence when we chose to stay home and raise our kids.
What I want to know is HOW do men have it all? Think about it. I honestly have the greatest job. I really do. I work for and with a house full of people who love me. My husband is a respected contributor of his company. However, if he screwed up on a marketing presentation he had to conduct in front of the president of said company I highly doubt his boss would squeeze his shoulder and tell him, "That's okay Buddy. Better luck next time."
My consequences are not as great solely because I am loved. "That's okay if you burned dinner mommy/ Honey. Sandwiches are a great second choice."
Also, men don't get to spend as much time with their children as women do. They are off working in the world, paying the bills, stressing over issues related to work then coming home and dealing with the issues presented there. I manage one team: my home. My husband manages two: his work team and his home team. Would I trade places with him? Would I give up the time I am given here with our children in order to push papers for someone who could fire and rehire me in seconds? Not a chance. Sorry, men don't have it all. Women do. And for that we need to pray for our husbands. One thing my husband yearns for is his time managed in a way that he can enjoy more time with us. I don't blame him. Life is great here.
But if anyone were to think for one minute I gave up myself, any part of myself, to take on this job, they are dead wrong.
If anything, with God's help, it has only grown me in ways I never thought imaginable.

Family Dog

I am not a dog person. Not at all. I can count the number of dogs I actually care for to some degree on one hand and have three fingers left over. One of those dogs is...ahem...uh...the one we currently own. Now I know if my husband sees this he will jump in the air ecstatically. He is a dog whisperer and he loves our dog.

I just don't get it. They need constant maintenance: walks, poop clean-up, baths, and if you want to go on vacation forget it! Where are you going to put your dog?

The reason I tolerate Rosie is because she is an easy low-maintenance dog. She is great with kids. She doesn't bark ALL THE TIME, but if someone hangs too close to our house for too long she'll let out a low growl just to let them know she is there. She loves just about everyone she sees but I did personally witness her chase after a landscaper that helped himself into our backyard without asking and even our pest guy gets it unless I send him through the front door first to get the "sniff check". If she runs off and you call her she comes back. She won't even eat her food until you nod to her that it's ok.

But I feel bad for this dog because James is always at work and she is always here with me, looking at me with big ole doggie eyes wanting me to pet her or show her some kind of love and I just can't. If I get up, she gets up and follows me then lays at my feet and looks at me longingly waiting for me to love her. Urgh...so I get up again and tell her to "Stay!" And she stares at me cock-eyed then when I walk away she sneaks behind me to whatever room I am in and crawls into a dark corner where I shouldn't see her but she sees me. I have labored many babes and when I labor my dog is there..this time not at my feet but lying down watching me, making sure I am ok. I'll even yell at her and tell her to go away because she stinks! She just sulks to a farther corner and circles around a few times before settling in but she won't leave. She just watches. Why?

Why does this dog love me so much? Seriously? I don't understand how an animal can have such amazing devotion and loyalty to someone who doesn't treat her as well as someone else would.

I wonder sometimes how much Rosie would thrive in another house. She seriously would. I know plenty of people who have asked to own her at several points through our lives together. My husband and my kids vehemently say "no." So, I sigh and I throw my fist in the air and I loudly proclaim, "Lord, why?!" But I know in my heart of hearts if anything happened to this hairy smelly beast I would be heartbroken. Grrrr.....

The Adventure of the Crawling Shirt

My son is diagnosed with OCD. Not the OCD your overly type-A friend proudly proclaims to have when she hands you a white glove and dares you to find dirt in her perfectly coiffed museum worthy surgically sterile home.

No, this is the FOR REAL OCD. The type that causes you to wash your hands sixty times every single instance you open your door and only after you have alternated locking and unlocking said door sixteen times in flawless repetition.

My son, whom I love more than myself, has an incredible desire to wear the same outfit, everyday, all the time. It used to toss between three shirts and two pairs of jean shorts which was manageable between laundry loads but constant wear caused one shirt to bear holes in the elbows and the other just got too small for him to keep on wearing. Of course, the eighties are back in style, so I could technically allow my son to wear an overly tight midriff even though it isn't net and he MIGHT get away with it.

...NAH...

Well, he has a Wall-E shirt that was given to him by his cousin. This is the last shirt standing. Everyday he wears this thing...even to bed! It has stains all over it and I try, boy do I ever, to get him to take it off even for just an hour so I can wash it but he has perfected the art of not acknowledging my existence during times such as these.

Today is a new day. Today I took him to the store and bought him a Bumblebee costume for his cousins birthday party. This little boy was so elated you couldn't get him to take that Wall-E shirt off fast enough.

Now, he is running around in his Bumblebee outfit and I am left with the task of washing the Wall-E shirt in a much needed bath. This shirt was so dirty I watched it crawl pitifully to my washer, open the lid and tumble right inside. Puffs of dirt escaped the neck collar as it loudly proclaimed for me to close the lid and add the soap, "Do it Now for the Love off all things clean and holy!"

So, I listened to the exhausted pleas of a dying dirty shirt. The Bumblebee costume has no idea what it has gotten itself into.

Potty humor

Urgh...day number four without sleep. It begins. The Back Family Phoenix Adventure: Take 100, or 60, or just a break! I just got done reading a friends blog post about her kids screaming for her while she was using the bathroom and I laughed. How many times does this happen to you? Honestly. I can't remember the last time I used the bathroom without four smiling faces staring at me.

"Mom, whatcha doing" they say
"Do you really want to know?" I retort back

Today I stood squished in the corner of my shower, cold, clutching to any remnant of warm water that fell against my shoulders and tightly wound hands, and I tried to remember the last time I actually took a shower by myself. I couldn't remember. It reminded me of my friend, full in the belly pregnant, telling me how much she enjoyed her showers. "That's my me time." she said

I laughed then. I wonder what she thought when I did that. She probably thought I was an insensitive jerk, and she'd be right. I told her to enjoy it while she could.

I think about her everytime I try to sneak away and snag some "me time" in the shower. It's quickly short lived. I think the sound of running water is like some sort of dog whistle for kids. My toddlers normally are first in line stripped naked and opening the frosted glass door.

"Mommy, can we take a shower with you?"

Then the almost 13 month old baby climbs into the shower next, diaper and clothes and all.

He could care less.

Finally followed by my big girl. She never asks. Just looks at me longingly wanting to be included in the fun. At this point, why not, I say?

Another friend of mine has teenagers. She says it doesn't change when they get older. They just call to you through the door to refrain from the site of your hideous nakedness... or bang on it profusely until you get out.

Kids rock.

Petrified Marshmallow Brick

Michael located a bag of really old marshmallows in the pantry. He unwrapped his secret treasure and started devouring it with great pleasure. By the way, the marshmallows were so old they fused together. Evidence that kids will eat most anything if an abundance of sugar is involved. Michael chewing on his petrified find. He giggled profusely, "This is my sandwich!" He said with great enthusiasm. Nice dream buddy...
"No really Mom, I like it."

Sarah wanting to take a bite. Michael relents after some prodding, "Fine Fifi, only one bite." he says with great exasperation.

Sarah is sad, "Hey! I didn't even get a piece!"

The petrified marshmallow brick has now been confiscated by the baby

Chew. Chomp. Gurgle. Mmmm.... "This tastes better than stinky organic vegetables mama!"

Michael has eyed his brother chomping on his puffy treasure and snags it! "Wah!" Joshy proclaims.

The brick is carried off by big brother and only remnants of its disgusting carcass are left on my office mat.The sad thing is even the dog won't eat it. That says something right there...