Cleaning House & Youth Entitlement Day 1

Who hasn't heard of the Tiger Mom?

Well, I believe that I found the softer, American version that I find INSPIRATIONAL.

I don't think I have been shy about expressing my slight dread of the summer months.

Look at how excited they are for summer, I feel evil for dreading it.

The truth is I can barely handle the household with the majority (ok half) of the kids out of my hair during most of the day.

When everyone is home it's constantly like a bomb has gone off.

This is so painfully true in my house.

I don't like it, but I feel like everything is out of my control when they're all home and under foot.

But I think I just found some hope.

A teeny tiny little glimmer of hope.

This woman was interviewed on the Today Show a while back.

Out of sheer desperation I went and bought her book hoping it would guide me.

I think I might have found a magic method of feeling like my house isn't constantly spiraling out of control.

I am determined to make this summer a summer to love.

And give me a chance to look forward to summer again.

It is written by a woman with 5 children, so I have a slight advantage only having 4.

Right?

What really rang true for me with her description of how she parented on the playground (completely not helicopter parenting) and how she parents regarding chores (so much easier to do it yourself than nag others).

I wanted to frantically raise my hand- like in class- and say that's me!  That's me too!!

Last night Mark and I told Carl, Charlie, and Elsa the plan.  This morning (Saturday) Elsa made her bed and picked up her bedroom without being reminded.

Carl and Charlie spring into action the second they remembered.

Hallelujah!!

I think it helps that there's money involved.  One dollar for every day they make their beds and clean up their rooms.  It has to be done by 10am.  If I find they haven't done those two simple tasks they lose one dollar.

This is the first month.  Creating the clean room habit.  Next month will be something too, slowly increasing their productivity.

There still is the toughest critic, we'll see how that goes...

And today I had to add in that a certain someone has been saying "no" to me and throwing wicked temper tantrums far too often for my liking.  So, I took that someone's dollar for today after they wouldn't settle down.  That same someone can earn the dollar back by being a good listener for the rest of the day.

My breath is held and my fingers are crossed.

Please oh please oh PLEASE let this work!

If I could be crazy enough to attempt and succeed at that insane HCG diet, I sure as heck should be able to teach my kids responsibility.

And that I won't always be there to do everything for them.

Wish me luck, and a stronger will than the sum of the little souls I'm trying to shape in to productive beings.

I WILL not fail.

Now, who wants to join me?:)

Father's Day

This is only my reflections on my dad, I know that everyone had a unique relationship with him and my siblings may see things far differently than I do/did.  I don't believe that we've ever really talked about it before, aside from reminiscing.

With Father's Day coming up, lately, I can't help but think a lot about my dad.

Look how young and cute we all are.

Not to be completely biased, but I really do think that he was the best one out there.

He loved to each of his four children unconditionally

and with his whole heart.

He also loved many of our friends just as much- with all that unconditional love.

And cousins too.

And OF COURSE his precious grand babies- the ones he got to hold and love and know.

I tell the ones who didn't meet him that he held them and loved them in heaven for me before they came down to join our family.  I like to believe that is true.

I know that he loved Mark.

In the 8th grade, when I broke up with Mark (who hasn't heard that sad, sad story?)

I think my dad would have chosen him over me.

Have you ever noticed, when someone that you love is gone, you search for similarities for that person with the loved ones you are surrounded by?

Scanning their faces, stances, and expressions for little reminders of people gone?

I see it a lot in my Charlie.

Not just appearances, but in some personality traits too.

When he was graduating from high school, my dad was awarded a choral scholarship to Central Washington University.

I wish that I could remember what his voice sounded like before his injury, when he was able to sing beautifully.

Don't get me wrong, he always loved music, it was always playing whenever he was around, usually accompanied by his soft whistle or "bum bum bum" and some singing.

I swear I must have heard that darn Aaron Neville and Linda Ronstadt cassette in his jeep 10 million, billion times.

When I was eight years old, my dad injured his back at work.  During back surgery he was left without oxygen long enough to cause brain damage.  What I know about his condition may not be 100% accurate.  It's what I gleaned from him, which may not be the most reliable source...  Many times I don't know that he knew entirely what was going on with his health.

I wish I could remember him before his accident...

He was a proud man.

And very good and hiding what he didn't want others to know.

He had to work very hard to do tasks most of us take for granted.

He often saw things as either black or white- not a lot of middle ground on a multitude of issues.  I think that may be why I consciously try to keep an even keel, perhaps even to a fault.

Because of living so closely (yet maybe not closely enough) with his experiences, I think that's why this blog resonated so strongly for me.  (Please please read that blog, it's SO wonderful.)

Anyway,

he had a lot of time on his hands.

He couldn't work for the majority of the years I had with him.

So, he created "quality time" or "qt."  Really that was just spending a LOT of time with me and my younger sister.

Many, many (did I say many?) times it annoyed me.

And I think that delighted him.

He cultivated my love of all things old and quirky.  We spent countless hours together, driving all over the county oogling historic buildings which definitely fostered my curiosity of old buildings- eventually that interest grew into a profession for me.

He trained me to see the value in a wide variety of things others might cast aside as garbage.

Anyone who saw his car must have known he was a hoarder, though we didn't know that term at the time.

He was one.

And I was mortified by it.

I didn't know what hoarding was or why he was like that.

I didn't understand.

It was after he died that I watched a news story about hoarders on abc or nbc.  They had taken brain scans of someone throwing way seemingly useless things in a hoarder's possession- years old magazines or something like that. The person whose items were being tossed out had brain activity that was similar to a person being tortured. It was something along these lines or this.

I had gone to my dad's house and thrown away tons (literally) of garbage from his place.

I had tortured him.

Not out of evil intent, only good and loving intentions.

I didn't know.

Regret is a pretty awful feeling.

I regret that I threw away his possessions (truly it was trash not treasure-see?  I'm defending myself here?).

I regret the day I didn't answer the door when he tried to stop by to visit.

I regret that I wasn't more patient.

I regret that I didn't help him more.

I regret that I didn't advocate for him.

I regret that I didn't know that I should have advocated for him

I regret that I didn't hold his hand more often or snuggle him every chance I had.

I regret that he never got to attend one of my kids sporting events.

It dawned on me the other day that not only would my dad have attended every possible event.  He would have looked forward to it!  Pre-school and kindergarten graduations, football, basketball, and baseball games, cheerleading, concerts- all those things would have been the highlight of his day.

His grandchildren's schools would have been frequent halls for him to travel.

He was the most generous loving man you could imagine.

And I still miss him every single day.

An early happy father's day dad, I love you and know you feel me missing you.

*Shortly after writing this I spoke at a volunteer group meeting about my profession.  Afterwards I was approached by a woman who told me she used to sit across from my dad doing woodcarving.  It was an activity where he could be artistic and social in a safe group.  I was stunned and asked her how she knew I was his daughter.  She was very sweet but looked at me like she was thinking, "Duh" She kindly said he talked a lot about me.  I'm sure he talked a lot about all of us.  But I swear I felt like he was with me right then and there.  I wanted to hug her.  I don't know why I didn't- too reserved for my own good.  It's funny, they had asked me how I became interested in my profession and I almost answered- from hours and hours and hours of driving around with my dad (listening to Aaron Neville and Linda Ronstadt belt it out) looking at old buildings.  
"I don't know much, but I know I love you...  And that may be, all there is to know...."

Sleepytime

There's no better feeling, when you're a mama, than watching your babies drift off to sleep knowing that

they are content,

they feel secure,

and they are precious and perfect and loved beyond measure.

The Secret Pile

Lately, Elsa's been mounding up secrets to keep in her metaphorical "secret pile."

It started with a whispered one to Mark one day, "Daddy I have a secret but we have to keep it in the secret pile."

He claims he leaned close to hear, looking forward to what crazy comment she'd have.

"I love mommy more than you."

Ouch.

That stings.

I don't care who you are.

Then I got a secret from the secret pile.

"Sometimes us boys and girls pee in the shower."

Nice.

I kind of wish I didn't know that secret.

I wonder what else is lurking in that cesspool of a secret pile.

Though yesterday she did tell us (Mark and me) that we can call her "princess" but not in front of ANYONE and it "HAS TO STAY IN THE SECRET PILE."

There must be a little goodness in that pile after all.

I don't care if she wears boys clothes from head to toe,

has a swagger to rival any pro athlete,

and can spout profanity like a sailor...

she'll always be my little princess.

But I will respect her wishes and keep it in the secret pile.

One Plop

Today was Sarina's Pops Concert.

The music teacher at her school is phenomenal.  How that woman can manage to get those kids to produce sound that resembles real music is beyond me.

The kids even recognized some songs and were humming along with the bands.

Anyway, in the cozy gym with a million of our closest friends, and a balmy 100 degrees...

We're all settled in the bleachers-3 people deep when I keep smelling pure poop.

Not one blast

but a few.

Then Elsa's asking me to take her potty.

Her reasoning was pretty great.

"It's only poopoo.  One plop and it's done."

Maybe for you kid.

Here she is playing with the entertainment she packed for herself.

And yes, that's my big knee in the way, those bleachers leave NO PERSONAL SPACE!!!

Can you see the sweat running down my leg?

Well, it's there.

Summertime is just about here.

I'm sobbing and cheering all at the same time.

I choose this to be good luck

I know I've been pretty silent on here.

Sadly, that's because I'm running around like a chicken with its head cut off.

End of school season.

It's a marathon at sprint pace.

Have you read this post?  It's SPOT ON!!!

But today this was too good to pass up.

After a morning of peace, an hour and forty minute long dr apt (I got cleared for an MRI-yay!) race to JUST make it on time for Sarina's POPs concert, back to town for rollers for Mark, pick up pizzas for easy dinner since we get to go back to school for an evening POPs concert.

I was psyching myself up to reach my hand into our sugar ant infested mailbox when I felt something hit the top of my head.

Thinking a cricket jumped REALLY high, I reached up to wipe it off.

Nope, not a cricket.

Bird poop.

Yup.  Story of my days lately.

But, you know they say it's a sign of good luck...

That's what I tell my unfortunate friends who seem to get pooped on far more often than I would think is normal (Kara).

Now it's what I'm telling myself.

It's good luck that my MRI will show something fixable with my ridiculous back/leg/whatever pain.

Good luck that the kids will coexist peacefully this summer.

Good luck that our aging puppy dog will kick around a few months longer.

Good luck that my not one but TWO historic tour brochures due this fall will go smoothly.

Good luck that Mark's business will continue to grow.

Good luck that Elsa will settle nicely into kindergarten in the fall.

Good luck that Charlie will transition beautifully into all day everyday school- first grade.

Good luck that Carl will continue to thrive in school.

Good luck that Sarina will grow into a mature, even tempered middle schooler.

Hmmmm, maybe I should go sit under the power lines with a loaf of bread so I can get pooped on 10 million more times.

And this is the shocker.  I actually contemplated just wiping my head with the diaper wipe I used to clean my poopy hand and call it good.

Pre-children Jen NEVER would have even considered that as an option.

It seems that at this point in my life I'm far too busy for OCD.

Darn bird poop.

I never saw it coming.