Mom to the Screaming Masses

Quiver Full, anyone? This topic

Quiver Full, anyone?
This topic will be controversial to some. I'm not telling anyone how to live their life, nor am I passing judgement.

I have a friend I'll call Lou. Not her real name, but close enough. She's is one of the happiest people I have ever met in my life. She's the daughter of one of my old teachers, someone I've known for a while. To look at us, you really wouldn't think we could be friends. I am proudly Catholic; she's an equally proud Baptist.(I think). She homeschools; I don't know if I ever will. She home churches; we attend a church with 5000 families. To look at her house, you'd think she'd be depressed. After all, she and her hubby live in a 3 bedroom townhouse with 6 kids. We have a larger house, and the same number of kids. Her house is a chaotic, unorganized tumble, and yet she is beyond happy. She radiates enthusaism, excitement, and love. Her children are phenomenally happy, well adjusted, and first time obedient. She is everything that I am not, and all I strive to be.

She is the person who introduced me to the concept of "being quiver full". Based on Psalm 127:3 - 4:

"Lo, children are a heritage of the Lord, and the fruit of the womb is his reward. As arrows are in the hand of a mighty man, so are children of the youth. Happy is the man whose quiver is full of them: they shall not be ashamed, but they shall speak with the enemies in the gate."

Having a large family in a day and age when family isn't important to most people makes it really hard to find someone to talk about the daily difficulties with. The vast majority of the time, people make comments like "Well, if you didn't have so many kids....." and "Of course you are tired. After all, your body isn't made to have all of those kids". It seems that people are quick to point out that we do not have to have so many children, basically blaming me for making my life so hard. Almost as if, since you had all these kids, it serves you right if you are struggling. I know moms with one or two children struggle, but that seems to be acceptable. After all, the American dream is to have your boy and girl, get them raised, and get on with your life. The children are an interruption, rather than a reason. What is really interesting, and disheartening, has been the reactions when I have announced my last three pregnancies. I definitely can sympathize with an unwed teenager. With my first couple of kids, everyone was so happy for us. The last ones have been greeted with "Oh, no! Did you mean to do this? We need to buy you guys a tv for your bedroom! God didn't mean for you to populate the world singlehandedly! What are you going to do?" Well, it's just having a baby. And I'm happy each and every time. But, boy is it hard to fly in the face of that day after day. Depressing, too. (Note: I'm not expecting now. Just running off at the mouth.)

So, Lou goes against all of that. When she and I first started talking, she had, I think, 3 kids, and I had 2. She announced a pregnancy to me, one that ended in miscarriage. She was devastated. I really couldn't figure it out; I mean, she already had 3 kids, how many more could she want? Didn't she want to DO something, BE something, MAKE something of herself??? We started to talk about being quiverfull. She and her husband fully believe that God sends children in his time, not yours. They are open to as many children as God will send, fully in His time. This principle actually made a lot of sense to me. It's one that isn't taught in the Catholic faith, although the use of birth control goes against the teachings of the church. That means ANY birth control, including and especially those with abortifacient properties, such as the pill and the IUD. (As an interesting aside, until 1930, all Protestant denominations agreed with the Catholic Church’s teaching condemning contraception as sinful. At the 1930 Lambeth Conference, the Anglican church announced that contraception would be allowed in some circumstances. Soon the other Protestant denominations followed suit.)

Being QF flies strongly against the societal norm. It's relying solely on God for all your needs. To a control freak like me, it's extremely scary. Being QF means that you trust that God will supply your every need - that God knows what you want and need before you do, and will fill those needs. It's basically saying that God does know best. Those are words that I can say so easily, and have SUCH a hard time living.

Being QF makes Lou happy. I've never met a person so happy, so at peace with life. And life has really thrown her some curves. She radiates joy. I, on the other hand, don't. I struggle with knowing what to do, when to do. I struggle with the thought that I could have half a dozen more kids in the next six years. I spoke to Lou today, and she made a great point. God opens the womb, and only He closes it. I could have six more kids in six years, or never have another.

She relys fully on God. She doesn't worry about anything. She finds her strength in prayer and Bible study, both things that I need to increase. I want to be like Lou.

So, one of my

So, one of my daughters is 9, going on 19. She thinks she knows it all, and the rest of the family isn't worth her time or effort. She yells at everyone, is snarky and rude, and exhausting. She wears me out, just in the hour it takes from her rising to her departure for school. I can't wait for her to leave sometimes. And yet, when she wants to (or wants something!) she can be as pleasant and peaceful a child that has ever existed. If I was to cook every meal according to her, buy only the things that she wants, let her have an unlimited amount of tv time, she'd still find something to fuss about.

It's hard for me to be the adult with her. I want so badly to scream, and yell, and kick and slap, just as she does. What kind of a lesson is that, though, especially to the other kids? (a damned good one, sometimes!)The times that I lose it are the times she gets more and more out of control, and the other kids follow along. The entire family spirals down, and I am the only one to bring it back up. When hubby is home, it's different. It's not just me, and I can leave the situation if it bothers me too badly. I don't have that luxury 95% of the time.

I know there is a lesson here - I just can't wrap my brain around it.

Being a grown up is definitely not all I thought it was when I was younger. I thought that adults knew it all, did whatever they wanted whenever they wanted. I couldn't wait to be "free" from the "oppression" of childhood. Able to get in a car and go wherever, eat what I wanted, and have no one to answer to. Boy, was I delusional. There is less free time and more structure, more to do, now than ever before. Most days it is fun and enjoyable. And some days it isn't. The days that aren't that great, thankfully, are few and far between lately.

My snarky daughter brought this to light when she was home sick from school recently. When we drove to get the others, at dismissal time, she said "Is this all you do all day long? I thought you had fun, and did cool stuff. Today was just boring." And this had been a good day for me!

This is so funny,

This is so funny, I just had to share.....

The Horror of Blimps

Last week while travelling I stopped at a Zany Brainy store and saw
that they had a blimp for sale. It's called Airship Earth, and it's a
great big balloon with a map of the Earth on it, and two propellors
hanging from the bottom. You blow up the balloon with helium put
batteries in it, and you have a radio controll indoor blimp.

I'd seen these things for sale in Sharper Image catalogs for
$60-$75. At Zany Brainy it was on clearance for $15. What a deal!

Last night my wife was playing tennis and it was just my daughter
and I at home. I bought a small helium tank from a party store,
and last night we put the blimp together.

Let me tell you, it's quite a blimp. It's huge. The balloon has
like a 3 ft diameter.

We blew it up with the tank attacched the gondola with the
propellors, and put in batteries.

Then we balanced the blimp for neutral bouyancy with this putty
that came with it, so it hangs in the air by itself neither rising
nor falling.

It was easy and fun, and then I blew up another balloon and made
Mickey Mouse helium voices for my daughter.

My three year old girl loved it. We flew the blimp all over the
house, terrorized the dog, attacked the fish tank, and the controls
were so easy my daughter could fly.

Let's face it, blimps are fun.

Alas, the fun had to end and my daughter had to go to sleep. I left
the blimp floating in my office downstairs, my wife came home,
and we went to bed, and slept the sleep of the righteous.

At this point it is important to know that my house has central
heating. I have it configured to blow hot air out on the ground
floor and take it in at the second floor to take advantage of the
fact that heat rises.

The blimp which was up until this moment a fun toy here embarked
on a career of evil. Using the artificial convection of my central
heating, the blimp stealthily departed my office. It moved silently
through the living and drifted to the staircase. Gliding wraithlike
over the staircase it then entered the bedroom where my wife and
I lay sleeping peacefully.

Running silently, and gliding six feet or so above the ground on
invisible and tiny air currects it approached the bed.

In spite of it's noiseless passage, or perhaps because of it,
I awoke. That doesn't really say it properly. Let me try again.

I awoke, the way you awake at 2:00 AM when your sleeping senses
suddenly tell you without reason that the forces of evil on
converging on you.

That still doesn't do it. Let me try one more time.

I awoke the way you awake when you suddenly know that there is
a large levitating sinister presence hovering towards you with
menacing intent through the maligant darkness.

Now sometimes I do wake up in the middle of the night thinking that
there are large sinister and menacing things floating out of the
darkness to do me and mine evil. Usually I open my eyes, look and
listen carefully, decide it was a false alarm, and go back to sleep.

So, the fact that I awoke in such a manner was not all that unusual.

On this occasion I awoke to the sense that there was a large
menacing presence approaching me silently out of the gloom, so I
opened my eyes, and there it was! A LARGE SILENT MENACING PRESENCE
WAS APPROACHING ME OUT OF THE GLOOM, AND IT COULD FLY!!!

Somewhere in the control room of my mind a fat little dwarf in a
security outfit was paging through a Penthouse while smoking a cigar
with his feet up on the table, watching the security monitors of my
brain with his peripheral vision. Suddenly he saw the LARGE SILENT
SINSITER MENACING FLOATING PRESENCE coming at me, and he pulled
every panic switch and hit every alarm that my body has. A full
decade's allotment of adrenaline was dumped into my bloodstream all
at once. My metabolism went from "restful sleep mode" to HOLY SHIT!
FIGHT FOR YOUR LIFE OR DIE!!!! mode" in a nanosecond. My heart went
from twenty something beats per minute to about 240 even faster.

I always knew this was going to happen. I always knew that skepticism
and science were mere psychological decorations and vanities. Deep
in our alligator brains we all know that the world is just chock
full of evil and monsters and sinister forces aligned against us,
and it is only a matter of time until they show up. Evolution know
this, too. It knows what to do when the silent terror comes at you
from out of the dark.

When 50 million years worth of evolutionary survival instinct hits
you all at once flat in the gut at 200 mph it is not a pleasant
sensation.

Without volition I screamed my battle cry (which is indistinguishable
to the sound a little girl makes when you drop a spider down her
dress (not that I'd know what that sounds like,) and lept out of
bed in my underwear.

I struck the approaching menace with all my strength and almost fell
over at the total lack of resistance that a helium balloon offers
when you punch the living shit out of it with all the stength that
sudden middle of the night terror produces.

It's trajectory took it straight into the ceiling fan which whipped
it about the room at terrifying velocity.

Seeking a weapon, I ripped the alarm clock out of its plug and
hurled it at the now High Velocity Menacing presence (breaking the
clock and putting a nice hole in the wall.)

Somehow at this moment I suddenly realized that I was fighting
the blimp, and not a monster. It might have been funny if I didn't
truly and actually feel like I was having a legitimate heart-attack.

On quivering legs I went to the bathroom and literally gagged
into the toilet while shaking uncontrollably with the shock of the
reaction I'd had.

Unbeleivably, both my wife and daughter had completely slept through
the incident. When I decided that I wasn't having a heart attack
after all I went back into the bedroom and found the blimp which
had somehow survived the incident.

I took it to the walk in closet and released it inside where it
floated around with the air currents released from the vents in
there. I closed the door, this sealing it in, and went back to
bed. About 500 years later I fell asleep.

***

At about 7 am my wife awoke. She had been playing tennis and wasn't
aware that we have assembled the blimp the previous evening,
and that is was now floating around the the walk-in closet that
she approached.

The dyndamic between the existing air currents of the closet and
the suction caused by opening the door was just enough to give the
blimp the appearance of an Evil Sinister Menace flying straight
towards her.

This time the blimp did not survive the encounter, nor almost, did
I, as I had to explain to my very angry spouse what motivated me to
hide an evil lurking presence in the closet for her to find at 7 am.

I can order replacement balloons on the internet but I don't think
I will.

Some blimps are better off dead.

It's tough to be

It's tough to be four......

Gabe is having a rough time. It's either being four, having a new sibling, being bored, or, most probably, a combo of all three. He has been having potty accidents, of both varieties. He's been drawing on floors and walls. He has ripped books and magazines, and broken Nikolas' lego creations. He cries and cries when he gets into trouble, but has no sense of remorse. He should by this age, I think. PLEASE correct me if I'm wrong.

He has decided that he wants nothing to do with his brother, a fact that really hurts Nikolas. Yesterday, I asked Gabe to let Nikolas help him get dressed. It was a kicking, screaming, yelling fest, that ended with Gabriel kicking Nikolas is his broken finger. That, I feel confident, was deliberate. So, he was punished. And then confined to his room until he decided to stop howling. It took a while, but he came downstairs and apologized. We were all deaf by then.

The other day he didn't want to leave the pediatrician office with less than four stickers. So, I took two of the stickers from him - after giving him an opportunity to pick two, and having him refuse me - and started to walk out of the office. He started to scream "I'm not going anywhere with you, watermelon head!" (An almost direct quote from Master of Disguise) and "I'm not your son anymore! I'm not your little boy!" He never stopped walking behind me to the car, just kept yelling. Pretty funny stuff.

It helps to keep a sense of humor with this stuff. I find so much more of it funny than I used to, four kids ago. I wonder if God finds most of what we get upset about humorous? I'd like to think not - I'd hate to be laughed at, like I was laughing at Gabe. I wasn't laughing to be malicious, though. Just finding the humor in the situation. It's easier to see the humor in others' lives. Tougher to see in my own. God has much work to do with me, methinks!

Cleaning Thanks be to

Cleaning

Thanks be to God for Lysol, and Clorox, for washing machines, and Mr. Clean Magic Erasers. We have the stomach flu going around here. The carpet has been baptized several times, the car has as well. I've spent the past week doing laundry, scrubbing the floors, wiping down the bathrooms. I've shampooed carpets and sanitized door knobs. I don't know if the extra cleaning has made a difference, but it makes me feel better - at least I have tried!

The two products that I really love are the clorox spray - great to sanitize the sink and toilet when the pukes hit again - and the Magic eraser. Gabe colored the floor with highlighters, and Mackenzie drew on the walls. The eraser takes it right off. Now, though, since it's so easy to clean it off, the kids want to color again and again.

What I've learned:

When a child says her stomach hurts, believe her. At least put her to bed with an empty garbage can.
Hydrogen peroxide on a toothbrush gets puke out of velcro.
Laundry additive, found in the sports section to help hunters remove human scent, works GREAT.
The bigger the empty garbage can, the more likely the kid will miss it. Put a towel down as well.
Febreeze is a miracle for your car and your mattress.
When you are in the throes of cleaning the same area for the third time, PRAY. It will help.
As long as I get my coffee, I can pretty much handle anything.
Kids shouldn't kiss each other on the lips.
When a young child refuses to eat, don't make them. It will come back to haunt you.

Family ties Family is

Family ties

Family is a funny thing. Odds are strong that no one has been there for you in quite the way your family has. Ever been through the same experiences. Been there to help you in good times and bad, share your happiness and rough times. That said, no one ever bugs you quite the way that your family does. Birth family, in-laws, your spouse and children.

Really, though, we take those closest to us for granted. They are the ones who bear the balance of our frustration, when we have an argument with a store clerk or are cut off in traffic. It's not acceptable in society to blow up at the store clerk, so we wait until we get to the car and yell at the kids for taking too long to get buckled. A lack of sleep for me almost always leads to crabbiness with the kids. My rationale, and it's a poor one, is that they are MY kids. MY husband, and it's the only time that I can be myself. I don't have to put on that pretty front, that calm face, the quiet voice. I can let it all out.

They aren't yours. The kids, the husband, the parents. All are on loan from God. He expects you to do your best with them. Is yelling and screaming, while cathartic for you, really the best you can give? If your child had a friend over, would you behave that way, or would you hold on to yourself and ask calmly? Why is a stranger's child, to whom you have no allegiance , the recepient of your best? Would you speak to your neighbor in the tone of voice you just spoke to your husband? If you knew that there was a camera on your shoulder, would you drive the way you do? Would you mutter under your breath?

I wouldn't. I need to remember that. I need to remember not to save the best for the strangers, for those I will never see again, but to splurge it on my family. What does it matter if those I barely know think well of me, and my family hates me? It matters. It's important. And so are they.

SILENCE!!!!!! I love silence.

SILENCE!!!!!!

I love silence. Deep, thick, penetrating silence. Silence is a beautiful thing. I need to remember this. There is never silence here - more like a cacaphony of yelling, television, phones ringing,talking, microwave binging, washing machine running. The only time I hear any form of silence is late at night, if I'm lucky and no one's asthma is acting up. Some people, though, have too much silence, and don't want anymore. It's human nature that we aren't happy with what we have and always want something different, I guess.

Silence seems to make people uncomfortable. Ever try getting into an elevator with a friend, someone you are having a conversation with? The silence of the elevator quickly becomes oppressive and the conversation dies out. On Sunday, after the homily the priest gave, he sat down, as normal. There is usually about a minute before he stands back up to pray the Creed, in order to give us time to reflect. His reflection time, though, stretched on, uncomfortably so. People began to shift around, cough, and the tension level became noticeable.

Why were we so uncomfortable? I think it's today's society - we have to be go-go-go all the time. Sitting and being silent seems to equal being lazy, or boring, and unimportant. I really have a hard time with this. I love to talk. Even if no one is home, I talk out loud to myself. I play music and sing along. It's not a character flaw, though, to sit still and quiet. To reflect on things - think about your actions and reactions, your problems and struggles. Just to be one with yourself. To meditate and spend time with God. Not only is it not a flaw, it's vital to your mental, spiritual, and emotional health.

I know this time will pass all too fast and soon I'll be lamenting the lack of noise in the house. But, heavens, it sure would be nice to enjoy some of that silence right now!

Patience, anyone? I went

Patience, anyone?
I went to Wal-Mart this weekend. I think I was insane - it was military payday weekend, in a military town, the day before Super bowl, and a Saturday. Any one of those could be bad - the combination of all three was lethal. But, you gotta do what you gotta do, and I had the opportunity to shop with only one child, so I took it and ran.

Wal-Mart was mobbed, and with a very interesting assortment of people. There were your standard shoppers, but at least 1/3 of all there were clearly new to the English language. I've noticed more and more products in Wal-Mart labeled in Spanish and English, and the hispanic section grows bigger every week. Even the self checkout has a language option. What was very interesting to me was the overwhelming amount of interest that the Spanish, Indonesian and Indian families had in the sling that I was carrying baby Riley in. I have always "slung" my babies. Usually we get some attention, but never the amount we received this trip. Ladies asked me to show them how to carry the baby in the sling, and I gave out the web address where I bought my very cool, hip, leopard print sling. (www.onehotmama.com for anyone interested.) Why is it that the other countries seem to be more open to children, and seem to live around the children, instead of children living around the parents? One lady from India said that most people there carry babies, not like here where the babies are mostly carried in their car seats.

I went to checkout, and was feeling adventurous, so I decided to use the self checkout. The lines were at least 10 deep, but the one self checkout at the end only had 3 people ahead of me, so I got in line. No one got behind me for a long while, probably because I had an overflowing cart. When I was about half way through my cart, a man got into line behind me, carrying one 12 pack of soda. He stood behind my cart, sighing periodically and glancing pointedly at my cart. He started to tap his foot and look at his watch, I guess in an attempt to let me know how slow I was and how much I was inconveniencing him. I started to rush, and it tripped up the scanner, necessitating the clerk's help. This happened three times, and then I started to get mad. Why was I letting him pressure me so? It wasn't my fault that I was shopping for eight people, and it wasn't my fault that he picked my line to stand in, when the "20 items or less" lines were right next to me, with only a few customers. By the time I finished scanning everything, I was really mad at this unknown shopper. I went to the kiosk to write my check, and my human side got the better of me. I was telling the clerk how the guy annoyed me, and jokingly said "I wish you could throw a crimp in his shopping!" Well, be careful what you wish for - she did exactly that. She pushed a button, and the register started to beep, rejecting his purchase. Then she cleared it for him, and it rejected his check, which made the customer service rep come over to check his I.D. and accept his check. I started to laugh, but then I felt badly. How many times had I done the exact same thing? How often had I not been patient, especially with people who were new to the English language? How often did I act as if I was the center of the universe, and anyone who didn't feel the same needed a brain transplant? I can't even remember the what upset me a week ago, proving that it really wasn't a big deal. I do remember getting upset, and acting like a jerk, just like the unknown shopper behind me. There is a reason that patience is a virtue, I guess. One I need to learn, and practice.