A doozy of a day

Yep it’s been a doozy

It’s my birthday today. I’ve been blessed with twenty nine years of wonderful life. And it’s been a great and wonderful and beautiful day.

Only it didn’t start that way. In fact, it started quite the opposite. Let me go back to this early (early early) this morning.

It’s 5am and I’m awakened by a piercing yell of my dear little Noah. At first I roll over and try to ignore. Wrapped up in a happy dream of beaches and waves on the shore. Maybe Nick will get up with him, I think. But then I realize that Nick’s not home. And not going to be home again for quite awhile. I feel sadness as the realization of his absence hits me. And even sadder as the yelling doesn’t stop for the room next door. And sadder still when I remember today is supposed to be a special day. It’s my birthday.

I stumble out of bed to check on Noah, soothe him back to sleep, and tip toe out of his room, just hoping that I’ll be able to catch a few more minutes of shut eye before my alarm goes off at 6.

But I can’t sleep. I want to, but I’m stuck in the tossing turning almost awake, but almost asleep state of unrestful rest. My one year old keeps squawking now and then too, so each time I drift off, I’m awoken again. Finally I just get up.

As Noah smacks away on his morning bottle, I pull out my bible and try to get a few moments of quiet devotion in before the other boys wake up. But I’m cranky now too. And struggling to be grateful and focused in my prayer and reading time. And before I really get anywhere with my reading, I hear the other two boys wake up and not two pleasant words were exchanged between them before the fighting began.

Sigh oh sigh sigh sigh.

It’s my birthday. Can’t we all just get along? And be happy all day?

Josh woke up on the wrong side of bed. He realized a toy wasn’t in his bed, and worse, he found it in Isaiah’s hands. Whining and fighting, followed by more fighting and whining. Josh cannot get it together. Every word from his mouth is filled with rebellion and contrariness. My sweet and tenderhearted boy struck with a case of Mr Grumpy’s. And the hardest part? Disciplining consistently and training kids to obey regardless of how they feel, to follow God’s commands whether we feel like it or not. Whether we miss daddy or not. Whether we got enough sleep or not. Whether we have the prized toy or not.

So while I’m dishing out discipline right and left, Noah is playing with my cell phone and calls far and distant friends in far and distant time zones, and I begin receiving worried phone calls from elderly friends and formers pastors, “I got 3 calls from your number early this morning, is every thing okay?? We’ve been worried”

Meanwhile, Isaiah dumps out several board games and all their pieces in his bed, and then while trying to recover a lost cherry from Hi-Ho-Cheerio, he rips a page of his favorite book and dissolved into traumatized tears.

And what do I do? Oh competent accomplished sophisticated mother that I am?

I just sit down on the floor and laugh. I laughed and laughed and laughed. The boys said, “Mom!?!?!? What are you laughing for?” and between guffaws and giggles, I say, “It’s either laughing or crying, Guys!!”

And it was. Cause oh boy, I could have cried up a storm. It’s my birthday and my husband just left. It’s my birthday and there’s no birthday greetings whispered in my ear first thing this morning. There are no birthday kisses left on my lips. And it’s Labor day, and there’s no special packages or cards or boxes waiting to be delivered by a mailman on a National holiday. No mail at all. No Fed Ex or UPS either. It’s my birthday, and my kids aren’t old enough to bake me a cake, or buy and wrap gifts. It’s my birthday. My 29th birthday.  My last birthday in my 20’s. Oh boy, it really really was LAUGH. Or CRY.

But I was able to laugh. God gave me the grace, the joy, the love, the patience… to laugh. To laugh at my boys. And life. And my situation. Oh and a merry heart makes good like medicine.

It was just what I needed too, because as we headed to the breakfast table, the meltdowns continued. Josh had to be excused from the table 3 times because he couldn’t keep it together (literally crying over spilled milk). I found myself waiting and wishing for Nick to call, knowing that he would try so hard to call on my birthday. Only to go grab my phone and realize that he had called. Twice.

AND MY SILLY PHONE WAS ON VIBRATE so I didn’t hear it and didn’t get it and totally missed my one opportunity to talk with my hubby.

Sigh. Major big-time. I shed a few tears over this one, I admit. Nuts!!

We finish breakfast and devotions and I load the dishes into the dishwasher, with my trusty Noah helper (and dishwasher unloader) by my side. And then I hear it. Gail's of glee from the back of the house. I head back to check on my boys, who had literally been left alone for 5 minutes, and find my bedroom door closed. Sigh.

I open the door to see two little naked boys jumping on my bed. “Where are your clothes?,” I ask. “We took them off, and put them in a pile, and then peed on them!!!” is the cheerful response.

And I laugh. I laugh so hard, so long, so purely and blissfully, I almost had to add my clothes to the pile of peed on laundry.

Oh what a morning. Not the birthday morning, I’d anticipated, but as my mom suggested, a very very memorable birthday in birthday history.

The rest of the day went (relatively) smoothly from there, and was filled with phonecalls and texts and emails and Facebook posts that delighted my heart all day. And as I was going down the grocery store aisles this afternoon, I wished out loud that Nick would be able to call again. No sooner had the words left my lips, when my phone rang. And it was Nick. And were able to talk for a few minutes before we hurried off to soccer practice.

Then tonight, a handful of girlfriends came over and cheered my spirits so completely, I can’t even express. We fellowshipped long and freely and enjoyably. And we ate birthday cake like crazy. I was showered with love and gifts and made to feel so special.

And here at the end of the day, I’m truly able to look back on the days events and praise God for every moment of it. And even more so, to remember the past twenty nine years that I’ve enjoyed and to say, God is good. The ups and downs, the joys and trials, the good, the bad, the ugly. God is good.

The Aisle of No Return

The commissary (grocery store for service members) was PACKED today.

Just packed.

And not only had I forgotten my grocery list, but I'd also forgotten my Ergo baby carrier for Noah. (this is what happens when you sign your kids up for early morning swim lessons and then try to multitask by running errands afterwards).


Which means that instead of having all three boys contained while we shop (two in the "car" cart, and one in the carrier), I now had one son on the loose.

So Isaiah was on the loose today and was a great helper for me. He picked things up. He helped bag fruit. He ogled and goggled (and handled) in the candy row.


He also helped clear traffic.


We had just turned down the all-important-aisle-filled-with-everything-we need (or at least things I thought we needed. No list, remember?) when I realized the row looked like Seattle during rush hour. Major traffic jam. Not only were there multiple carts being pushed by their owners, but there were store employees stocking shelves, and old friends catching up.

Yep. It was the row of dread. The row of frustration. The row of "excuse me" and "no problem, I'll wait, while you load your cart with 84 cans of tomato paste." Yep, the row we all want to avoid after we've already expended all our energy keeping three boys from drowning at swim lessons.  (Okay, so I only kept the youngest one from drowning, the other two were under the swim teacher's charge).

I sighed, took a deep breath and just as I was about to begin making my way down the row, my 4 year old Isaiah exclaims bluntly (and in a LOUD voice):

"MOM?? All these people are BLOCKING the way!!!!"

And they were!! And he was right!! But I was still very close to being embarrassed at his comment-- especially when everyone stopped and looked at me with my three little ones and my extra long "car" cart.

But then... when half the crowd in the aisle started laughing and kindly stepped aside for us to pass, my embarrassment faded.

And I thought...

Honesty really is the best policy.

Hair

My son, Joshua, has the best "right-out-of-bed-in-the-morning" hair.

No mousse, gel, or hairspray needed, just pure and natural bedhead.

Even the hairstyling commercials and magazine covers can't get it to look this good.

Often times, when I see him in the morning, I'm not able to contain my laughter (can you?). And I'll say, "Josh, let's go look in the mirror" so that we can laugh and smile at it together. Afterall, it's good to learn to laugh at yourself. And often times, we end up laughing at my hair too.

Yep, he get's his wild hair genes from someone...

Anyway, this particular morning, I took him to the bathroom mirror and said, "Joshua, look at this wild wonderful hair of yours. It's beautiful! And do you know what? God made it this wild and wonderful way. God knows each one of your hairs, he know's the number of them, he knows the direction that they are pointing this morning. God know's all things."

Josh smiled deeply and fluffed his hair.

Then I said, "And do you know what else, my dear Joshua? God cares for each one of these hairs on your head. And if he cares and knows each one of your wild and crazy strands of hair, how much more, does He know and love you!?!"

 Matthew 10:29-30

Are not two sparrows sold for a penny? Yet not one of them will fall to the ground outside your Father’s care. And even the very hairs of your head are all numbered. So don’t be afraid; you are worth more than many sparrows.

It was a sweet moment of laughter and meditation together. Not only was it another chance to share God's Word, but also an opportunity to demonstrate that God's word is not just for our evening family devotions, or Sunday at church-- it's something that should permeate every thought, action, and yes, even every reflection in the mirror.

Faces

I’m browsing through recent pictures of Noah and found some that I just absolutely love.

But now I ask you…

…am I a mean old Mom that I truly can’t decide which picture I like best?

My dear, dear, Noah, every look on your face is precious to me.

Playing hopscotch

Isaiah learned about playing hopscotch from a friend at church and asked me to help him draw one.

So I did.

And then I showed him how to do it.

He became a professional (just like me, of course) within a few tries.






Then he decided to just sit an color chalk on the driveway for a while. At which point we both noticed the
casualty’s of playing hopscotch in bare feet and with blue chalk.





Completely unaffected by the fact that his feet looked blue and un-oxygenated, he said, “Mom, can we make a hopscotch with green chalk next?”

Sure thing, Isaiah.

Judge me, if you must

I was doing a little car cleaning in prep for our upcoming trip.

I always keep my car clean, (cause I can’t stand a disaster) so this was just one of those quick tidy-up, empty the trash, dump out the crumbs, kind of car cleaning.

But after making 8 trips from the car to the kitchen with my hands full…


I discovered that this was more than a little problem. And required more than just a little car cleaning too.
Sigh.

I’m guessing that we eat a few too many snacks on the go. And that I give into the “Mom, can I bring a toy with me?” request a little too often.



Because somehow one toy attracts another… and another and another. And then those others toys invite their friends and Al-a-ca-ZAM!! One toy so very quickly leads to a few hundred.

Or at least it felt that way while unloading today.



And the rocks, you ask? How did those get in the car?

Well, let me tell you: I HAVE. NO. IDEA.

What I do know, is that boys love rocks, and I love boys, and so I’m sure I’ve been given a few hundred rocks as precious gifts from my boys. If I had girls, I’d probably receive flowers or stickers, as a token of appreciation. But boys, yep, boys love rocks. And really? So does their mom. So I keep them.

I guess that makes the rock pile in the car my fault.



Oh well. What can I say?

Judge me if you must.

But love me, if you will. It happens to be the best of us.