Picking Up the Pieces...the Puzzle Pieces, That Is

I was busy making dinner in the kitchen when out of no where, and for no apparent reason, my three year old daughter moseyed into the kitchen, took one look at the puzzle that was left undone at the table and proceeded to swipe, one by one, each and every piece onto the floor. Knowing that I would have to be the one to crawl around and retrieve puzzle pieces from beneath chairs and under the stove, I promptly requested, “Pick those up, please.” I asked patiently and calmly several more times until I was eventually met with a defiant, “No!”. 

Suddenly, I had flashbacks to preschool two weeks prior when, at pick up, the teacher informed me that my daughter would have to put her blocks away before she could be dismissed.

What can I say? Life with a strong-will three year old has its challenging moments. Unlucky for her, she is my fourth...which means I’m wise to the ways of the willful. And being a tad (okay, really) stubborn myself, I can appreciate her frustration. Having said that, my will to enforce her picking up after herself was no match for her tantrum.

So she spent the most of the rest of the night in time out for refusing to pick up the puzzle pieces. I have to say, when this child goes to time out (which isn’t all that often), she goes for the long haul. We’ve had entire park outings where she watched from her car seat. But I’ve learned to appreciate that about her- she has a mind of her own. I didn’t get angry or frustrated; I just gave her space and gentle reminders about why it was important to pick up after herself. I knew I couldn’t win this battle unless SHE decided she wanted to pick up the pieces (a parenting pearl for anyone just beginning the journey of motherhood). So, I just provided the motivation (bath time anyone?). The puzzle pieces were picked up in record time.

Ironic how being a mom has made me both more patient and more stubborn at the same time.

Humbled Running

Motherhood can be a very humbling experience. But today it was no match for the 13.1 miles I ran with thousands of others.

I was humbled by the dedication of one runner to a loved one lost. I am reminded that life is precious. I was humbled by the woman running with the prosthetic leg. I am reminded that having two healthy legs is a gift. I was humbled by the guy that passed me in the stroller. I am reminded that each of us is doing this for different reasons, and that some have a heavier burden to carry. I was humbled by several disabled kids making their way through the crowd on hand cycles. I am reminded that perseverance is a choice. I was humbled by the front runners making their way back while I was on my way out. I am reminded that this is not a race against each other, but a race against ourselves. I was humbled by those (including me) who had to stop and walk. I am reminded that we all have our own set of challenges in running, and in life. I was humbled by the rolling waves lapping upon the miles of sand. I am reminded that I am small in this great big world, both above water and below. I was humbled by watching the gentleman (a live kidney and liver donor) who encouraged me to the finish last year cross the finish line this year. I am reminded that generosity is contagious. I was humbled by the person who thanked me for encouraging him to the finish line this year. I am reminded that paying it forward always makes a difference.

I ran this race, not for a particular time (my previous injury already humbled me in that respect), but for the experience. And my shadow and I managed to humbly climb over that 10 mile wall.

The race was a success in my mind. Right up until the couple hours later when I puked. (Sorry, there just isn’t a lovely way to say that.) But, once again, I was humbled by the compassion of my husband and children. I am reminded of how blessed and lucky I am. After a week of taking care of sick kids, not getting much rest and pushing myself a little too far, I am reminded of my limitations. And I am humbled by and grateful for all of it.

Polka Dot Clouds

Motherhood is like the sky. It’s unfathomably vast and full of uncertainty. There are moments of turbulence, moments of peace, moments of darkness and moments of beauty. And it’s always changing.

I don’t spend much time cloud-watching unless something brilliant catches my eye. That was the case yesterday. It was mid-morning and the sky was the oddest polka dotted pattern I have memory of seeing. Even my kids were in awe.

Unfortunately, the picture doesn't quite capture what my eye did.

I have no idea what set of conditions and circumstances have to come together to create such wonder, but the outcome was mesmerizing. We watched it for a while, noticing how each puffy little cloud seem to be its own silver button, sticking collectively together in the sky. And, not unlike how kids grow and evolve right before our eyes, it was only a couple hours before the clouds had merged and swirled together to take on a completely different form and the polka dot sky was forever in the past, never to be duplicated exactly the same again.

And so are the moments of motherhood; each with their own set of conditions and circumstances, many of which are out of our control. But when we learn to appreciate the sky for its beauty in that moment, we are reminded to also cherish those fleeting moments of motherhood with our children that, too, will eventually blow away. And what better way to make me stop, look, and take it in with a smile than polka dot clouds.

What's That Smell?

It took me a few days to figure this one out. The first time I smelled it was in the car. I just figured one of the kids passed gas (a common occurrence, unfortunately). Then I smelled it in the bathroom. Same assumption, or something similar. THEN I did the laundry.

Yes, my almost nine year old has officially crossed over from my little boy...to a stinky, smelly kid. The culprit was his socks. I’m surprised they didn’t walk over to the laundry and throw themselves in, just to be put our of their misery. No, they insist on permeating our small house crammed full of people, while hiding in unsuspecting places. I can have just done my usual three loads of laundry and find one more stinker (literally!) hiding under the couch, behind the door or rolled up under some poor, innocent toy. They are e v e r y w h e r e. And, when I say they stink, I mean...THEY STINK!

Just how bad is it? My SON asked me to please help him get rid of the smell, because, apparently, it bothers him, too. He’s not concerned about scaring away girls or subjecting others to his bodily odors, he really is nauseated by the smell of his own feet. I even have a shoes ON rule now with him because it’s not just the socks that stink...it’s the shoes...AND his feet.

So, I’ve invested in odor eaters in the hopes of taming the stinky feet monster. Wish me luck. Especially since I have two more boys who have not yet reached this stage and a daughter who is actually AFRAID of the stinky socks. Can’t say I blame her.