Its goes down like this…pretty much every time we sit down to watch the Olympics.
The athletes take off doing whatever amazing things they have been training to do.
My boys watch, slack jawed. Eyes round. For about fifteen seconds…..
“Mom?”
“Yes”
“Can you do that?”
“Nope”
They resume playing with trucks around the coffee table, giving the television an occasional glance and providing comments for us to chuckle over every now and then.
The next event comes on and its the question all over again.
“Mom, can you do that?”
Now that we are on the third day of Olympic question and answer, this particular question has changed in tone.
As in: “Mom…can’t you do ANY of these things?”
My answer has changed in tone as well.
From a chuckled out “Nope” ….. to a grind through my teeth “Nope.”
Because having your worth judged by a 4 year old based solely on Olympic potential only to be found lacking is…bruising?
It sounds crazy I know…but who hasn’t had those days when you walk into a room filled with chaos and mess and you think, “maybe I should have gone to that Masters program instead of doing this all day every and day….”
I found myself lost in a daydream of starring in the Nerd Olympics. Taking gold in the speed reading competition or the Jane Austen Trivia bowl, maybe taking silver for world’s best chocolate chip cookie or competing in Fastest Legible Haiku.
I try not to get carried away you see….
“Boys,” I say, “if you work really hard you can do ANY of those things too.”
I encourage as much as I can.
“You have every potential of doing that just as well as they do. Work hard, train hard, and that could be you some day if its your dream.”
I’ve always been a firm believer in encouraging children to reach for the highest dreams in their sights.
This time it backfired on me a bit...
After lunch I sent the boys upstairs to read a book together, as I gathered the last of the laundry into the basket, I heard the first stirrings of giggles. By the time I got to the bottom of the stairs to begin my lumbering ascent upwards I heard THE LAUGHTER.
Ya know.
THE LAUGHTER.
Not just innocent frolicking child laughter but spawn of something evil laughter. Horrible terrible idea laughter. Bloody head wound laughter. Permanent ink laughter. I just found something precious and now I will destroy it laughter. MUAHAHAHAHAHA.
That hair raising, goose bump inducing sound that mothers of multiple boys hear in their nightmares (or mothers of just one girl like me—sorry, Mom!).
Well, that is what I heard.
THE LAUGHTER coming out of three small boys I know quite well.
Nothing could have prepared me as I finally made it to the landing for the following words shouted by my typically well behaved, non messy, responsible, rule following, perfection to the point of ulcers, eldest child:
“WADIES AND GENTLEMEN. WELCOME TO THE SHOW CALLED THE SUPER PEE SWORD FIGHTING OLYMPICS SYNCHROTIZED.”
The laundry slipped from my grasp and fell at my feet. The door to the bathroom was ominously closed.
I heard the middle one roar: “ON YOUR MARK GET SET GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO.”
As I later described it on facebook, it was so horrifying it was almost playing out in slow motion.
I waddled up the remaining 12 steps and opened the door just as Cubs let out a warrior cry: “THIS IS AWESOME!”
All three of my angels, pants around their ankles, spraying urine all over the bathroom and each other.
Sword fighting.
Racing.
Urinating.
The baby is soaking wet and I can barely bring myself to look at him.
Walls, cabinets, floor, rug, shower curtain…..liberally spritzed with wee wee from three pee pees.
Silence.
They are all looking at me, their mouths still curled upwards…half grin…half questioning what Mommy will do about this.
I vow to stay cool and calm.
I vow to stay under control.
I vow to remember that I am the adult and they are 4, 3, and 20 months.
I vow to have justice.
“Boys, welcome to THE GREAT CLEAN UP YOUR OWN PEE OLYMPICS”
More silence.
Followed by deafening shrieks and cheers.
“All right!” followed by a tiny fist pump.
They eagerly gather rags from the hall closet and set about mopping up pee and arguing over whose pee has gone where.
I stand in the hall way, eyes closed. Trying to give myself a pep talk to fortify myself for the next 18 years with FOUR boys.
I feel a tug on my shirt.
“Yes?” I look down into a pair of wide blue eyes.
“Um, Mom? Did you watch our pee olympics?”
“I caught the very end of it.”
“Mom, can you do that?”
“Nope.”
He lets out a sigh and walks away.
I write out in my head, as fast as I can:
Twenty years, four boys
Pee wars, bugs, fist fights, bring me
chocolate and tea.
Monday, July 30, 2012
Friday, July 27, 2012
Home
The town may not feel like home quite yet, the streets are still unfamiliar and nothing feels the same.
Yet this small space we call our own has started to feel like home. There is not a single picture hung on our walls. Cardboard boxes lurking downstairs, the master bedroom a mish mash of disorganized mess.
But there is a tiny crumpled sock bearing testament in the corner of the living room. An empty bowl once filled with goldfish crackers sits on the coffee table. Our laundry is in the basket, waiting to be folded. A large mixing bowl, crusted with oats and honey and vanilla sits in the sink, soaking away the joy of an afternoon hour. The crock pot is ambitiously brewing a batch of greek yogurt. A hammer and a few nails sit out on the counter waiting for a moment of epiphany. Packets of English Breakfast fill the tea caddy on the sill. Matchbox cars are….well….everywhere.
Somehow, we are home.
The laughter and giggles that float down the stairs whenever boys play upstairs with their Daddy. The deep melancholic sigh rumbling from the west highland terrier snuggled on his new pillow. The morning routine that has all ready established itself. Last weeks newly organized homeschooling closet, all ready feeling the effects of 7 days use.
Those tiny fingerprints smudging the windowsill.
The same ones mar a set of windows back in Miami.
The very ones my grandfather can’t bear to clean in the depth of his sadness.
Yet, I can not help but smile when I look at those dirty smears…they have come to mean that we are home.
Yet this small space we call our own has started to feel like home. There is not a single picture hung on our walls. Cardboard boxes lurking downstairs, the master bedroom a mish mash of disorganized mess.
But there is a tiny crumpled sock bearing testament in the corner of the living room. An empty bowl once filled with goldfish crackers sits on the coffee table. Our laundry is in the basket, waiting to be folded. A large mixing bowl, crusted with oats and honey and vanilla sits in the sink, soaking away the joy of an afternoon hour. The crock pot is ambitiously brewing a batch of greek yogurt. A hammer and a few nails sit out on the counter waiting for a moment of epiphany. Packets of English Breakfast fill the tea caddy on the sill. Matchbox cars are….well….everywhere.
Somehow, we are home.
The laughter and giggles that float down the stairs whenever boys play upstairs with their Daddy. The deep melancholic sigh rumbling from the west highland terrier snuggled on his new pillow. The morning routine that has all ready established itself. Last weeks newly organized homeschooling closet, all ready feeling the effects of 7 days use.
Those tiny fingerprints smudging the windowsill.
The same ones mar a set of windows back in Miami.
The very ones my grandfather can’t bear to clean in the depth of his sadness.
Yet, I can not help but smile when I look at those dirty smears…they have come to mean that we are home.
Thursday, July 26, 2012
Whip It
One of the benefits of starting a new job AND moving across the country AND having your fourth baby in five years is the fresh opportunity to look at finances and household expenses.
I hate math. I hate money. I hate keeping tabs of receipts.
So I forced myself to enroll in Financial Peace University last year.
I am really truly glad that I went through through the course. I learned a lot and am so excited to get a fresh start on everything once we figure out our new budget.
In the meantime, I took a look at our old budget.
cringe
Here is the skinny people. I wanted to make some major budget cuts this year. While we are going from grad student income to a doctoral income and we are saving lots of money by staying in a family owned town house…. we want to live at an even more frugal rate then we did in grad school.
As I said before…I really am not good with numbers. I needed to keep this as simple as possible.
I sat down while the kids napped, took a look at some old numbers and wrote out the top 15 expenses in our home ( I am talking household things, not gas or electricity or whatever. All though I’ll look at those next month).
Then I started looking for alternatives to those big heavy hitting expenses.
First on my list (surprise surprise) with so many boys and a messy little pup, laundry detergent.
We spent hundreds and hundreds last year on friggin' LAUNDRY detergent. Between the Bear’s eczema and our outdoor laundry facilities, which whenever neglected (more often then not) a washed load would need a second run through. PLUS we had no hot water hook up. This resulted in the need for extra extras just to get stains out of clothing.
Enter pinterest. Evil wonderful pinterest. I found a few DIY recipes for homemade laundry and really took my time reading comments from readers who had taken the time and effort to make it and use it. Eventually, I found a winner for us. Perfect for the Bear’s sensitive skin. A beast at getting out stains. Smells great AND leaves everything soft. What more could you want out of laundry? Best of all, I could make a whopping four gallons of the stuff and it would last me about a year.
Yeah, you read that right.
Oh, and it only costs $40 to make.
4lbs baking soda
(3) 14.1 oz zote bars (I used the pink ones but you can use the white ones if you want to leave off the scent and dyes)
3lb Super Washing Soda (arm & hammer)
3 lbs of oxiclean stain remover (optional)
76 oz Borax
(2) 55 oz of Purex Fabric Softner Crystals (I used the lavender scent)
Use a cheese grater to grate the zote bars. Mix well with all the other ingredients. I picked up a 5 gallon bucket with a lid at Lowe’s and mixed all the ingredients a bit at a time in layers into the bucket. Then I sealed the lid and rolled it around for a bit. I saved the two purex crystal bottles, took off the labels and poured some of the detergent into the bottles (I still have 2//3 of the tub full and stored away). The purple cap from the Purex bottle is the perfect measurement amount for the large loads of laundry I do.
Now, this recipe was found off some chick’s blog. I’d love to give her credit for the recipe but her blog entry seems to have been wiped off the face of the universe. Suffice to say, kudos to her for her adaptation on this recipe (which I have found a few versions of). Those purex crystals smell AWESOME but I must say my new all time favorite scent is a freshly unwrapped Zote bar.
Our laundry looks awesome. Smells awesome. IS AWESOME. My laundry is AWESOME.
Ha! Forgive the enthusiasm but since laundry used to be the bane of my existence you can understand my joy at having kicked it in the knees and scored a victory.
This small change in our home with a HUGE financial and self esteem boost got me looking at everything else around the house.
As you know, I tend to take on 60,000 projects at once when inspiration hits, I get overwhelmed, I leave them all 75% done and poor J has to come behind me with the broom, sweeping up the mess and finishing the last bits.
So before any more adjustments are made we have set a few criteria:
1) EASY and NON stressful (bonus if the kids can help make it)
2) Cheap and economical
3) Something that replaces an item we all ready use
4) NOTHING WEIRD.
Ok I know #4 sounds ambiguous…but if you have ever surfed the household DIY on pinterest you know what I am talking about. Homemade toilet paper? Ah, no thanks.
Whats next on our list?
Homemade body wash, hand sanitizer, dishwashing powder, furniture wax, all purpose cleanser. Checkity check check check.
Homemade kids snacks like yogurt dots, fruit leathers, whole grain animal crackers.
And just for fun and because I have a surplus of lavender flowers in my home (thanks Mom), some post partem bath bombs.
Whippin’ this house into shape! Waddling through one day at a time and ONE project at a time (I promise, babe!)
Off to get the yogurt dots out of the fridge….
I hate math. I hate money. I hate keeping tabs of receipts.
So I forced myself to enroll in Financial Peace University last year.
I am really truly glad that I went through through the course. I learned a lot and am so excited to get a fresh start on everything once we figure out our new budget.
In the meantime, I took a look at our old budget.
cringe
Here is the skinny people. I wanted to make some major budget cuts this year. While we are going from grad student income to a doctoral income and we are saving lots of money by staying in a family owned town house…. we want to live at an even more frugal rate then we did in grad school.
As I said before…I really am not good with numbers. I needed to keep this as simple as possible.
I sat down while the kids napped, took a look at some old numbers and wrote out the top 15 expenses in our home ( I am talking household things, not gas or electricity or whatever. All though I’ll look at those next month).
Then I started looking for alternatives to those big heavy hitting expenses.
First on my list (surprise surprise) with so many boys and a messy little pup, laundry detergent.
We spent hundreds and hundreds last year on friggin' LAUNDRY detergent. Between the Bear’s eczema and our outdoor laundry facilities, which whenever neglected (more often then not) a washed load would need a second run through. PLUS we had no hot water hook up. This resulted in the need for extra extras just to get stains out of clothing.
Enter pinterest. Evil wonderful pinterest. I found a few DIY recipes for homemade laundry and really took my time reading comments from readers who had taken the time and effort to make it and use it. Eventually, I found a winner for us. Perfect for the Bear’s sensitive skin. A beast at getting out stains. Smells great AND leaves everything soft. What more could you want out of laundry? Best of all, I could make a whopping four gallons of the stuff and it would last me about a year.
Yeah, you read that right.
Oh, and it only costs $40 to make.
(3) 14.1 oz zote bars (I used the pink ones but you can use the white ones if you want to leave off the scent and dyes)
3lb Super Washing Soda (arm & hammer)
3 lbs of oxiclean stain remover (optional)
76 oz Borax
(2) 55 oz of Purex Fabric Softner Crystals (I used the lavender scent)
Use a cheese grater to grate the zote bars. Mix well with all the other ingredients. I picked up a 5 gallon bucket with a lid at Lowe’s and mixed all the ingredients a bit at a time in layers into the bucket. Then I sealed the lid and rolled it around for a bit. I saved the two purex crystal bottles, took off the labels and poured some of the detergent into the bottles (I still have 2//3 of the tub full and stored away). The purple cap from the Purex bottle is the perfect measurement amount for the large loads of laundry I do.
Now, this recipe was found off some chick’s blog. I’d love to give her credit for the recipe but her blog entry seems to have been wiped off the face of the universe. Suffice to say, kudos to her for her adaptation on this recipe (which I have found a few versions of). Those purex crystals smell AWESOME but I must say my new all time favorite scent is a freshly unwrapped Zote bar.
Our laundry looks awesome. Smells awesome. IS AWESOME. My laundry is AWESOME.
Ha! Forgive the enthusiasm but since laundry used to be the bane of my existence you can understand my joy at having kicked it in the knees and scored a victory.
This small change in our home with a HUGE financial and self esteem boost got me looking at everything else around the house.
As you know, I tend to take on 60,000 projects at once when inspiration hits, I get overwhelmed, I leave them all 75% done and poor J has to come behind me with the broom, sweeping up the mess and finishing the last bits.
So before any more adjustments are made we have set a few criteria:
1) EASY and NON stressful (bonus if the kids can help make it)
2) Cheap and economical
3) Something that replaces an item we all ready use
4) NOTHING WEIRD.
Ok I know #4 sounds ambiguous…but if you have ever surfed the household DIY on pinterest you know what I am talking about. Homemade toilet paper? Ah, no thanks.
Whats next on our list?
Homemade body wash, hand sanitizer, dishwashing powder, furniture wax, all purpose cleanser. Checkity check check check.
Homemade kids snacks like yogurt dots, fruit leathers, whole grain animal crackers.
And just for fun and because I have a surplus of lavender flowers in my home (thanks Mom), some post partem bath bombs.
Whippin’ this house into shape! Waddling through one day at a time and ONE project at a time (I promise, babe!)
Off to get the yogurt dots out of the fridge….
Tuesday, July 24, 2012
O Boy
A few weeks ago the Bear made one of his observations.
“Mom…I fink…you look like the letter ‘O’ a little bit.”
Back then it was a bit more endearing to me and I felt proud (as always) of my little observer.
Today we took the morning off to go grocery shopping. We are now a preschool on wheels. We learn on the way to the store and when we arrive, we try to select a shopping cart in which all three children can sit closely together so that we can talk about everything around us. (Of course this rule is struck down if the shopping cart with the attached race car is available).
We learn about farming, colors, numbers, order, communities, cultures, etc. The boys are always full of questions and answers, which can be directed at me or anyone around us. As you can imagine, we attract some attention. For example, this morning when the Bear pointed to the sausages on display and shouted, “Excuse me Butcher, are those South African Sea worms or Pig GUTS? I don’t like to eat PIG GUTS. YUCK!” ... we got a lot of laughs.
Today’s trip also included six different women stopping to ask me about my children. What are their ages? How do you do it? Are you having another boy?
At times we get unasked for advice like have you ever thought of stopping after three children? Did you ever try shopping bulk since you have so many children?
It takes a long time for us to finish at the store. Between all the talking and learning and strangers stopping us to talk, sometimes we are in the store for close to two hours. Years ago, I would have broken out in hives over that. But these days, a few hours with my kids safely restrained in a cart…ain’t such a bad deal!
And yet today, as we neared the hour and fifteen minute mark, my lower back started aching. The baby was shifting restlessly against my ribcage. The boys were asking yet again why soy beans are bad for their “gonie knackers” (their name for testicles). Babe was insisting on taking off one of his crocs and sucking on it every time I turned my back. A random lady had stopped us five minutes before to simply state “PREGNANT with THREE boys??? Oh honey, you look exhausted.” Thanks for the pep talk lady.
By the time Cubby starts singing classical music using only the word “chicken,” I decide we have gotten enough off our list. I can grab one or two more things for J and then we can make our exit. There is no way I could last another forty five minutes in the store (which by the way is under construction and complete chaos at the moment) I start heading for the last aisle. There is a slight traffic jam leading into the “ethnic” section. But Cub’s favorite taco night calls and so I wait patiently with our extra long cart, the boys kicking the back of the bench in which they are seated. Three or four other mothers with their children are waiting next to me. We start chatting about the construction and our kids. I start to relax a bit and think to myself, hmm…I could handle a few minutes of peaceful adult conversation.
OF COURSE, the Bear chooses this moment to say, “Mom you are HUGE-MUNGUS right now. You look like a big big big letter ‘O.’ You are the biggest Mom I have ever seen. Is the baby ever going to FINALLY come out of your butt?”
Huge sigh.
Oh man.
Of course, I get teary. Which makes me feel stupid. I am not an emotional person at all and would normally laugh something like that off... and yet, these months of compounded stress and exhaustion are catching up to me and I can feel those tears stinging the backs of my eyes. Plus, I AM huge. I look like I swallowed a watermelon whole. There are no muscles left in my abdomen to hold up a baby all cute and compact. I look like the farmer’s wife that births a baby every spring. This bump is REAL folks and it is no picnic.
The other mommies are looking at me with compassion and pity, except for one who is smothering a giggle behind her hand.
Cubs and the Bear are looking at me with open curiosity.
Cubs asks loudly, “Mom, are you CRYING???”
“Nope. Nope. Nope. Mommy is fine.” I manage to say.
Screw taco night…I am getting out of here!
We back away from the ethnic food section and make tracks for the check out counter.
As always, Cubs eyes are a magnet right towards the busty ladies on the magazine covers.
“Wook Mom, wook at her big boobs! Does she have a baby?”
Another huge sigh.
We make it to the car. I unload all three kids and ten thousand bags of groceries. I put away the cart, get into the drivers seat and let my head thunk onto the steering wheel.
“Mom?”
“Yes, honey.”
“Are you ok?”
“I am ok.”
“Mom….I wuv you.”
“I love you too.”
“I wuv you too, Mom. Don’t forget, I wuv you too.”
“Thanks to you too, honey.”
and then the smallest voice pipes out…
“Me too. Me too. Mommy.”
This big fat exhausted letter ‘O’ loves her nosy, curious, observant babies…very very much.
“Mom…I fink…you look like the letter ‘O’ a little bit.”
Back then it was a bit more endearing to me and I felt proud (as always) of my little observer.
Today we took the morning off to go grocery shopping. We are now a preschool on wheels. We learn on the way to the store and when we arrive, we try to select a shopping cart in which all three children can sit closely together so that we can talk about everything around us. (Of course this rule is struck down if the shopping cart with the attached race car is available).
We learn about farming, colors, numbers, order, communities, cultures, etc. The boys are always full of questions and answers, which can be directed at me or anyone around us. As you can imagine, we attract some attention. For example, this morning when the Bear pointed to the sausages on display and shouted, “Excuse me Butcher, are those South African Sea worms or Pig GUTS? I don’t like to eat PIG GUTS. YUCK!” ... we got a lot of laughs.
Today’s trip also included six different women stopping to ask me about my children. What are their ages? How do you do it? Are you having another boy?
At times we get unasked for advice like have you ever thought of stopping after three children? Did you ever try shopping bulk since you have so many children?
It takes a long time for us to finish at the store. Between all the talking and learning and strangers stopping us to talk, sometimes we are in the store for close to two hours. Years ago, I would have broken out in hives over that. But these days, a few hours with my kids safely restrained in a cart…ain’t such a bad deal!
And yet today, as we neared the hour and fifteen minute mark, my lower back started aching. The baby was shifting restlessly against my ribcage. The boys were asking yet again why soy beans are bad for their “gonie knackers” (their name for testicles). Babe was insisting on taking off one of his crocs and sucking on it every time I turned my back. A random lady had stopped us five minutes before to simply state “PREGNANT with THREE boys??? Oh honey, you look exhausted.” Thanks for the pep talk lady.
By the time Cubby starts singing classical music using only the word “chicken,” I decide we have gotten enough off our list. I can grab one or two more things for J and then we can make our exit. There is no way I could last another forty five minutes in the store (which by the way is under construction and complete chaos at the moment) I start heading for the last aisle. There is a slight traffic jam leading into the “ethnic” section. But Cub’s favorite taco night calls and so I wait patiently with our extra long cart, the boys kicking the back of the bench in which they are seated. Three or four other mothers with their children are waiting next to me. We start chatting about the construction and our kids. I start to relax a bit and think to myself, hmm…I could handle a few minutes of peaceful adult conversation.
OF COURSE, the Bear chooses this moment to say, “Mom you are HUGE-MUNGUS right now. You look like a big big big letter ‘O.’ You are the biggest Mom I have ever seen. Is the baby ever going to FINALLY come out of your butt?”
Huge sigh.
Oh man.
Of course, I get teary. Which makes me feel stupid. I am not an emotional person at all and would normally laugh something like that off... and yet, these months of compounded stress and exhaustion are catching up to me and I can feel those tears stinging the backs of my eyes. Plus, I AM huge. I look like I swallowed a watermelon whole. There are no muscles left in my abdomen to hold up a baby all cute and compact. I look like the farmer’s wife that births a baby every spring. This bump is REAL folks and it is no picnic.
The other mommies are looking at me with compassion and pity, except for one who is smothering a giggle behind her hand.
Cubs and the Bear are looking at me with open curiosity.
Cubs asks loudly, “Mom, are you CRYING???”
“Nope. Nope. Nope. Mommy is fine.” I manage to say.
Screw taco night…I am getting out of here!
We back away from the ethnic food section and make tracks for the check out counter.
As always, Cubs eyes are a magnet right towards the busty ladies on the magazine covers.
“Wook Mom, wook at her big boobs! Does she have a baby?”
Another huge sigh.
We make it to the car. I unload all three kids and ten thousand bags of groceries. I put away the cart, get into the drivers seat and let my head thunk onto the steering wheel.
“Mom?”
“Yes, honey.”
“Are you ok?”
“I am ok.”
“Mom….I wuv you.”
“I love you too.”
“I wuv you too, Mom. Don’t forget, I wuv you too.”
“Thanks to you too, honey.”
and then the smallest voice pipes out…
“Me too. Me too. Mommy.”
This big fat exhausted letter ‘O’ loves her nosy, curious, observant babies…very very much.
Monday, July 23, 2012
The Creek
We marked our one month anniversary a few days ago. Since then we have had a solid two weeks of sickness, followed by a solid two weeks of repacking, moving and readjusting. We have also played at the creek about 8 times, which has been an invaluable resource for us.
My boys love the creek. 30 miles long, it curves around certain parts of the countryside, nearly all of it thickly forested and isolated. We have two or three favorite spots for visiting. The king of those spots is at the preserve which boasts a very wide section of creek, rock beds, bridges, nature trails, biking trails, and the cherry on top…you get to ford the river in your car. Ultimate entertainment.
We enjoyed another great visit yesterday on my Mom’s last day in town. We played with a little crawdad, caught a frog (which Cubs held on to for a good while), watched a cluster of whirligig beetles synchronized swimming, picked flowers, waded through the creek and spent some time playing with rocks patterns and formations to divert the flow of smaller creek streams.
I really love seeing the boys in this spot. Whenever the move starts catching up with me or when they really start to miss home and ask for their great-grandparents or their old room, I can toss them into the car and head down to the creek. Its easier to talk to them there about these big life events. Somehow, in the open space, in the movement of rocks and building of tiny ant bridges and bug forts, we can say deeper things to one another. At times with our words or as with most toddlers, with our play.
The Bear loves having things to manipulate with his hands, even if its just digging a large mud pit of “lava.” He usually devotes his time to building a damn out of rocks and watching the water collect and pool deeper until HE decides to release it all back into the collective flow. This is therapeutic for him, this gives him a measure of control in his life. The creek has become his creative sanctuary where he can mold and make what his mind needs to express. He is always watching and observing, so much like his Daddy. I sometimes wonder if he will bide his time, observing and analyzing everything for an entire year before delivering his thoughts on our move.
Cubs needs the space to stomp around and just be a boy. He can get his crocs extra muddy and play with frogs. He can splash in the water and yell as loudly as he likes. He stands on the rock bed and chooses only the heaviest, largest stones to heave over his head into the water. He may be effecting the erosion of the shoreline this summer. I am not surprised to see him want to do physical battle with nature. Of all our children, his adjustment has been the most visibly difficult. He lashes out the most. His tears are the most common. He challenges his boundaries and rules every second he gets. He is defiant at every turn. This is more heartbreaking than infuriating at times, because I see the question in his eyes behind every act of disobedience. Do you still love me? Is it still the same? Are we still a family? Are you still in charge? Are you still protecting me? Are you still taking care of me? He sometimes hurls the stones with a growl in his voice as they fly through the air and then before they land with a heavy sucking gulp into the stream, there is an echo of giggles there to embrace it. More therapy.
Babe seems to be taking everything in at face value. If Mama is ok then he is ok. The creek is without a doubt his favorite past time. As soon as we strap him into the car he is all ready begging for “The Keek! Mo’ Keek!” He has flourished this past month. His vocabulary is astounding and growing by leaps and bounds. I assumed that since our second born took his sweet time in the words departments, that our third born would follow suit. Not so. He is ever determined to catch up with his brothers and has no trouble expressing his wants, needs or feelings. More often than not, I know more of his thoughts than of the three year old’s thoughts. Babe loves to perch on the larger stones, his new green crocs splashing in a few inches of water, his hands fisting smaller stones to toss in alongside his brothers. He loves wading in the stream and watching the water striders dance about the surface. He giggles at the passing butterflies and always reaches out his small hand to me when its time to move on. “Hold hand?” he’ll ask me, his big brown eyes drinking everything in. He is fearless when he holds my hand. He is instantly four years old and ready to take on the world like his brothers.
I soak at the creek. Not only my tired feet but my heart and soul. I am a sponge in need of peace and as much rest as three preschool aged boys will allow. I take stock of what has changed around us since our first visit. The poly wogs we chased with nets ten days ago have long since sprouted their front legs and hopped off to greater destinations. The large branches and trees felled by the violent storm a few weeks ago have changed. Their once green leaves now withered and brown and decaying. The trunks beginning to grow small mushrooms alongside the other small forest organisms latching on and taking command. My own ever growing belly, commandeered by a smaller being, changing.
We drive slowly out of the preserve some 90 minutes later. Looking down at “the whole world” from our mountain perch before spilling out into the valley again. I almost always catch their sigh as we pull out onto the main road, all feeling a bit more able to handle whatever the next day might bring and wondering when we can play at the creek once more.
My boys love the creek. 30 miles long, it curves around certain parts of the countryside, nearly all of it thickly forested and isolated. We have two or three favorite spots for visiting. The king of those spots is at the preserve which boasts a very wide section of creek, rock beds, bridges, nature trails, biking trails, and the cherry on top…you get to ford the river in your car. Ultimate entertainment.
We enjoyed another great visit yesterday on my Mom’s last day in town. We played with a little crawdad, caught a frog (which Cubs held on to for a good while), watched a cluster of whirligig beetles synchronized swimming, picked flowers, waded through the creek and spent some time playing with rocks patterns and formations to divert the flow of smaller creek streams.
I really love seeing the boys in this spot. Whenever the move starts catching up with me or when they really start to miss home and ask for their great-grandparents or their old room, I can toss them into the car and head down to the creek. Its easier to talk to them there about these big life events. Somehow, in the open space, in the movement of rocks and building of tiny ant bridges and bug forts, we can say deeper things to one another. At times with our words or as with most toddlers, with our play.
The Bear loves having things to manipulate with his hands, even if its just digging a large mud pit of “lava.” He usually devotes his time to building a damn out of rocks and watching the water collect and pool deeper until HE decides to release it all back into the collective flow. This is therapeutic for him, this gives him a measure of control in his life. The creek has become his creative sanctuary where he can mold and make what his mind needs to express. He is always watching and observing, so much like his Daddy. I sometimes wonder if he will bide his time, observing and analyzing everything for an entire year before delivering his thoughts on our move.
Cubs needs the space to stomp around and just be a boy. He can get his crocs extra muddy and play with frogs. He can splash in the water and yell as loudly as he likes. He stands on the rock bed and chooses only the heaviest, largest stones to heave over his head into the water. He may be effecting the erosion of the shoreline this summer. I am not surprised to see him want to do physical battle with nature. Of all our children, his adjustment has been the most visibly difficult. He lashes out the most. His tears are the most common. He challenges his boundaries and rules every second he gets. He is defiant at every turn. This is more heartbreaking than infuriating at times, because I see the question in his eyes behind every act of disobedience. Do you still love me? Is it still the same? Are we still a family? Are you still in charge? Are you still protecting me? Are you still taking care of me? He sometimes hurls the stones with a growl in his voice as they fly through the air and then before they land with a heavy sucking gulp into the stream, there is an echo of giggles there to embrace it. More therapy.
Babe seems to be taking everything in at face value. If Mama is ok then he is ok. The creek is without a doubt his favorite past time. As soon as we strap him into the car he is all ready begging for “The Keek! Mo’ Keek!” He has flourished this past month. His vocabulary is astounding and growing by leaps and bounds. I assumed that since our second born took his sweet time in the words departments, that our third born would follow suit. Not so. He is ever determined to catch up with his brothers and has no trouble expressing his wants, needs or feelings. More often than not, I know more of his thoughts than of the three year old’s thoughts. Babe loves to perch on the larger stones, his new green crocs splashing in a few inches of water, his hands fisting smaller stones to toss in alongside his brothers. He loves wading in the stream and watching the water striders dance about the surface. He giggles at the passing butterflies and always reaches out his small hand to me when its time to move on. “Hold hand?” he’ll ask me, his big brown eyes drinking everything in. He is fearless when he holds my hand. He is instantly four years old and ready to take on the world like his brothers.
I soak at the creek. Not only my tired feet but my heart and soul. I am a sponge in need of peace and as much rest as three preschool aged boys will allow. I take stock of what has changed around us since our first visit. The poly wogs we chased with nets ten days ago have long since sprouted their front legs and hopped off to greater destinations. The large branches and trees felled by the violent storm a few weeks ago have changed. Their once green leaves now withered and brown and decaying. The trunks beginning to grow small mushrooms alongside the other small forest organisms latching on and taking command. My own ever growing belly, commandeered by a smaller being, changing.
We drive slowly out of the preserve some 90 minutes later. Looking down at “the whole world” from our mountain perch before spilling out into the valley again. I almost always catch their sigh as we pull out onto the main road, all feeling a bit more able to handle whatever the next day might bring and wondering when we can play at the creek once more.
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