Bedtime Tales

I mentioned how the baby’s been sleeping with us?  I love it, when he’s not grinding his teeth right next to my ear or yanking my hair.

Did I also mention that he wets the bed?  No?

Yes.  Even if I change his diaper in the middle of the night.  Multiple times.  Even if I slap a bigger diaper on his cute butt!  I’m chalking it up to male anatomy.  Kirstyn, our first baby, slept in bed with us for a while, and I don’t remember her ever wetting the bed!  (That was also 7 years ago, and my brain now isn’t so great at remembering things…)

In Zach’s defense, I have increased his nighttime fluid intake.   Because of his teething, and related sleeping troubles, he nurses all night long.  Draped over me, or snuggled up between me and Dee.  Sometimes I try to sneak him back into his portable crib, next to my bed, but he always whimpers.  And then immediately falls back asleep when I pick him up and plop him back in my bed.  I KNOW!  It’s bad.  He is completely spoiled.

Anyway.

Zach woke up at 6:00am a few mornings ago, wet.  I yanked the sheets and mattress pad off the bed, changed Zach, and quickly slipped a bottom sheet back on the bed.  Would he be lulled back to sleep?  Nope.  I don’t know why I even tried!  Zach’s been waking up bright and smiley at 6:00am for weeks now.

*Groan…*  I am SO not ready to get up at 6:00am.  I know, I know — a lot of you do it!  But that’s supposed to be one of the perks of being a stay-at-home mom!  We get to keep our lazy butts in bed longer than the work-outside-the-home mom.

Since the mattress pad was off the bed, I was even more diligent about changing Zach’s diaper frequently during the night.  Any leakage would go right to the mattress.  Do you think that stopped him?  No.  This morning, shortly after a diaper change, he woke up wet and poopy!

Strip the sheets, spray the mattress with Resolve, bathe the baby.

Make coffee.  DRINK coffee!

Attempt to throw the house into order before out-of-town company comes for the day.  Amy, we LOVED your visit!!!  (And thank you for being late!)  You always water my soul well, dear friend.

I finally have the mattress pad washed, dried, and back on the bed, along with a waterproof chuck.  Yes, I actually made my bed for the baby.  I told you he’s spoiled rotten!

My husband made me MORE coffee this evening, and whipped up delicious chocolate chip pancakes for supper.

Speaking of Husband, and bed tales, did I mention that we ripped a pair of sheets?  No?  Well, we did.  Huge rips, in two different spots.  Laugh, whatever.  The sheets were just old, I tell you!

Empty means full, ’cause it’s always opposite day in the Kingdom!

He takes his Bible and heads downstairs to read.  I roll up my sleeves and settle in to tackle my stack of dirty dishes.  I think about that scripture passage about married women caring for the things of the world, how to please the husband.

Plates with caked-on cheese, endless dirty underwear, smashed Cheerios, toys all out again, children to love on, sippy cups to fill, favorites to remember, toilets to wipe, checkbooks to balance… things of this world.

I remember when I could sit for hours and study scripture.  I could pray with my face to the sunshine, instead of prayers whispered with my face soaking up a hot shower.

Would I trade it?  The things of this world for the heavenly things?

Not in a million years!

The thing is, it’s one and the same, the heavenly and the worldly things I mention.

I am advancing God’s kingdom, and I’m doing it right here in my home.  I am raising and nurturing eternal souls.   And I am yelling to the world, “See this man?  See our crazy, unstoppable love?  I’ll show you scars, but I’ll show you forever too… and that is just a TASTE of God’s love.”

When a million years is gone, my investment and my treasure will still last, for millions and millions of years times inifinity.

My 10 minutes of Bible snatched here and there, it is GOOD!  (I’ll be the first to admit that I don’t snatch those minutes every day. Sometimes Facebook woos me louder than I listen to the Holy Spirit.)

My worship can be fingers scraping gunk from the kitchen sink, my lips matching soul with, “Sweet By and By.”

My worship is a 7-month-old babe that has four teeth pushing through, and wants to sleep with me all night long.

… And worship is making sure that Husband, on the other side of Babe, doesn’t get lost in this shuffle of motherhood.

Worship is listening to the love behind the demands of, “Mommy!  I want MOMMY to put me to bed!”

… And giving in to those demands, even if my mommy heart feels all wrung out for the day.  The weird thing about empty is, at least in the upside-down world of grace, the heart fills back up when it gives past empty.

A puppy might be easier

My daughter is being a little obstinate about potty training.  Every corner of this house has been christened with poop!  The other day, Megan brought me a huge (HUGE!) ball of poop in her hands.  She did use a baby wipe to scoop it off of the floor, so that saved on the surfaces I had to scrub.

She has a favorite place to pee — in the shoe closet.  She left a yellow puddle in Uncle Andrew’s flip-flops last week.  She’s way cuter than a puppy though!  So I just roll my eyes, scrub the shoes in the sink, and hope she decides to get over this “accident” phase soon.

Sometimes it gets really messy.  Like when the poop leaks out of her diaper, and she goes down the slide anyway, leaving a brown streak down the entire slide.  And then her brother Cameron goes down the slide too, knowing full well it’s covered in poop.  (Did I mention we were at a friend’s house?)

At least the poop culprit tries to clean up after herself!  Tonight she left some streaks in her undies.  (Or, as my husband likes to call it — skid marks.)  So she stripped, filled up the kitchen sink with warm water, and climbed in to take a bath.  Cory added dish soap, and Megan found a toothbrush to scrub herself clean.  Imagine lots of bubbles and giggles.

How in the world can I get mad at that?

Katniss and Cameron, up in a tree… the rest of us wouldn’t stand a chance!

I’m a “Hunger Games” fan.  I devoured all three books, and ran to the theatre with the mobs to see Katniss on screen.  (Don’t approve?  That’s fine, just don’t try the, “But it’s about kids killing kids!”  That line makes me mad.)  My kids might be picking up on my obsession, because one kid in particular seems to be trying to impress me with his own survival skills.

It’s Cameron.

Today at the park, he practiced camouflage art.  Dirt smeared all over his face, and dirt rubbed in his hair… I would totally mistake him for a tree branch, if he was sleeping in a tree!

He took his shoes off and wandered the park barefoot.  Better for gripping and running, I have to admit!  Actually, all of my kids were barefoot, and their Daddy sat them on the stone wall and let them dangle their feet in the pond!  They were so cute, all lined up and splashing, and I couldn’t help thinking, “I bet the other moms don’t allow this.”  (Pride or guilt?  Uhh… Maybe both.)

Cameron’s been honing his spray painting skills, on cabinets and the wood furnace, with Daddy’s black spray paint.  (I have no idea how spray paint could be used to survive, but Cameron will figure out a way!)

He’s been practicing his spearing.  With a tiki torch.  Aimed at his siblings on the swings.

He can grab chickens out of locked pens.

But if the average diet disappears? He’ll be fine.  He’ll just eat boogers off of tissues (his) and drink Capri Suns (not his) he pulls out of trash cans.  (Trash cans at the park, where he also loves to find half-empty Taco Bell cups and stray candy.)

He’s very good at making do with raw eggs.

And toileting just about anywhere.

He loves to make secret fires, and he’s handy with a knife.

He can always find water!  He even knows how to drink the liquid from elephant poop, so no worries about dehydration.

So really, if you ever feel desperate in today’s economy, or you’re hiding from a bunch of kids that yeah, are trying to kill you, then look up my son. He’d make a great ally!

Did anyone forget that I’m a princess AND a rockstar?

It’s not Thanksgiving, but I have a list!

I’m thankful for my dishwasher.  Trite?  You wouldn’t even suggest this, if YOU had a broken dishwasher and had to wash dishes by hand for almost a week.  (And don’t even go with the, “Well, when I was a youngster…”  I’ve been there, done that, and I’m not a youngster anymore.  I also used to mow the grass with a manual push mower, and clip the hedges with all-human-powered clippers.  Oh, and the snow… all snow we shoveled by hand… my back hurts with the memory!)

I’m thankful for online shopping, and credit cards, and the ability to say, “MAIL ME A NEW MOTOR ASAP!”

I’m also thankful for a husband who can take the dishwasher apart, figure out what’s broken, and put it back together again with the new motor… saving us 100’s of dollars and my sanity.

I’m thankful for wilted dandelions that appear on my counter.  All loud with, “I LOVE YOU!”

I’m thankful for hard days that make me say, ‘Wanna switch kids?” to my sister-in-law.  Because then I’m more intentional about my mothering.

I’m thankful for a sleeping boy curled up next to me on the floor at movie time.  The same boy who asks at bedtime, “Can I climb in bed with you and snuggle in the morning?”

I’m thankful for a baby that squeals with delight and shivers his whole body when he sees me.  I totally AM a rockstar!

I’m thankful for kids that tell me I’m the best mom in the whole world!  (I even get “Mom is hot!  Cool hot!” notes.)

I’m thankful for kids that forgive my “shushing” and still want to tell me their secrets.

I’m thankful for kids that want to live forever in heaven with me, and our Saviour that makes this possible!  How much more fairytale can you get?  A prince, an ever-after love, a wedding feast, a mansion, streets of gold, no yelling, or discouraging days, no sadness or tears, no death, or fear of death.   Just perfection.  Glory.  Love.   Always, always there is love.

The Beatles had their faith misplaced, in humanity, when they sang “All You Need Is Love.”  But WOW — what a true phrase!  Love began this world, and love died for this world.  Love conquered death for this world!  And all we need is HIM.

I am grateful for a God that covers me with His blood sacrifice.

May you all be blessed with warm memories, redemption, and hot coffee this Resurrection Sunday!

He is RISEN!

He is risen indeed.

The dress genes are *not* mine!

I had forgotten about Kirstyn’s phase of dresses!  An obsession, really.

I found 19 dresses in the “size 3/girls” box, as I was pulling out clothes for Megan.  (It’s hard work keeping 5 kids stocked with the right-sized clothing!)  That’s not counting skirts!  And that’s not counting the dresses in the laundry, or the dresses I later found hanging in the closet, or the dresses I’ve bought for Megan specifically  (every girl needs some brand new dresses),  or the 3 dresses she just got from Grammy for her birthday, or the dress I bought for Easter.

This girl has a wardrobe to envy.

She also adores shoes.  Megan will have a whole closet, just for shoes, when she’s a grown-up.  I’m sure of it.

A word, to the future husband of my 2nd-born daughter:  Start saving… NOW!  She also likes jewelry, make-up, and nail polish.  And chocolate.  Expensive, high-quality truffles to be precise.

I am responsible for her taste in chocolate.  (And her affinity for ponies, and traveling…)  But I don’t claim the genes that passed down her fondness for everything girly!

Maybe I’m just old, but I don’t remember being so girly.  My favorite outfit was a T-shirt with a cow on it, paired with denim shorts.  No shoes, unless I had to.  I climbed trees.  I don’t think I brushed my hair unless Mom made me.  (I look wild and ratty in all the old pictures and home movies!)  I hung out at the local school yard, and played baseball and tackle football with the neighborhood boys.

I hated skirts for a long, long time.

I still hate them a little bit, but not with a passion.  The right skirt at the right time can be pretty darn cute!  And I do love buying dresses for my girls.  Especially when I bring one home and Kirstyn shrieks, “Oh, I LOVE it!  I am in LOVE with this dress!”  And hugs it tight, and grins with the kind of grin you rarely capture on camera.

It’s addicting, watching my girls faces light up.  So yeah, maybe it is partly my fault that Megan has over 30 dresses to her name!

At least we don’t have to scrounge around for proper attire on Sunday mornings.  We just have to yell, “Hurry up!” and “Good grief, how many dresses have you tried on?!”  Much simpler.

(I’m not saying we did this routine earlier today or anything…)