Still Small Voice

Disclaimer:  *Look out!!  It's a post about Jesus!!!* 

If you know anything about me you know that I love Jesus.  A lot of the time I have a funny way of showing it but I assure you that my intentions are good.  There was a time BC (before children) that I found it very easy to talk to God.  That His still small voice could be heard in the quietest of song birds or the crashing of the sea.

totally appropriate

But since I have moved into AD (after delivery) it's become much harder to hear the small voice of God.  Between the constant screams of "Mommy!" and the old stand by of  "I want", I feared I wouldn't hear it ever again.  I was truly hoping that God would just start screaming at me the same way everyone else seems to but unfortunately for me, that's not his favorite form of communication.  Besides, if my experience with yelling at my kids had any indication on how affective it would be, I could see why he would want to save his vocal cords 

But I realize now that it hasn't stopped Him from trying to be heard.

So, I'm walking the twins out of BJ's yesterday and my youngest decides that she will absolutely refuse to get out of the little car attached to the cart while we are in the parking lot.  So, I've got one kid walking aimlessly in the parking lot while I am trying to fish my youngest out from underneath the cart all the while she is yelling "no" and kicking with full force.  

Perfect.  As I wrangle my daughter into her carseat I call for my son to get into the car.  He just stands by the cart giving me death eyes.  

"Get in the car."  I ask again all the while wrestling 22 pounds of fury into her car seat.  Nothing but the stink eye is what I'm getting from my son.  "If you don't get in here now, I'll have to spank your bum.  Make a good choice."  Nothing.  So now, I have to walk over to get him.  He knows he's in trouble and he drops to the floor like a sixth grader at her first school dance.  I grab him by the arm and get him back to his feet so that when I spank his bum he can play dead in my grasp.  Which he executes flawlessly except for the fact that he's screaming so loudly that no one would mistake him from being anything but very much alive.

Now I have two screaming kids that I've had to wrestle into their carseats.  I finally close the door and I wonder what caused this sudden meltdown (as if they need a reason) as I walk around to my side of the car.  As I get in behind the wheel I tell myself that I'm just going to pretend that the last 5 minutes didn't happen and I'm going to change the subject.

"You guys want nuggets?"

"NOOOOOOO!!"  comes the reply.

"Are you sure?  It's lunch time and Chick-fil-a is right there."

Now I'm greeted with sulking.

"Do you want chicken nuggets? Yes or no...  Anyone? ...Anyone?"  (Beuller?)

No response.

"This is your last chance.  I'm driving by it.  Bye Chick-fil-a"

As soon as we hit the red light past the restaurant there is a blood curdling scream from my son.  

"I WANT NUGGETS!!!!!!"

You knew it.

...

Really?  Really?

I precede to dive into my very own narrative as if the couple of two year olds in my back seat will actually glean any knowledge from my ranting.

"I don't understand why you are both so bent on fighting me tooth and nail!  I want to do good things for you!  I want to have fun with you and make you laugh and get you lunch and buy you fun things.  I want to do good things for you, always!  Every attempt of mine is to lavish you with nothing but gifts and praises and yet you fight me every second of every day over every little insignificant thing!  When will you learn that I want nothing but to hand out copious amounts of love and adoration on you!  Maybe one day, one day you will stop fighting me long enough to realize that I am for you."

And then I heard that still small voice that used to call to me from the beaks of birds or the smell of the ocean...

"Have you?"

Have I?  Have I realized that my father has been trying to do the same things for me my whole life, but I've been so preoccupied doing my own thing that I don't see the opportunities as the blessings that they are?  Have I taken a moment to just think that maybe, just maybe I'm right were I'm supposed to be and that all I have to do is accept what God wants to pour out abundantly over me?

Isn't that just like our God to take such simple moments and make them profound.  Showing us that even thought we've grown in size we are still the two year old children in the backseat crying over every little insignificant thing that can go wrong.

When did I forget that all He wants is to lavish his blessings on me at all times and yet I spend so much time fighting Him.  Giving every excuse of why it's not fair and yes, even going so far as to throw my very own tantrums in the parking lot.  When will I be patient enough to just trust that He knows what he's doing and I should just learn to obey?

Probably around the same time my kids are having this exact same conversation with my grandkids.

Antenella

Yay for Feces!!

I used to be the type of person that could handle anything.  There was very little that would make me gag.  In fact, before children I never gagged.  Maybe, because I just didn't have the imagination depraved enough but as it was, I just didn't get that overwhelming feeling of nausea.  Then I had children.  Scratch that.  Then I had a boy.  Let me tell you about my day.

It's nap time and I am exhausted.  My eldest is home so the idea that my son will take a nap while his favorite person in the whole wide world is downstairs watching netflix is about as fantastical as my farting rainbows.  Needless to say, I am fighting with my son to just lay down in his bed.  I try everything.  I sit with him, I sing to him, I stay as still as a statue, I bribe him.  Anything!  

Finally, I give up.  I throw my hands in the air and I tell him, "I don't care what you do as long as you let me sleep for an hour!"  So leaving my two precious baby angels to their own devices I collapse into my bed and fall asleep as soon as my head hits the pillow.  What feels like moments later, I hear a faint "Mommy?"

I'm pulled out of my stupor just long enough to grunt.  "Mommy?  Poop."  comes the reply.

"Go poop." I manage to slip out without even stirring.  For whatever reason my kids still need to ask my permission before they take a dump mommy dearest style.  I don't understand where I went wrong.

"No poop."  He insists.

When I don't answer he precedes to get louder.  So I roll over to acknowledge him with my eyes closed.  

"Yes, poop, honey.  I hear you.  Go poop."

"No, poop"  as my son smears a cold goo across my arm.

...

Nothing jolts you awake like cold poo.  Instead of jumping out of bed and immediately showering off.  I actually sit there and ponder if I am actually awake enough to keep me from falling back to sleep and if I would stay still enough to not roll around and get poop on my bedsheets.  Yeah... I should be gagging.

Finally as the smell starts to hit my nose I realize that I am actually awake now and I should probably tend to my monkey children.  My son had managed to poop in his underwear but didn't want to take them off to see if it was actually poop or not, so he just stuck his hands down his pants to feel for it.  Great.  What else did he touch between this self exploration and my sleeping arm?  Nothing like trekking through your house like a bloodhound smelling for poop.  

So now my youngest is screaming to get up from her nap and I'm realizing that the idea of getting myself a nap is a distant memory.  So I pull my youngest out of her crib, I've got my son whining at my feet and now my oldest is upstairs just wanting to be close to me.  I jump in the shower to get the rest of the poop off of me because I can't seem to get the stench out of my nostrils.

As I'm in the shower my son is screaming on the other side of the glass doors.  My oldest is sitting on the potty drawing and my youngest is adding her voice to the din of noise.  I take my jail shower, jump out, dry myself off and look at my youngest.  She is soaking wet.

"Why is she wet?"  I ask my oldest. 

"uh..."  comes her reply.  

I quickly notice that my sons potty is tipped over and missing the bowl.  OH MY-LANTA.  The best thing about potty training is that your wonderful, smart and talented child can now go to the bathroom without your help.  The worst thing about potty training is this same child can now go to the bathroom without your help.  So now, you don't know if that mini potty is empty or not and usually you don't really think about it until you make the connection between your missing bowl, your youngest covered in some mysterious liquid and your freshly cleaned carpet.

Sure enough, while I was in the shower my youngest took it upon herself to pour the urine filled potty all over herself, my carpet, and my only pair of clean pants that were lying on my bedroom floor.

Vomit.  In my mouth.  There it is!  The gagging reflex that has now become a staple of my everyday living.

Everyone back in the bath.

Antenella

Letters 3

Dear Crying Child of Mine,

I know that it has only been a few short years on this desolate rock we call home but I promise you that things will get better.  I can't even begin to understand the torment that is the daily grind of nothing but sleeping in your own bed, eating food that has been prepared for you and watching Netflix.  I don't envy the constant frustration of not being able to explain your thoughts with nothing more then a movement of the eyes and unfortunately, mind reading is still not my forte.

Yup, still don't understand you.

Let me start off by saying, I'm sorry.  I'm sorry that this terrible world is riddles with such horrendous diseases.  Namely the dreaded "common cold".  Which truly is not that common at all.  For if it was, we would in fact have a cure for such a miserable virus.  But, alas, our backward world that we live in has yet to give us the greater knowledge on how to beat such an elusive thing so we are forever fighting the battle.

I'm sorry that because our world is so disease ridden that you don't have the luxury to explore this world in your own special way.  I am so sorry that when you lick the floor mats in the doctors office or the windows to your daycare or even, dare I say it?  The tires to my mini van, that you will pick up every kind of germ there is out there.  I'm sorry.

This is the least of your worries.

I'm sorry that you don't get to experience the world with nothing more then your tastebuds.  I am beginning to understand that the magical place you lived in before coming to this terrible planet, must have been a taste only sensory world.  I'm so sorry to think that you will now have to explore your surroundings with something so dreaded as visual or physical cues.  Or even worse... verbal communication.

I parish at the thought that you must belittle yourself to such a state as having to vocally ask questions to receive even the basic of needs.  I am so sorry that I don't immediately understand your communication when you use the divine language of your people.  The sobbing that you do so naturally must have been such a strong indicator for your basic needs, especially since your use is frequent.

I am so sorry that my Neanderthal brain can not comprehend the higher language of whining, crying and some times, if I am truly blessed with your willingness to be completely open with me, your screaming.

Yes.  All I can say is, I'm sorry.  Maybe one day in the future we can work together as a primitive people and learn the beautiful language that seems to be so versatile and concise.  To think that you can have full on conversations ranging from any depth of thought starting with "what's for dinner" to even loftier abstract ideas such as "Why is Big Bird trying to change himself to fit in with the little birds that make fun of him?" with nothing more then a screech of the vocal cords, will forever be inspiring to me.

You know you saw it, and you wanted to pigeon for dinner
that night.

I know this world is full of nothing but sadness and disappointment but I promise you that if you are willing to open your mind just a little and digress enough to maybe meet us half way, it will be all worth it.  It's not so bad the world that we've created.  It serves us well enough and if you would be willing to make the effort we would accept you with open arms.

Thank you for your efforts,
Love always your stunted parent,
your mother,

Antenella

Mommy Time Out

Just recently I was able to get my very own "mommy timeout".  And I'm not talking a few hours away to get my nails done.  I'm talking about four glorious days as far away from my family as I could possibly get without leaving the country.  It was, in short, the best thing I could have ever done for myself and in turn, my family.

My husband was gracious enough to allow me the opportunity to visit an old friend in another state and I can not be more grateful. Granted, it did take me almost 4 years of begging on a daily basis before he really put some realistic thought into it.  But it was so worth every moment of groveling just to get my happy butt on a plane and fly far away from my worries, even if it was just for a few days.

leaving on a jet plane!

There is something special about taking a vacation by yourself.  As a mom, it's so easy to have an identity crisis.  First you become a wife, you change your name, you change your family, sometimes you change locations to be with your spouse.  You can change jobs, homes, schools.  Your circle of friends change and become your couple friends (if your lucky) and then you have children.  Then any shred of identity that you where clinging to is stripped away.  You don't even have the same body.  You have literally changed every single inch of who you are.

I don't know about you, but some days when I catch a glimpse of myself in the reflection of my mini van window, it stops me dead in my tracks.  Who is that women staring back at me?  Why does she looks so worn out?  Why do her eyes look back haunting?  And what type of body fluid is that smeared all over her shirt?

Don't get me wrong.  I wouldn't change a single minute of my life (except for maybe the witching hours between 5:30 and 7:00pm,  I would totally change that into puppies and kittens and not the monster it really is)  But at the same time I still struggle with the loss of my identity.  

Most of the time I just let time pass and I forget what I used to be like.  That's why this past weekend made me realized how important it is to still have people in your life that remember you when.

One of the best things about this weekend, other then the sleeping in till I woke up and showering without interruption and putting on makeup that wouldn't just end up smeared across my face by the end of the day, was the fact that I could truly be myself.  

I wasn't anyones mother or wife.  I wasn't the picker upper, the chauffeur, the butt wiper, the dish cleaner, the scatter brain, the bad cop, the event planner, the organizer, the maid, the chef, the do-you think-you-could-get-this-done-while-I'm-at-the-office-I-needed-it-three-days-ago...  I was just...

Me.  

And it turns out... I'm AWESOME!  I'm smart, funny and not too bad looking when I actually put some effort into it.  I'm the whole package!  (No wonder my husband married me)  And when people were referring to me, they used my name!  I know!!  I'm still elated at the very notion.  And you know what else I learned while I was gone?  I'm not actually brain dead.  

I KNOW!

It turns out that mommy brain is not permanent and that one day when we stop having to pour every single ounce of our being into someone else we may just be able to have a cohesive thought.  I couldn't believe the depth my thoughts could reach when I wasn't constantly being interrupted with "Mommy" or "I want" or "she hit me" or "He bit me",  "I want a cookie. I want a puppy. Me, me, me, me.  Mine mine, mine, mine.  Now, now, now, now"...  sigh.

Did anyone get the reference?  Anyone?

We haven't lost it ladies!  We are still the people we were deep down inside only now, we're better!  We're smarter, more compassionate, more patient, more loving.  We have the capacity to see situations for some many different perspectives.  From a wife, or a mother, or a child, or an individual.  

Going away made me realize that I haven't lost myself at all.  I'm a better me.  A person with even greater love and faith and joy.  I realize that I am slowly and painfully becoming the person I was meant to be.  Like a caterpillar trapped in a chrysalis.  We have to be broken down, quite literally (especially after my pregnancies) and recreated to be the majestic creatures we are called to be.

Most of the time it's just hard to see it among all the noise.

But if and when you get a break you will get a moment of silence.  You will get a moment of clarity.  You will get a moment of linear thought and you'll be able to recognize it.  Your mind will open up and you'll realize that you were never lost, you were here the whole time.

Antenella

Screw you Mommy Guilt! Ep. 2

So, I'm starting to feel that mommy guilt creeping up again.  I just can't seem to get a handle on my life!  I guess, for the most part, I don't really notice it until I find myself at the end of the day collapsed into a pile of heaving sobs repeating the mantra of "I did my best."

You know you thought of that.

Good times...

But this week it's been a little different.  My husband has been home sick with the flu all week.  (Dear 7 pound 11 ounces baby Jesus, don't let me get sick!)  I know that he has spent most of the week in a quarantined state in our bedroom but I can't help but think:  "He must think I am crazy".

Because whether he can hear me or not, his presences has made me very much aware of all the colorful stuff that has been coming out of my mouth.

Mostly things like this:

* I don't know what you did with your water bottle.  If you want water you better find your cup and bring it to me before we run out of it.
* Fight to the death!
* I don't care if she hit you, why are you telling me?  You better take it up with her.
* I swear if you don't stop _  I will smack you so hard you won't know your own name!
* Is anyone going to actually eat lunch or should I even bother with preparing food?
* Where are your shoes? (x10)
* Get in the house (x10)
* No you can not watch tv. (x10)
* No you can not have juice (x10)
* No you can not paint your brother
* GET OUT OF THERE!
* DON'T TOUCH THAT!
* Oh no, that is not ok.
* Is that poop?
* Do I look happy right now?
* What are you saying?
* Please don't pee on the floor?
* You are going to have to wait until I am done.
* Do you want a spanking? (x100,000,000)

Don't even get me started on the F word

I realized that over the course of the week, I haven't really spent a lot of time speaking words of uplifting truth to my kids.  Who's got the time?  I mean, I spend most of my day keeping my kids from killing themselves or each other and making sure the house is suitable for human habitation.

How do other mom's do it?  I know my case isn't that unusual.  Having three kids this close in age is hard but it's definitely not unique.  I think of one of my girlfriends.  She's got six kids and she's expecting her seventh!  And they're all close in age.  How does she do it?

I used to think that I would love for my husband to stay home one day and just watch the chaos that I have to deal with every day.  That way I could show him exactly why I am losing my mind and why I should be showered with purple unicorns for not losing it completely.  But now that he's here I realize, I'm not really doing as great a job as I thought.

There are no quite times for bible study, or arts and crafts, or even book reading.  I just feel like there are more time-out's then time-in's and it's mostly just a lot of yelling.  I feel so guilty.  I never wanted to be a yeller.  Although, I don't know how I would communicate otherwise...  I'm not exactly a quite person...

But at the end of the day when I am wiped and I don't have the energy to even get undressed for bed, my kids still ask for prayers at night and to be tucked in and to be song a lullaby, and it's usually around the second verse of "Baby Mine" that I realize that I'm not failing at all.

It's called parenting.

Antenella

Have A Nice Day!

So I have three kids.  Just three.  But it turns out that I am a traveling circus with three kids.  I can't go any where or do anything without someone saying, "You've got your hands full!"  Yes, thank you.  I am well aware.  Now will you please move your fat head so I can get to the lucky charms cereal before one of my arms falls off?

These kinds of comments I really don't mind.  In fact, I get a lot of comments that a normal person shouldn't get and I can still roll with the punches.  There is very little you can say or ask me that would offend me.  I knew that this was going to be a God send as soon as we brought my youngest home.  (She really doesn't look like any of us... We get a lot of questions)

But some things you just shouldn't say to a person.  For example:  "You have a girl and a boy so now your done, right?"  I'm sorry, Who are you again?  And why is it any of your concern if I have more children or not, lady at target in the check-out line using a check to pay.  Will you just hand the cashier a credit card like everyone else, and get the hell out of my way... please?  To which I replied, "I actually am expecting another one in June".  Then I watched as her face fell in horror.  Have a nice day!  (Disclaimer:  I am not actually expecting another baby at all in any near future)

I recently got a comment that tops that one and honestly, I just didn't even think could come out of people.  I'm getting my kids into the car in a parking lot and an older lady is trying to get to her car which is right beside mine.  She pipes up "Behind you" as she makes her way to her car.  No biggie.  Thanks for the warning.  I don't think anything of it.  Until I hear.

"Don't have anymore kids." Slam!  As she closes her car door quickly.

...

I know!!!

I spin around and yell at her through her window.  "What did you say?!  That is by far the rudest thing I have ever heard anyone utter."  With great satisfaction I saw her face go white with fear.  I guess she figured I was going to come through the window after her.

There are so many things wrong with this:

1.  I only had two of my three kids with me.  So if it looked like I was a circus to her already, she should see me with a full performance.

2.  My kids were being uncharacteristically well behaved.

3.  Who says that?  You may think it all you want but what is the use of voicing it at all.  I'm not going to give my kids back just because you think I shouldn't have any more.

4.  And lastly, when did we become a society that thinks of children as burdens instead of the joy that they are?

I would like to say that the comment was heard and then forgotten but I have to admit that it really hurt me.  

It hurt because I do feel like we can be "a lot".  That ever where we go involves planning, cooperation, verbal cues and constant direction.  It hurt because it is isolating.  You can't go to story time at the library, or pay 10$ a head for an indoor play park or even going over to a friends house becomes a lot of ruckus.  Three kids isn't a lot of kids, but it is.

It hurts because I know that deep down everyone around me thinks that I'm in over my head.  And most of the times they would be right.  But it's so worth it!  I wouldn't have it any other way.  I hurts because I don't think people see the beauty of my children.  The way they care for each other, or care for others.  The way my son talks, my oldest smiles or my youngest laughs.  All they see is a bunch of kids as they turn up there noses.

It makes me sad to think I'm raising my children in a society that seems to be quite content to not have any at all.  Not in restaurants or movies or airplanes.  It makes me sad because one day I would like more children.  But I'm even afraid to voice this thought for the reaction I would get from family or friends or even complete strangers.  It's hard enough raising kids with out people judging you for the very fact that you have them at all.  

I can't be the only one.  

I think, my kids are healthy.  What about all those mothers with kids that don't have that luxury?  Those that are blessed with special needs kids?  How do they manage?  What kind of atrocities do they have to deal with in the public arena ever single day?  What kind of comments are they dealing with that are said to their face or behind their backs?  Why are we so quick to cut someone so deep?

I want you to know that you are not alone.  That it doesn't matter where you kid is in his walk of life, stupid people are going to say stupid things.  Your kids aren't a burden! Quite the opposite, your kids are perfect!  They are a blessing from God!  They are the color of this world, the music to your communities, the life of our lives and our home and our schools!  Our children, any child is what makes living in this fallen world a joy.  It breaks my heart to think that we have forgotten that.

So from now on I refuse to be told that my kids are too much.  They are all under 4!  They're not too much!  They're children!  And children grow up, but they don't forget the way they were treated.  So, you, stupid old lady in the parking lot, can go live a sad, lonely, pathetic life because no one will be there when you die.

Have a nice day!

Antenella

My Son Is Trying To Kill Me

No really.  I think, he, in the early morning hours before he bursts into my bedroom, takes a moment of reflection to really think about what kind of horrors he can thrust upon me in my waking hours.

I'm at the YMCA.  I love it there!  It seriously is a home away from home.  A place where I can go and no one judges me, everyone knows my name and the whole staff is well aware of the history of my children... especially my son.  Despite the fact that the front desk people know way too much about me and my "fantastic" parenting skills they seem to like me anyway.

It almost looks like this... almost.

Anywho, I'm at the YMCA bright and early on a monday morning.  I had dropped my eldest off at her speech therapy and I was planning on taking the twins to the mommy and me class that the Y offers at 9 in the morning.  Well, I get there super early, like 8:30, which never happens so I proceed to wait in the lobby until it's our time.

Everything is going well.  The kids are happy to not be going home and they are ecstatic that they won't be spending the morning in kid-care and may actually be able to do something that involves them for a change.  So they are being adorable in the lobby.  Making cute faces at the little old ladies at the high top tables who are enjoying their complementary coffees. (Oh, yes and yesser!  My Y has coffee!)

I'm sitting on a couch directly across from these little old ladies.  My youngest is on my right and my son is bouncing on the couch to my left.  "Don't do that, you're gonna hurt yourself." passively slips from my lips.  This phrase is seriously on  repeat in my brain.  Mostly, because anything my son does involves an immediate trip to the ER.

So I'm watching my youngest who is right beside me as I make mental notes of all the places my son is running to in my peripheral.

Side note:  I have taken a break from Facebook and email and overall checking my phone for anything but phone calls while I am with my kids.  It has come to my attention that even though my children are semi-independent they are still without good judgment when it comes to things like falling or physics in general.  So I have made a conscious decision to be more attentive to my children.

Facebook, please, I am trying to parent.

All the good it does me.  Out of the corner of my eye I watch my son pull so hard on one of these high top tables that the whole thing comes down directly on top of him.  (Remember my post last week about what an awesome mom I am?  Yeah, I'm pretty sure this is pay back)

My first thought is, Oh my God I just witnessed my son being decapitated.  For sure the whole table came down on his neck and now I'm going to have to stab him with an emptied out pen directly in the trachea just so he can get air to his lungs before the ambulance gets there.  But no, thank God, it just came down on his face.  Whew!  That was a close one.  

The little old ladies jump up to help him as I literally jump from the couch I was on and fly to the area of the floor that my son in now lying on flat on his back with a twenty pound table on top of him.  They tell me, "He's totally fine!  There isn't even any blood!" as I raise him from the floor covered in this now mysterious red liquid flowing from his nose.

He is screaming like a banshee, which everyone knows is normal, and points at his face.  I'm thinking he gashed the inside of his mouth, he's teeth are shattered, his nose is broken.  At first glance, he looks alright but after a quick call to the pediatrician we realize that a concussion is now in the runnings for life threatening injuries.

After filling out an incident report at the Y, (Yeah, it was that bad)  I rush him over to the pediatricians. I gotta make it fast since I gotta get my oldest at school in an hour.  Is it bad that the first thing I said to one of the girls at the Y was that I didn't have time to take him to the ER again?

At the Doctors, Directly after.

later that day.  After Motrin, mind you.

that's not his tongue, that's his lip.

 Turns out my sons face is not only beautiful, but also made out of titanium.  Nothing was wrong.  No concussion, no stitches needed, no teeth knocked out.  Just one really fat lip...  I mean the thing was out past his nose... for like 4 days.  It's better now.

The moral of the story?  It doesn't matter if you play Words With Friends or Facebook or Pintrest or not.  Your kid is still gonna hurt himself.  At least you won't be able to see the damage happen before your very eyes while you're trying to get that high score.

Antenella