4.11.2015

let them be little.

One week ago, I turned 35- an age I used to consider old.  My mother had me when she was 30 years old, and I've always told people, "She had me when she was older."  Funny how that feels different when those shoes are on my feet.  

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This week, I pulled out my wedding album to show the boys that their daddy did in fact have hair once.  Jason and I enjoyed laughing and comparing our bodies then and now.  I chatted back and forth with my childhood best friend about it late that evening... wondering why my cheeks were so full, noticing that there were no bags under my eyes,  and that much had changed in those 15 years.  I'm aging.  And that's okay.  It's better than the alternative, right?

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At 35, you're supposed to be mature, have scars to show for all your growing up, dig for gray hairs and pull them out quick before anyone notices them, and pull on your skin to see if plastic surgery really could get rid of those bags.  It's a natural progression of life.  And it's the reason that people are always trying to sell anti-aging cream to us! 

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As I struggle to raise  four kids, I see that the world is sending them an entirely different message... not a message of "Reverse the effects of aging."  But a message of "Grow up, and do it quickly."  It's a heartbreaking, confusing message for our babies who just want to be little.

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Each night I watch four kids hop in baths and hop out... some actually climb in and out against the wishes of their mother.  All four are at different stages of life.  Some standing outside the doors of puberty, using deodorant for the first time, and probably questioning everything about his eleven year old body.  Some with long, gangly legs that are not quite proportionate to his skinny little body.  Some wearing cellulite bottoms, adorned with rolls, and not worrying about how they look in their jeans yet or really caring if they have clothes on, for that matter!

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But the world we live in is begging them to grow up.  It sends out advertisements for bikinis that will fit my 14 month old daughter.  It wants me to dress her as though her sweet, squishy little body should revealed like that of a Victoria's Secret supermodel.  It longs for my eleven year old to accidentally venture into pornography and camp out there as he matures.  It looks down upon the days where it was funny to watch Wile E. Coyote attempt to catch the Road Runner and replaces it with cartoons loaded with adult humor and topics that my eleven and seven year old just aren't ready to tackle.

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Some call it "sheltering them" but I call it "allowing them to be little."  It's over so fast.  The days where your greatest worry is which cereal to choose.  The days where your most difficult job is making your bed. The days where your parents are there to help you make even the simplest decisions each day and there to catch you when your fall.

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My favorite days are when my boys pretend and dress up, play late into the night on the trampoline, and belly laugh at the games they've made up that I don't understand.  And as much as I want them to stay innocent and small, I often let the world impact my actions.  Those contrary words come out of my mouth... "Please act your age."  "Please don't act like a baby."  "How old are you again?"  My mother once gave me some wise advice:  "Let them decide when they're too big for _________."  Does that mean one day my eleven year old will give up the occasional opportunity to dress up for fun?  Absolutely.  Does that mean my seven year old will one day quit carrying around the blanket that he sleeps with every single night?  For sure.   Can I assume that one day my babies will give up pacifiers, naps, sippy cups, and diapers?  All in due time, my friends.  Those wet, sloppy kisses straight on the mouth, the days of crawling up in your lap, and the days that they sit at your feet while you take your one bathroom break will all go, too.

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Perhaps, one day they'll pull out their wedding album for their children to look through.  And they'll laugh at some of their physical changes and cringe at others.  But I hope that as they age, they'll have fond memories of their childhood.  The days where we made rules about which TV channels they could watch.  The days where we urged them to play outside and to turn off devices.  The days where we ate dinner every evening together and talked to each other between bites.  The days where they made sweet, sweet memories because we let them be little!

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4.08.2015

utter chaos.

The daily calendar had just been completed over the whines and cries of two 14 month old babies.  And the most important part of our day had begun.  The boys had their Bibles out and I was prepared to lay out those important Biblical foundations... the ones that, for us, trump learning Math and Reading.  And the first baby yanked on my leg.  In an effort to keep the older boys focused, I picked up that sticky-faced little girl, who really didn't want to be held at all.  She preferred crawling across the school table.  Her oh-so-sleepy brother wasn't far behind and was soon begging to be held, so while the boys found our Scripture for the day, I filled my lap with more chaos- Two babies, that wanted to be held, but didn't want to be held, but cried when you put them down.   And by this time, the oldest boy was in the floor petting our dog, and the youngest was serenading us on his ukulele.

Have you ever found that your norm is utter chaos?  That's the stage where I find myself.  I wake up and race to fix my cup of coffee before the first baby cries, because this mama can't be a mama without that piping hot miracle juice!  I balance reading my Bible with a game of "Fetch the Cheerios" to entertain Maggie and Gray.  At 7:30, I race out the door for the only silence I'll get all day, which involves exercising a body that is long overdue for some physical activity.  As I return home, I tag hands with Jason as he walks out the door and I'm back to reality... chaos!  

By now, the Huddle House is in full swing, as I prepare four different breakfast items and take a bite of each to sustain myself.  While they shovel food, I take a shower, because cleanliness is next to Godliness, right?  Maybe not, but I'm nicer when I'm clean.  By this time, the fearless four have finished eating, and I'm a multi-tasker at her best- drying my hair, encouraging boys to get dressed even though we aren't really going anywhere, reminding boys to brush their teeth that they seem to have forgotten for an unmentionable amount of days, and entertaining babies by blowing the hairdryer in their faces, handing out hair brushes as toys, and begging them to stay out of the toilet water!  And please don't lick the water off your hands.

You're already jealous, aren't you, and it's only 9:00 AM!  School starts at 9:00, and though it's not perfect, most days we actually get through EVERY subject.  It's a juggling act- give instructions, fill up sippy cups, listen to the youngest read, get the baby down from the table, check Math work, break up fights over pacifiers, and on and on and on.  Somewhere in there the babies actually take a nap, and the morning session of school is completed.  I now resume my second job as a short-order cook, creating masterpieces like PB&J, fish sticks, and some fresh fruits and veggies for my guilty conscience.  

The remainder of the day is equally as wild.  The babies take another nap, but that restful time is spent finishing school with Jack and Max, cleaning, or making plans for supper.  And once everyone is awake, there's a constant hum of commotion until bedtime:  fighting and making up, crying and giggling, "no-nos" and "good jobs", surface conversations and deep life-altering questions.  

At around 9:30 PM, they are all safely tucked in their beds, sleeping soundly or laying there pretending  at least!  And I find a dark corner to unwind silently and reflect on the the production of our day.  

The fact is our day is almost always categorized as "utter chaos."  From the time I run to grab that cup of coffee in the morning to the quiet, half sane moment I spend in the dark corner late at night, most of our days are crazy, unplanned, chaotic events that would drive an OCD person straight to the HaHa House.  

But it's the most beautiful chaos I've ever seen.  It's my chaos.  The one with the little boy from Ukraine that I prayed for harder than anything in my life.  It's filled with the green-eyed blond that puts a smile of the saddest face.  It's the babies after years of infertility that can scale sheetrock and give Houdini a run for his money!  It's the husband that demonstrates love and selflessness repeatedly each day.  

So this morning, amidst my desires to finish that darn Bible lesson and to juggle all that surrounded me, we just stopped.  The boy on the floor took a picture of the chaos.  The chaos that will all too soon be gone.  The chaos that I'll long for.  The chaos that was beautifully and perfectly planned for me!  So here's half of my chaos, half of my heart, and half of the reason that I fall asleep so quickly every night!  Utter chaos at its best! (And minus make-up because who has time for make-up!)

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In thirty years I'm going look back at this blog and wonder where I was, why my postings cease and randomly show back up.  So to my sixty-five year old self:  You were enjoying your chaos!