tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-64191471385595829082024-03-19T04:16:35.871-07:00Grouchy MommaGrouchymommahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06279120554239717269noreply@blogger.comBlogger25125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6419147138559582908.post-43526442308912594822016-05-07T10:34:00.002-07:002016-05-07T12:32:26.238-07:00Mother's Day 2016<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 18.0pt;">Mother’s Day 2016<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">It’s Mother’s Day weekend,
which has never been a huge celebration in my family.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We have church, my kids give me some homemade
crafts and we go out to eat (instead of eating Taco Bell).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That’s it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>And it’s good. Mother’s Day seems odd to me anyway.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I think, like other holidays, it was invented
by the greeting card company.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It just
seems artificial and obligatory.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Our
family still celebrates a little bit; you can bet your farm and all its
chickens I’d be mad if my kids didn’t acknowledge it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But overall it’s just another day in
motherhood. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">I am blessed by
motherhood.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am blessed by the
complexity and painful nature of it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Nothing, other than marriage, has shaped me so much as being a mom.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It has emptied me, ripped me apart, humbled
me, stretched me, broken me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Such is the
nature of love.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Ephesians 5:1-2<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Therefore, be imitators of God, as beloved children,
and walk in love, just as Christ also loved you and gave Himself up for us, an
offering and a sacrifice to God as a fragrant aroma. <o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in; text-indent: -.5in;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Giving yourself up for another is love. Giving
yourself up for a dirty-faced boy with sticky fingers and grass stained clothes
is motherhood. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in; text-indent: -.5in;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Giving yourself to a child who is sick and may not
make it, who may not live the life you dreamed for her;<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in; text-indent: -.5in;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Giving yourself to a teenager who doesn’t appreciate
you, sometimes hates you and never thanks you but still needs you;<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in; text-indent: -.5in;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Giving yourself to carpools and soccer games and boy
scouts and baseball; <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in; text-indent: -.5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in; text-indent: -.5in;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Giving yourself to a baby with colic who just doesn’t
respond to your attempts to comfort her; <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in; text-indent: -.5in;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Giving yourself to tantrums and tempers and fevers and
nightmares and tears;<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in; text-indent: -.5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in; text-indent: -.5in;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Giving yourself to math homework and science projects
and picky eaters and dirty laundry and heartbreak and first love; <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in; text-indent: -.5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in; text-indent: -.5in;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Giving yourself to your kids when they do stupid
things and get themselves into all kinds of trouble but you still see them as
the freckle-faced, cherub-cheeked angel of yesterday; <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in; text-indent: -.5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in; text-indent: -.5in;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Giving yourself when your adult child leaves the nest
and you have to pretend to be happy because you know it is good for them, but
you are really heartbroken;<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in; text-indent: -.5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">This is motherhood.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This is sacrifice.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s how we are shaped into better and more
holy people; more broken and more full.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>This is love.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 14.0pt;">Mother’s Day will pass this weekend and I hope
you get a macaroni necklace or a clean house or a card. Because you are important and you should be
celebrated. But we know as mothers that
no gift or sentiment could match the beautiful pain of motherhood. And if I had to pick a Mother’s Day gift or a
child with a bloody knee and dirty tears running down his face,</span><span style="font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 14.0pt;">I’d
pick the child every time.</span><!--EndFragment-->Grouchymommahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06279120554239717269noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6419147138559582908.post-80358189490758737392016-02-10T21:41:00.000-08:002016-02-10T21:41:05.183-08:00Thoughts From the First Day of Lent<div class="MsoNormal">
Lent<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
February 10<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I have a particularly busy and hectic week this week. My
mind is racing, full of to do lists, things left undone, words said, glances
given.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is full of people who need me, people who are expecting things from me, people I do not want to let
down.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Fear and anxiety are my daily
bread this week.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I cringe to think I am
showing my weakness. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEib9pxMqQ7R5l8DFQT5Q2V1mX68ScQ10sh_JoDvWP7BPFBVavXMEdAixMIUi9Cznnc90fL09UhE12JL4EoRnuGgjGHnPWwtNpW1Qj3EopJNd6DaMXPx4twRQQbA-T0oYlKV11W8abor214b/s1600/IMG_0121.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEib9pxMqQ7R5l8DFQT5Q2V1mX68ScQ10sh_JoDvWP7BPFBVavXMEdAixMIUi9Cznnc90fL09UhE12JL4EoRnuGgjGHnPWwtNpW1Qj3EopJNd6DaMXPx4twRQQbA-T0oYlKV11W8abor214b/s200/IMG_0121.JPG" width="150" /></a><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
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I don’t want to do
that.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I can tell you I am human.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But I don’t want you to see it. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p><br /></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I must be strong. I
must be good. I must be without
flaw. But must I? It is exhausting. I would rather taste Your goodness. I would rather rest in Your fullness. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Deliver me oh God. I need Your peace. I want to rest no matter what is swirling around me. I want to hear Your voice Lord; the voice
that says, “you are enough and you are human and that is good.”</div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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Grouchymommahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06279120554239717269noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6419147138559582908.post-9435485127999755662015-09-21T13:49:00.003-07:002015-09-21T13:49:50.166-07:00The Fine Art of Half-Assing LifeI have thought about writing a book. For the longest time, I haven't known what to write about it. But it occurred to me today that I have a lot of experience in half-assing things. And so, I've decided if I ever get around to finishing a book (because I have started writing several) that it should be on the Fine Art of Half-Assing Life. <br />
<br />
I haven't intended to be an expert in this field. In fact, I spend a lot of time berating myself because I AM an expert in this field. I have friends who are extremely successful, like really successful, extraordinary friends. I have one friend who is a manager of a Behavioral Health unit and has like 100s of employees working for her. She is successful. But she is also genuinely a good person and I couldn't be happier to see her succeed. But she is just further proof that success is possible leaving me with less and less of an excuse. <br />
<br />
Now, I'm not saying I want to be a career woman. I only half want to be one. And that's the problem. I half want success in the workplace and I half want to be a stay at home mom. Half of me is always dissatisfied. I'm not a good stay-at-home mom either, by the way. I've included some pictures of my most obvious domestic failures. <br />
<br />
The pictures below are of our socks. I started off with one sock basket. When socks came out of the dryer, I would put them in the basket. When someone needed a pair of socks, they dug through the basket to find a close-enough match. Ta-da. The basket became a little overwhelming so I have recently instituted two sock baskets. One has socks that I match as soon as they come out of the dryer. The other basket has all the socks I don't match when they come out of the dryer. I like this system a little better. Now there are always some matching socks. Ta-da!! Feel free to use this system by the way. No charge for my helpful advice.<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiusWUUFwzrxwFmALX1NiJTtVkG76nzDHDctGsCyMwJZd_aQIT1I0Re2SbVIQ3K97JlXMkDoxC5EVd1iellhirK5pKwylBAt_tkdj-5pX9PRMO-WzAe7C4TwOWPQevxfN89L4vpjUlCksLm/s1600/sbasket.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiusWUUFwzrxwFmALX1NiJTtVkG76nzDHDctGsCyMwJZd_aQIT1I0Re2SbVIQ3K97JlXMkDoxC5EVd1iellhirK5pKwylBAt_tkdj-5pX9PRMO-WzAe7C4TwOWPQevxfN89L4vpjUlCksLm/s320/sbasket.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Un-Matched Socks Straight From the Dryer</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6jzpLiMt1PtX5VKV2Nyf402FLUynvAL1hCHUnwCjfsixtBG772rFz2oGju7w_pNYg8WPrRZF7EuKze_5GByXkmLQyXblsL88OiGzjCECjBiwuVFOoCiC342Uj9kgXnRwXhQJm840Z1OCe/s1600/sockbasket2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6jzpLiMt1PtX5VKV2Nyf402FLUynvAL1hCHUnwCjfsixtBG772rFz2oGju7w_pNYg8WPrRZF7EuKze_5GByXkmLQyXblsL88OiGzjCECjBiwuVFOoCiC342Uj9kgXnRwXhQJm840Z1OCe/s320/sockbasket2.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Matched Socks.........</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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I am completely lacking a green thumb. My sweet husband bought me this plant several months ago. I love it. But I forget to water it. The only reason it isn't totally dead is because sometimes my husband waters it. Hubby also bought some cute little red-solo cup lights and strung them up for me. They are currently out of batteries but hey....... I'm half-assing it, right?</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuQhHjkbIwKUeVqgRD31DSVEO8wyCur0QeXliNPEhYXxrdISkxMxmIW4BFfosLT4nwnetd9EDbpbVZFxVOG9nfFtTx324a8FaeAjWfyk3LMhocghxaOLmKn8mqVnyu7mcFFlopBqM57IBO/s1600/flws.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuQhHjkbIwKUeVqgRD31DSVEO8wyCur0QeXliNPEhYXxrdISkxMxmIW4BFfosLT4nwnetd9EDbpbVZFxVOG9nfFtTx324a8FaeAjWfyk3LMhocghxaOLmKn8mqVnyu7mcFFlopBqM57IBO/s320/flws.jpg" title="" width="240" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I don't know that there is a really strong point in this particular blog post. I guess, somedays I want to know I am not the only one who can't get it right. And you might need some solidarity today too. Maybe next week I'll write about the advantages of being mediocre at everything but for today, I'm just going to rest in the fact that I'm not the only one. I'm not the only one, am I?</div>
Grouchymommahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06279120554239717269noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6419147138559582908.post-74278738389218284722015-08-31T15:59:00.003-07:002015-08-31T16:07:26.857-07:00Parlor Tricks<div style="text-align: center;">
<u><b>Parlor Tricks</b></u></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<u><b><br /></b></u></div>
Toren starts Kindergarten tomorrow. Today is his last day as a non-school age child. It doesn't really mean much. I know he won't morph into an entirely different species in the morning. Still, it's a reminder that life is fleeting. There is that old saying, "The days are long, but the years are short." I feel that today.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnYcWNykQ7WKrqEr2zGRKp2Di5DsH0AKExERkUApqGtH7QFOmMETRO_qyymKB4Dec-Ge7LUXXRXAk8n7_fxrJVvBHoZrlmTdppA9AauTlHfUIiwzsWTrlEVVSzrmxhHDJGE4zhFw1Qs7j_/s1600/FullSizeRender.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnYcWNykQ7WKrqEr2zGRKp2Di5DsH0AKExERkUApqGtH7QFOmMETRO_qyymKB4Dec-Ge7LUXXRXAk8n7_fxrJVvBHoZrlmTdppA9AauTlHfUIiwzsWTrlEVVSzrmxhHDJGE4zhFw1Qs7j_/s400/FullSizeRender.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Toren eating his favorite lunch today; McDonald's Happy Meal with Chicken Nuggets!!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
I wonder if I have taken enough time with Toren. Did I play enough board games with him? Did I do enough underdogs on the swing-set, bake enough cookies, read enough books? I fear I haven't. When I look at my children I want to freeze them at the ages they are now. I want a do over. I want another chance to show my love for them. I want to do it better.<br />
<br />
We don't have the capacity as humans to stop time. Maybe in eternity, it will be a parlor trick that we can practice and show off for our Father. But for now, time moves. It is constant. It is more constant than me. So my choice with my children is to love them better now, and love them better tomorrow, because I cannot love them better yesterday.<br />
<br />
I am sure Kindergarten will be rife with opportunities for me to be the kind of mom I want to be. I am sure I will have opportunities with my fourth grader and my teenagers as well. My sincerest prayer today is that I will not waste any more time.Grouchymommahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06279120554239717269noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6419147138559582908.post-74036539680079394942015-08-13T13:41:00.000-07:002015-08-13T13:41:52.451-07:00Cheese and CrackersI wrote the following about 6 months ago and just found it today. Still working on the whole contentment thing. But we did pull Toren out of preschool, so there's that.<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Apple Chancery"; font-size: 14.0pt;">I
am sitting next to the cutest little four-year-old you could possibly
imagine.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We are watching Wallace and
Gromit- my boy’s choice. Wallace and Gromit is comprised of some claymation
figures- an English man and a dog who is constantly annoyed at the English man.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Wallace and his dog decide they need some
more cheese to go with their crackers, so of course they build a clay rocket to
the moon because “everyone knows the moon is made of cheese.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have watched this show countless times and
it is the worst show I have ever seen. But Toren loves it. I’m not sure
why.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He can quote every word.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Apple Chancery"; font-size: 14.0pt;">Anyway,
I am sitting here watching Wallace and Gromit with sweet, sweaty boy and I feel
purely blissful. I wish I could always be so content.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Apple Chancery"; font-size: 14.0pt;">I
have not been content this week.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Apple Chancery"; font-size: 14.0pt;">Here
is a list of things that had me flustered beyond reason in the last 7 days.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="margin-left: .75in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.5in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "Apple Chancery"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Apple Chancery";"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">1.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: "Apple Chancery"; font-size: 14.0pt;">Toren
screams every time I drop him off at preschool.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>For a month straight.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Every time.
My precious child acts like a monster.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The terrible little snotty nosed monster you want to smack at the
grocery store when he is screaming at the top of his lungs and hitting his
mom.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That’s my kid. Once a day. For a
month straight.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: .75in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.5in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "Apple Chancery"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Apple Chancery";"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">2.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: "Apple Chancery"; font-size: 14.0pt;">My
kids fight, all the time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No really. All
the time.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="margin-left: .75in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.5in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "Apple Chancery"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Apple Chancery";"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">3.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: "Apple Chancery"; font-size: 14.0pt;">Okay,
I guess there really isn’t that much that I was unreasonably anguished
over.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There was just an unreasonable
amount of anguishing.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in;">
<span style="font-family: "Apple Chancery"; font-size: 14.0pt;">“Crackers, Gromit, we forgot the crackers!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>How could they eat the cheese on the moon
without crackers? <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Do you see how stupid
this show is?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in;">
<span style="font-family: "Apple Chancery"; font-size: 14.0pt;">I don’t know how to keep this peace that I feel
now in my heart when things are not going my way. There are only rare moments
that you get to spend watching clay figures speak in English accents while
cuddling your boy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Most of life is a lot
more furious than that.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Most of life is
fast and inconvenient.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And the moon is
never really made of cheese when you need it to be.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in;">
<span style="font-family: "Apple Chancery"; font-size: 14.0pt;">So how can I sew contentment into the fabric of
every moment?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in;">
<br /></div>
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<br />Grouchymommahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06279120554239717269noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6419147138559582908.post-82178464136472842832013-12-17T13:42:00.000-08:002013-12-17T13:42:45.737-08:00Fifteen YearsI have been married for 15 years today. 15 years to the same man. When thinking about this day, December 17, I can't help but reminisce on all the past anniversaries we have shared. Last year we went to a hotel in Salt Lake City and to a really expensive restaurant. Then we went back to the room, drank a bottle of wine and watched TV. (My kids are going to read this). 6 years ago, Matt had just gotten out of the hospital, just diagnosed with a kidney disease. It was a somber one, but we went out anyway. We went to the movies and then called it a night. 4 years ago when our anniversary rolled around we had been fighting, constantly, for like 3 months. And my husband bought me the most beautiful anniversary ring. I still wear it everyday. When he gave it to me he said, "I know we've been fighting. But I love you. It's going to be alright."<br />
<br />
Love is like that. There are hard times. Sometimes it seems like there are more hard times that carefree ones. There are sicknesses, and financial hardships. There are fights and anxieties and depression. There are busy times, business trips, and nights spent working late. There are disagreements over just about anything. There are personality conflicts, pet peeves, little annoyances, and nagging. I can remember one time I hung up some of Matt's pants, and I didn't do it very neatly. I was in a hurry and I didn't even hang up my own jeans -who hangs up their jeans?- but here I was hanging up my husbands. I had two toddlers pulling on my leg and a million other things to do. Getting the creases just right was not on the top of my priority list. Matt comes home, sees the wrinkles in his clothes and says, "If you're going to do laundry, you should do it right." I didn't do his laundry for about a month. And then he apologized and I minded my creases from there on out.<br />
<br />
Love is about forgiveness and forbearance. On our wedding day so long ago, I could not imagine a day when I would not like my husband. He was my Prince Charming. He was handsome and funny and smart and boisterous and all around amazing. He brought so much laughter into my existence, I was sure ours would be the love story for the ages. Never a fight, except about who loved the other one more. Never a dull moment. Never time spent apart- how could we bear it? If you have just been married, you might relate. If you have been married for any length of time you are laughing right now. Because that is not real love. That is a hologram of what real love is. Real love says, I know your faults, I have shown you mine. I will not leave you, I will not shut you out. I will humble myself again, and again, and again. When my pride wants to protect my heart, I will freely give it to you. When you hurt me, I will forgive you, no matter how hard it might be. When I hurt you, I will try to do better. I will stay when everyone else leaves.<br />
<br />
I love my husband. He is not Prince Charming but he is a wonderful man and he is mine. I could not imagine a more incredible person to spend my days and nights with. When he is gone, I miss him, most of the time. I wouldn't want to fight with anyone else. There is no one else who knows all my insecurities. There is no other person I want to share the ups and downs of life with. So on this, our 15th wedding anniversary, I want to toast to 60 more, or however long we have. From this day forward, for better or for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health. I love you Matt.<br />
<br />
<br />Grouchymommahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06279120554239717269noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6419147138559582908.post-5027331692538530272012-07-20T15:06:00.000-07:002012-07-20T15:06:49.264-07:00Puberty and Shrek Sized InsecuritiesMy oldest son, Jaden, recently attended his 5th grade maturation class. For those of you who don't know, this is the class where public schools separate the boys and the girls, sit them in a awkward room, show a cheesy video on the birds and the bees and talk about what to expect during puberty. My son was mortified. He brought home the pamphlet that was given to him, "Mom" he said "you would not <i>BELIEVE</i> how many times the teacher said the word penis." I know we are just talking body parts here, but there is a large part of me that is glad my 11 year old is uncomfortable discussing them.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3AIQnZPwpLhKEvkTI5IxNnb0tcYLEirXwGF3bckPP1x4ZSljN8DKDEbj8zpaca9L0BQ-iuPNBIfmY7LFrr1QbGKBxKxTFshwTI6IJKink7HsD7j-cYnaZ-0FMTe3kFOXFrueO6fL-jWUo/s1600/HPIM3475.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3AIQnZPwpLhKEvkTI5IxNnb0tcYLEirXwGF3bckPP1x4ZSljN8DKDEbj8zpaca9L0BQ-iuPNBIfmY7LFrr1QbGKBxKxTFshwTI6IJKink7HsD7j-cYnaZ-0FMTe3kFOXFrueO6fL-jWUo/s320/HPIM3475.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Jaden, insecurity free, on a family trip.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
My son also asked me a question that got me thinking, and thus is the reason for this post. "Mom, the pamphlet says during puberty you can have in increase in insecurities. Does that mean you worry about what people think about you and stuff? Because I do that." And that's when it hit me. I must be going through puberty...still. Because I worry about what people think about me and stuff, a lot.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTb7wpnVGaL0UTPacx0DnDPl_HBR3S58cnU6AEGlij01lwWxmvoXE7kr7xdUi-WGZ7Fxzu4cioX6AeG0DLq4SM7B7ML2IzW6HjrmqKRIEAlTsBPIT0j_DwFlgGDwluNA_yg1y5QNSEl7sL/s1600/shrek.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTb7wpnVGaL0UTPacx0DnDPl_HBR3S58cnU6AEGlij01lwWxmvoXE7kr7xdUi-WGZ7Fxzu4cioX6AeG0DLq4SM7B7ML2IzW6HjrmqKRIEAlTsBPIT0j_DwFlgGDwluNA_yg1y5QNSEl7sL/s1600/shrek.jpg" /></a>I had an encounter with a third grader this year that revealed just how much I care what other people think. I helped out in my 3rd graders PE class this year and one of Cael's friends was very disrespectful to me. Because of this, I did not allow my son to invite the boy to his birthday party. Unfortunately, the boy found this out. He then began his four month long tantrum where he called me a long list of 3rd grader insults. Every day he would tell Cael and Cael's other friends what he thought of me. I was evil, mean, fat. I had dragon teeth. I was stupid. And the worst one; I was as ugly as Shrek. Really? Shrek? I think I at least deserved Fiona. The point is I really cared what this third grade boy, whom I had had one conversation with, thought about me. Even though I don't like him, I wanted him to like me; needed him to like me.<br />
<br />
I think to some degree we can all relate. We want to be liked. That's not a bad thing in and of itself. But when the desire to be liked becomes bigger than our desire to please God, we have a problem. When what others think of us becomes more important that what we think of ourselves or what our Lord thinks of us, we have a problem. And the answer is simple, though not easy. We need to remember that we have inherent worth. <br />
<ul>
<li>You knit me together in my mother’s womb. I praise you because I am
fearfully and wonderfully made; your works are wonderful, I know that
full well Psalm 139:13-15</li>
</ul>
<ul>
<li> <span class="text Luke-12-7" id="en-NIV-25467"><span class="woj">Indeed, the very hairs of your head are all numbered. Luke 12:7</span></span></li>
</ul>
<ul>
<li> I have loved you with an everlasting love. Jeremiah 31:3 </li>
</ul>
God created us, He knows us, He loves us. God; creator of the universe, holds everything together, that God, He created me. God; who knows more about DNA, astronomy and physics than any scientist that ever was, that God, He knows me. God; who IS love, who created the very idea of love, that God, He loves me. When I realize these truths, it puts my insecurities into perspective.<br />
<br />
So my job is to remind myself of these truths, and to impart to my sons these truths, so that eventually we can stop worrying about what other people think of us. Puberty is not that fun; I would like for it to end.<br />
<span class="text Luke-12-7" id="en-NIV-25467"><span class="woj"><br /></span></span><br />
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<br />Grouchymommahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06279120554239717269noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6419147138559582908.post-38371601399320736372012-05-14T17:34:00.000-07:002012-05-14T17:34:44.434-07:00Toren RusselThis is the final part in my four part series on why each of my four boys is my favorite son. I saved my little guy for last. Toren Russel was born just over 2 years ago. He fulfilled my life-long dream to have four boys. I never thought this dream would be a reality- Matt was certain that he only wanted three. But I wore him down and I got my fourth boy; two years later than I wanted, but well worth the wait. Toren means "thunder". Torey as we call him means "chief". Russel was my husbands grandfather whom we both looked up to very much.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcWyX1LoF98s97q8Vqpd5k_Cs5FFbGrurPttV54zRJ9tsMaNzuOBHPUJOhJ98LyZw3apPggTmn54wQ7KUCTjOn047S4jb5e957iwUbI0Si2l_grwLeGX95IvSRyYj66uygkQO6Oce24eaN/s1600/HPIM3511.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcWyX1LoF98s97q8Vqpd5k_Cs5FFbGrurPttV54zRJ9tsMaNzuOBHPUJOhJ98LyZw3apPggTmn54wQ7KUCTjOn047S4jb5e957iwUbI0Si2l_grwLeGX95IvSRyYj66uygkQO6Oce24eaN/s320/HPIM3511.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Toren in his "baff"</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Chief Thunder definitely believes he is the boss around our home. If I thought my oldest was strong-willed, I only had to meet Toren to understand just how strong-willed someone can be. But as is the case with Jaden, I am glad Toren has determination. He will not be swayed by what others think. He will not follow others on a path that leads to devastation. Now he may <b><i>lead</i></b> others down this path, but given Toren's sweet heart I am not too worried.<br />
<br />
Toren is sweet. He is full of kisses, and hugs, especially for his brothers. Toren talks about his brothers frequently throughout the day. He will list them all, making sure he doesn't leave anyone out. Then he will move on to talking about his cousins, his aunt and uncle and ma-ga and papa and his ma-ga and p-pa. And of course mommy and daddy. Toren goes through the list of his family members at least 4 or 5 times a day. This thrills my heart like you cannot imagine.<br />
<br />
My little chief is also very playful. He likes to wrestle and he holds his own. He also likes to punch you in the face and giggles incessantly when he does. When you want Toren to come to you, he runs the opposite direction laughing, and he runs and hides when it is time to change his diaper. Just recently he has learned to climb out of his crib which causes him to squeal with excitement. Even, when his behavior is frustrating, his laughter and his joy are quite contagious. What a light he is in our home!<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhc-o4XO_xY18uCzSj-SdUWJf_PE4UiTVfXDcHiVqOr9Qejb8-V8Q9LTVSlqdwiB6ZESiqYdLtZd9sm3XWxZAUiz6j7KtA8BFsxhnCGK1bxNZR3we_fb5wxUN7y1yBF38WSEQZbc1NfYa1B/s1600/HPIM3424.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhc-o4XO_xY18uCzSj-SdUWJf_PE4UiTVfXDcHiVqOr9Qejb8-V8Q9LTVSlqdwiB6ZESiqYdLtZd9sm3XWxZAUiz6j7KtA8BFsxhnCGK1bxNZR3we_fb5wxUN7y1yBF38WSEQZbc1NfYa1B/s320/HPIM3424.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Toren wrestling his "keekee"</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
No post on my two year old would be complete without mentioning the cute things that he says. The toddler language, after all, is my very favorite language. Currently Chief is pulling on my jeans saying, "I ant Mommy's bap" ( I want Mommy's lap). He also says "sawee mommy" when I catch him doing something naughty. Toren likes to "weed" books. He likes the teetee mote (tv remote). He calls people numb-nuts and knuckle-heads, and pronounces both of these quite clearly. He loves his "goggies" and his "keekee" (doggies and kitty). His favorite food is "beeta"(pizza). And Toren loves his "bippy" (sippy as in sippy-cup). He has 100 other words, but it would be really boring to list them all. <br />
<br />
I sure do love my little guy. I love all my sons, with a love I did not
imagine was possible before motherhood. They are all so different,
handcrafted by a loving Creator. When I think of my children I think of
Psalm 139.<br />
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<tr align="left"><td><br /></td></tr>
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<div class="heading passage-class-0">
<h3 style="text-align: left;">
Psalm 139:13-16</h3>
<div class="txt-sm">
New King James Version (NKJV)</div>
</div>
<div class="poetry top-1">
<div class="line">
<span class="text Ps-139-13" id="en-NKJV-16253"><sup class="versenum">13 </sup>For You formed my inward parts;</span><br />
<span class="text Ps-139-13">You covered me in my mother’s womb.</span><br />
<span class="text Ps-139-14" id="en-NKJV-16254"><sup class="versenum">14 </sup>I will praise You, for I am fearfully <i>and</i> wonderfully made;<sup class="footnote" value="[<a href="#fen-NKJV-16254a" title="See footnote a">a</a>]">[<a href="http://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Psalm+139%3A13-16&version=NKJV#fen-NKJV-16254a" title="See footnote a">a</a>]</sup></span><br />
<span class="text Ps-139-14">Marvelous are Your works,</span><br />
<span class="text Ps-139-14">And <i>that</i> my soul knows very well.</span><br />
<span class="text Ps-139-15" id="en-NKJV-16255"><sup class="versenum">15 </sup>My frame was not hidden from You,</span><br />
<span class="text Ps-139-15">When I was made in secret,</span><br />
<span class="text Ps-139-15"><i>And</i> skillfully wrought in the lowest parts of the earth.</span><br />
<span class="text Ps-139-16" id="en-NKJV-16256"><sup class="versenum">16 </sup>Your eyes saw my substance, being yet unformed.</span><br />
<span class="text Ps-139-16">And in Your book they all were written,</span><br />
<span class="text Ps-139-16">The days fashioned for me,</span><br />
<span class="text Ps-139-16">When <i>as yet there were</i> none of them.</span></div>
</div>Grouchymommahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06279120554239717269noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6419147138559582908.post-109306891345147532012-05-02T09:51:00.001-07:002012-05-02T09:51:48.458-07:00Owen ScottI am about a week late in blogging about why Owen Scott is my favorite son. This means that Cael has been my favorite for two weeks, a fact that will not be lost on him, I'm sure. Ahhh, well. Life just gets away from me sometimes.<br />
<br />
I have shared before that I prayed for another son for two years before I became pregnant with Owen. And yes, I did pray for a son. I love my boys!! And as with my other boys, I wanted our new baby to have a meaningful name. Owen means young warrior. Owen's middle name, Scott, is my dad's name.<br />
<br />
From the time Owen was born, he was my most easy going child. He never cried or fussed. When he became two he was never terrible. Never trying at three. Never ferocious at four. He goes with the flow. Still the this day, there is little complaining that comes from my little Owie. If I ask him to do something, for the most part, he just does it.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Owen after a "tubing" accident this year.</td></tr>
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But make no mistake. Owen is full of personality. I have often described Owie as our big ball of joy. He is rambunctious and his laughter is contagious. He is my one child who is always in the moment. He is not thinking about what happened this morning or worrying about what will happen this afternoon. I wish that I could learn from my son the trick to being fully present. I think this is what our Lord was describing when he described the abundant life!<br />
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Owen is also innocent. I know he is only six, but he possesses an innocence that my other children didn't at this age. Maybe it's more of a childlike faith. He believes what people say to him. He believes IN people. And most importantly, He believes in Jesus. We often catch him talking to God in his room. And Owen falls asleep every night listening to a recording of my husband's latest sermon. (I know there are some good jokes that could be inserted here about my husband, but I will refrain). Also Owen wants to be a pastor in a Spanish speaking country when he grows up.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Owen and Toren on our recent camping trip.</td></tr>
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Owen is a love bug. He told me that if dad ever breaks up with me, and he doesn't want him to, but if he ever does then Owen will marry me. But I will have to wait until he is older, he said, because it would be weird to be married at six years old. Besides loving me, and his dad (which is why he listens to his dads sermons every night), Owen L-O-V-E-S his brothers. He begs to sleep with his big brothers every night and he spends his mornings trying to play with his little brother. I say try because sometimes our two year old can be quite ornery with Owen, but Owen doesn't mind. He is too busy enjoying the moment to worry about holding grudges.<br />
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Owen is just about the cutest little thing ever. He has horrendous fashion sense which I find absurdly funny. He never, and I do mean never, puts his shoes on the right feet. He has only one volume- LOUD!! And he eats his vegetable without complaining which everyone knows is the way to a mom's heart. I truly cannot imagine my life without Owie. He brings so much joy into our world!Grouchymommahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06279120554239717269noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6419147138559582908.post-28795834679210482592012-04-19T09:45:00.000-07:002012-04-19T09:45:44.960-07:00Caelan MatthewWhen I wrote about my son Jaden last week, my 9 year old said, "I always knew he was your favorite." Not to worry, I told him, "you will be my favorite next week." And so today, I am blogging to tell you why my 9 year old son Caelan Matthew is my favorite son. At least for this week.<br />
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Cael, as we call him, was almost never born. When I was 15 weeks pregnant, I woke up in a pool of blood. I went by ambulance to the hospital. The doctors told me I would be fine, but the baby most certainly would not be. I was sent home to miscarry. When it became obvious that the doctor was wrong, we named our son Caelan which means victorious. Matthew is after my husband, and means Gift of God. Cael continues to be both of these things.<br />
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Cael is a go-getter. When he wants something, he gets it. Whether it is 100% on a test, which Cael gets frequently, a goal in soccer, or a particularly difficult rhythm on the drums, Cael works until he gets what he is after. As someone who is frequently deterred by obstacles, I admire this quality in my middle son.<br />
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I also admire Cael's intellect. He is most definitely a thinker. At 8 years old, he was asking questions about theology that I didn't wrestle with until college. He couldn't accept things, as much as he wanted to, just because he had been told them. Cael had to understand truth for himself, which I know in the end will create a much stronger faith.<br />
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Cael is also a funny kid. Impeccable comic timing. Witty. Hilarious. He makes me laugh out loud just about every time I talk to him. He and his brothers are planning to be in a band when they get older. Cael (let me remind you, he is only 9) told me the other day that he was going to be the brother whose picture was tattooed on every girl's butt. You laughed, didn't you? Cael is definitely the comic relief around our home.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>And he is gentle. There was no one more excited than Cael to have a baby brother when our Toren was born. From about the time I was pregnant, Cael asked every day if he could help rock and feed the baby. He is still the most gentle and patient with his little brother. He usually has even more patience than me. Toren is almost 2 and can be quite a handful but Cael dotes on him. Cael is going to make a great dad in the distant future!<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cael with Toren</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br />
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A few more things I love about Cael; he is rambunctious, rowdy, a great reader, a great speller. He loves grammar. When someone uses 'a' when they should use 'an', it bothers Cael. That's my boy! He also is willing to try new things. He is the only one in our family who will eat sushi with my husband. It gets me off the hook! Cael is affectionate and sweet. He has the cutest dimples, and the most mischievous blue eyes.<br />
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So that's my Cael. I cannot imagine our family without him. What a gift of God he has been!Grouchymommahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06279120554239717269noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6419147138559582908.post-2550911087527774852012-04-11T15:33:00.000-07:002012-04-11T15:33:48.631-07:00Jaden DelonMy children hear about their faults all the time. I don't want to be one of those mothers with her head in the sand thinking my kids are perfect. You know the kind of mother I am talking about.So anyway, I correct my children constantly, because they, like me, need constant correction. But I have to be careful that I do not crush their spirits; that besides correction, I am doling out affection and affirmation.. I remember hearing once that you could tell a good mother, because each of her children thought they were her favorite. I want this to be my legacy.<br />
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In light of this, I thought I would take one blog post each week for the next four weeks to explain why each of my children ARE my favorite. I figured I would start with my oldest, Jaden Delon. Jaden means "God has heard." I prayed for a little boy, and despite being totally unprepared to be a mother, God gave me Jaden. Jaden was sensitive from birth, the littlest things would make him upset. But now that sensitivity makes Jaden a genuinely kind and good person. He is the first of my children to be upset when someone is being mistreated. He looks out for those who are weaker in size or intellect. He befriends people who need a friend.<br />
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Jay, as I call him, is extremely strong-willed. I have worn out the book, <u>How to Raise the Strong-Willed Child.</u> Jaden knows what he wants and goes for it. This quality drives me crazy when what he wants is different from what I want. But truthfully, I am glad he is strong-willed. He will not be living under my roof forever, and I am confident that when Jaden is grown, he will make the life that he wants for himself. He won't be hiding behind indecision and insecurity.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVENthf3_11ZnD-9FOEev3VvXPeINK2HamEE3mszPhlq-6iGVUstGoApgUx_OGf711d_A3Kfegf6xOHmk6B-0E7qovqockIo3KiV-WV4QuqkVoTKHXgZVdgn2UWlioKQyTmk38tGpq7uEF/s1600/HPIM3521.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVENthf3_11ZnD-9FOEev3VvXPeINK2HamEE3mszPhlq-6iGVUstGoApgUx_OGf711d_A3Kfegf6xOHmk6B-0E7qovqockIo3KiV-WV4QuqkVoTKHXgZVdgn2UWlioKQyTmk38tGpq7uEF/s320/HPIM3521.JPG" width="240" /></a>Jaden is also brave. Jaden made a commitment to follow Jesus this year. And because of that commitment he has faced tremendous pressure at school. I know my Jaden well enough to know he probably doesn't say much about his religion at school, but the other kids have noticed his devotion anyway. A few of them have been picking on him because of the Christian bracelet he wears. When Jay told me this, I expected him to not wear his bracelet again. But do you know what he did? The next day, he wore his bracelet and a cross necklace. 10 years old. I am so proud that my son knows what is important and doesn't allow small people to take that from him. <br />
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Other things I love about JD (as my two year old calls him). He is goofy. He has a cute little smirk that he gives you when he thinks you are semi-funny. He is loyal. I don't believe Jaden has a back-biting or gossip bone in his body. Jaden is honest, if he ever tries to lie, it lasts all of 10 minutes before he is telling you the truth and that he is sorry. And he is sweet- Jaden blows his dad and I a kiss every morning before school. How sweet is that? He is also sentimental and loves tradition. If we ever try to do things differently for Thanksgiving or Christmas (or Valentine's Day, or St. Patrick's Day, etc) Jaden will set us straight!!<br />
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Jaden is a natural leader and a natural singer. And as his brother Cael says has natural "glamour", a heart-breaker to be sure. Also Jaden is the only one in my family who indulges me when I am excited about things. The other boys, to include my husband, look at me like I am a completely different species when I get excited about "girly" stuff. But Jaden lets me be excited and says, "That's cool, mom."<br />
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There are really a million things I love about my oldest son. You would probably get bored reading them all. So I will wrap this post up with, he is pretty awesome and I am so thankful he is in our family!!Grouchymommahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06279120554239717269noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6419147138559582908.post-88869071199621004512012-02-24T16:12:00.000-08:002012-02-24T16:12:40.639-08:00His Burden Is LightI hate when my boys cry. I know this is hypocritical, because I cry all the time. But I like to think I cry over really important issues. My children cry because they don't want their vegetables or they don't want to clean their room or they forgot to do their homework or some other asinine reason. On President's Day, my oldest, Jaden, was crying at 8 o 'clock at night because his Spanish homework was hard and he didn't think he could finish it by his 830 bedtime. To me this was not an acceptable reason to cry. He had three days to do his Spanish homework and he waited until 830 the night before it was due. No bueno.<br />
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I told him to quit crying, suck it up and do what he could before bed.<br />
Jaden's aunt who was over, started helping him. "I love word search puzzles," she said. "Let me help you." I was glad that she was building a relationship with my son, but it made me wonder why I was totally lacking compassion at that moment. And I had an epiphany.<br />
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I have always believed in the adage, "God helps those who help themselves." But I got to thinking about how my Jaden doesn't do himself any favors. He puts things off to the last minute causing him stress in school. He has a hard time controlling his temper, causing him stress at home; that kind of thing. And then I got to thinking, that I am quite a bit like my son. There are so many areas of my life, weaknesses in my personality that I am utterly unable to fix. I have tried to be sure, but I am just not strong enough. So maybe God doesn't help those who help themselves. Maybe God helps us because we can't help ourselves.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Jaden at his baptism. He is such a sweet boy. I love him!!</td></tr>
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<span class="woj">Matthew 11:28-30 says, "Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.</span> <span class="woj">Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls.</span> <span class="woj"> For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.” A yoke is a wooden beam put on the shoulders of cattle, or oxen so they can carry a load. The yoke I place upon my shoulders, the load I try to carry, it is impossibly heavy. I need to be the perfect wife, the perfect mother, the perfect nurse, the perfect friend. I also need to have a spotless house and cellulite free body. I should never be depressed or anxious. I should never think bad thoughts, and I should never, ever say the S word. Only when I can do all these things, will God help me. But Matthew 11 says something different. God wants to exchange my heavy burden for a light one. He wants to take my load.</span><br />
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<span class="woj">I am reminded of the Matthew West song that says </span><br />
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I know I'm not strong enough to be<br />
everything that I'm supposed to be<br />
I give up<br />
I'm not strong enough<br />
Hands of mercy won't you cover me<br />
Lord right now I'm asking you to be<br />
Strong enough<br />
Strong enough<br />
For the both of us<br />
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So today I am committing to a life change. I am going to give my load to God. And I am going to encourage my children to give their loads to God, because they aren't strong enough either. And I might, just maybe, help my children with their Spanish homework when they wait until the last minute to do it. Because I want to be a tangible example of Christ's love for them. Jesus, Gracias por su ayuda.<br />
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</span>Grouchymommahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06279120554239717269noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6419147138559582908.post-54390177900668403862012-02-10T16:02:00.000-08:002012-02-10T16:02:28.259-08:00Medium SizedMy son Cael turned 9 years old last month. I know in most circles that is not a milestone birthday, but in our family it has become a big deal. 9 years old means you are no longer a Little Kid, instead you are a Medium Kid.<br />
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The distinguished title of Medium Kid came about several years ago on a family bowling trip. Cael was about 7 years old at the time and despite Cael's best efforts he could not outscore his older brother. After the bowling, Cael was frustrated and pouting. In an effort to make him feel better, I told him that he did really well but that he couldn't expect to bowl like a professional or even as well as Jaden because he was just a "little kid." Cael started crying, balling hysterically really. He said that being called a little kid was the worst insult he had ever recieved. And yes, he did use those words. He went on to tell me that he could not believe his own mother would be so cruel to him. Again, his words. I had to save the situation so I calmly explained that everyone knows you are a Little Kid until you turn 9, after which you become a Medium Kid. You weren't actually a Big Kid until you became a teenager. After about 3 hours, a Dr. Pepper, and an ice cream sundae at Village Inn, this became an acceptable explanation and I was forgiven.<br />
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Medium sized has its advantages. You become a better bowler. You are more helpful around the house so you can earn more money. You can be somewhat trusted with expensive electronics. You get to take drum lessons. I don't believe there is any part of Cael that wishes he was 8 years old again.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCIMOn2k3vjxVwQxQt1GqIxM17Ieq8-kLH1_2W-UcKucSqxNROLGHXD71T-vIc1LSAlEjtad8mGhLvFIWs74Mi8THHQJ1-3XYpf0zA9-YpBPMnK1Cd26ztpG8u55N_0uYI3tHJfua-ApC_/s1600/HPIM3405.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCIMOn2k3vjxVwQxQt1GqIxM17Ieq8-kLH1_2W-UcKucSqxNROLGHXD71T-vIc1LSAlEjtad8mGhLvFIWs74Mi8THHQJ1-3XYpf0zA9-YpBPMnK1Cd26ztpG8u55N_0uYI3tHJfua-ApC_/s320/HPIM3405.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cael</td></tr>
</tbody></table>As a mother, I am not so sure I like medium sized. Cael got called to the principal's office for the first time in the last month. It was not his fault, he tells me, his friend was pushing and he was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. Also, at his birthday party, his 9 year old friend was talking about "boobs". What???? At nine????? Cael told me he thought this was disgusting and didn't want his friend to come over again, ever. Thank the good Lord. <br />
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<div style="text-align: left;"> But still, I am reminded that you can't shelter Medium Kids quite as well as you can shelter Little Kids. Jaden will be 13 in two years and I am certain that sheltering Big Kids will be even harder than sheltering Medium Kids. I don't like this, but what other options do I have? Even if I homeschooled them, and didn't allow my children access to media, and never took them anywhere, eventually my Big Kids would be adults. And then what?? I guess I could tie them up. But my boys will be taller and stronger than me very soon.</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My Medium Kids; Jaden and Cael</td></tr>
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I can't shelter them, protect them, hide them or tie them up. I can only raise them and ask God to build them. One of my very favorite poems is by General Douglas McArthur. It is my prayer for my boys as they grow. The poem is just of a medium size, so I encourage you to read it.<br />
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</div><div style="text-align: center;"><u><b>Build Me A Son, O Lord</b></u></div><br />
<div class="bodytext">Build me a son, O Lord, who will be strong enough to know when he is weak, and brave enough to face himself when he is afraid; one who will be proud and unbending in honest defeat, and humble and gentle in victory.</div><div class="bodytext">Build me a son whose wishbone will not be where his backbone should be; a son who will know Thee and that to know himself is the foundation stone of knowledge. Lead him, I pray, not in the path of ease and comfort, but under the stress and spur of difficulties and challenge. Here let him learn to stand up in the storm; here let him learn compassion for those who fail.</div><div class="bodytext">Build me a son whose heart will be clean, whose goal will be high; a son who will master himself before he seeks to master other men; one who will learn to laugh, yet never forget how to weep; one who will reach into the future, yet never forget the past.</div><div class="bodytext">And after all these things are his, add, I pray, enough of a sense of humor, so that he may always be serious, yet never take himself too seriously. Give him humility, so that he may always remember the simplicity of greatness, the open mind of true wisdom, the meekness of true strength. </div><div class="bodytext">Then I, his father, will dare to whisper, “I have not lived in vain.”</div><div class="bodytext">-General Douglas MacArthur</div>Grouchymommahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06279120554239717269noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6419147138559582908.post-66002180845218300522011-12-03T10:41:00.000-08:002011-12-03T10:41:17.216-08:00Lights Out<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3x3txRmcHPYsvgBVBtk7ZqRqCNRq415eKVz8hm1fu_Q5UxGEtownHvYUrwg2Eyk3XhTvVhWqj_ywPfskVrvNCNSMO1-Ly-WxVJtS7ulJ81y_a7ID7UIGNk1ZvW_tSLrdjE5tGvath6WDY/s1600/Jaden.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3x3txRmcHPYsvgBVBtk7ZqRqCNRq415eKVz8hm1fu_Q5UxGEtownHvYUrwg2Eyk3XhTvVhWqj_ywPfskVrvNCNSMO1-Ly-WxVJtS7ulJ81y_a7ID7UIGNk1ZvW_tSLrdjE5tGvath6WDY/s320/Jaden.jpg" width="179" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Jaden Sleeping</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">So it is early Saturday morning and I am sitting at my church in my pajamas watching my children sleep. We are sleeping at the church because our power is out, has been out for over 48 hours now. The power in my house is out because two days ago we had hurricane strength winds in UTAH!! The power company has no idea when our power will be restored but "they are working very hard and around the clock to restore our power."</span></div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">So this power outage has taught me a few things. One, I am very thankful to be living in the 21st century. I feel paralyzed without internet, cable, my cell phone charger, my hair-straightener...how..do..I..exist. Two, I have too much stuff. It is amazing the amount of things I have to trip over when I have no light to navigate around them. If I lived in a country without lights, I would own a much smaller house, and many less things. Three, I hate being cold. Technically I already knew this, but still. Four, I have forgotten the secret of being content.</span></div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8yjDsG51GqQBHMCfCp4LPRiAhFaGkRC8zYWPdezDtYD9PJbwM_gEy6jZag4ribcxRgAZ4y4TwplBhXGKM7Fia0ee7-4wvXRbM9ZUWWn1SchjOEHXaGj1P09f_bX6klZdP-Ls5QlessE2Y/s1600/Owen.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8yjDsG51GqQBHMCfCp4LPRiAhFaGkRC8zYWPdezDtYD9PJbwM_gEy6jZag4ribcxRgAZ4y4TwplBhXGKM7Fia0ee7-4wvXRbM9ZUWWn1SchjOEHXaGj1P09f_bX6klZdP-Ls5QlessE2Y/s320/Owen.jpg" width="179" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Owen Sleeping</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">My children, on the other hand, know how to be content in all circumstances. Currently they are playing dodge ball with a water bottle in the church lobby. Content. They were excited to camp on the church floor. Content. They were giggling with wide-eyed wonder at getting dressed by candlelight. Content.</span></div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Meanwhile, I am sure I will be without power until I am 85. I am thinking of the clothes mildewing in my washer. I am thinking of all the money spent eating out because I can't cook at home. I am thinking of how horrendous my hair looks when it is air-dryed. I am thinking this power outage sucks.</span></div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">So I was reading my Bible this morning and I came across Philippians 4:6-7.</span></div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">"Be anxious for nothing, but in everything by prayer and supplication, with thanksgiving, let your requests be made known to God, and the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and minds through Christ Jesus."</span></div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVOV8ULDyhwtUrsN4HNt58CZlpcbg0HmDro1uADaUWf4VCkcc91KpQqtz1PjtiK5W4wud6m1XYuBsqtMnQbGvQEaH_HauSVZoOGiZkaCZgyTfzjzjEEJYtXJeCmfzv2JJCVfq91ZY-ElfV/s1600/Cael.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVOV8ULDyhwtUrsN4HNt58CZlpcbg0HmDro1uADaUWf4VCkcc91KpQqtz1PjtiK5W4wud6m1XYuBsqtMnQbGvQEaH_HauSVZoOGiZkaCZgyTfzjzjEEJYtXJeCmfzv2JJCVfq91ZY-ElfV/s320/Cael.jpg" width="179" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cael Sleeping</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">With thanksgiving, Lord, I thank you for my children who teach me everyday to be a better person. Lord, I thank you for teaching me to be content in all circumstances. Lord, I thank you that I have had electricity for 34 years and I will probably one day get it back.</span></div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">I feel better already. A little frizzy-headed still, but better.</span></div>Grouchymommahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06279120554239717269noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6419147138559582908.post-45632050244891423162011-11-17T17:07:00.000-08:002011-11-17T17:07:45.028-08:00Cootie InvasionI have not updated this blog in almost two months and there is a good reason for this. Invasion. Our family has been invaded by cooties. I am not exagerating when I say that one or more of us has been sick since September.<br />
<br />
Currently my husband has a fever, cough and congestion. He has been in bed all day hacking away. And anyone who has a husband can tell you, men get particularly grumpy when sick. So he has been in bed, and I have been avoiding him, while my 5 year old coughs all over the hard surfaces of our home and my baby wipes his snotty, green nose all over the soft surfaces. Yes, that makes one half of the members of our household invaded by the crud.<br />
<br />
Last month it was my three school age kiddos who caught the cooties. They were vomiting with chills and body aches. My 8 year old got sick as we were leaving in the van for our fall vacation. So we had 6 hours to travel in essentially a big incubator. We stopped at Walmart and bought hand sanitizer, Lysol spray and surgical masks. We made Cael don a mask and relegated him to the back seat. With tears in his eyes and on the verge of vomiting he says to us, "I am humiliated." But victory- no one else got sick- on the trip anyway.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAlWnpywfnVWn65VrkCl1LnwA0reopFFcdBS7RkXM_ovHX-j95y6Ngvkxi_dgt34Fekdhy1EOaJlHQBbcEtM7E-_sBvybQeDviw_UIraiwzmIsj0FWj_UAbHWMg1R1cee-Qc8e2tycZvHU/s1600/IMAG0088.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAlWnpywfnVWn65VrkCl1LnwA0reopFFcdBS7RkXM_ovHX-j95y6Ngvkxi_dgt34Fekdhy1EOaJlHQBbcEtM7E-_sBvybQeDviw_UIraiwzmIsj0FWj_UAbHWMg1R1cee-Qc8e2tycZvHU/s320/IMAG0088.jpg" width="191" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cael reenacting his humiliated face.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>I am not fond of sickness. It makes me irritable when my family is sick. I get irritable because I can't control it. No amount of hand-washing, hand-sanitizing, medication, isolation or good old-fashioned pleading with God seems to keep sickness away. And when my kids are miserable, I feel powerless, which essentially I am. All I can do is love em, hug em, spray em down with Lysol, hope for the best and thank God when its over. Please God, can this be over soon?Grouchymommahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06279120554239717269noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6419147138559582908.post-51274021468868528362011-09-23T13:11:00.000-07:002011-09-23T13:11:33.610-07:00Surprises in the ShowerI have friends who have no children. Their house stays clean, no cheerios on the floor or toothpaste smeared on the counter. No chocolate fingerprints on the fridge. I am quite sure they don't have dismembered action figures laying everywhere in their home. I am sure no one ever poops in their shower or throws up in their bed.<br />
<br />
And it is not just cleanliness my childless friends enjoy. They also enjoy a very flexible schedule. Last year they whisked off to Germany on a moment's notice. Barbados is on the agenda for this year. They stay out late, if they want to. Or go to bed early, if they want to. There are no football practices, ice skating lessons or choir concerts they must attend. They have absolutely no homework to do. They don't have to re-learn long division or the periodic table, not if they don't want to. Nope. My childless friends can do whatever they want, whenever they want. <br />
<br />
I know their home is more peaceful, too. No crying babies or screaming toddlers. No sibling arguments over who sat in the front last time. No pillow fights, food fights or fist fights. No children crying because their brother shot their arm with a BB gun.<br />
<br />
Frankly, I am a little envious of my friends.<br />
<br />
However. My childless friends do not get opened mouth kisses from a 16 month old. They don't have a five year old to say, "I just love you so much mommy". They don't get to say bedtime prayers with little boys who have giant faith. My friends don't have anyone crawling on their lap for a story. My childless friends will never know the fulfillment and wonder that children bring.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSsNNd5QoXr3qzGsN5Wu5zbw4ijJk7MyQ0E0VdKnfS7eWOEmrk4OZlevzwNbSoY2WEo3m9Cyz9cd203qY5-nwWDjSQI8VMIEth3aXOjFMrtcvoAgCMS25kwNVEwB4_r_Fd840hkpKnhwXT/s1600/2011-09-11_21-37-37_238.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSsNNd5QoXr3qzGsN5Wu5zbw4ijJk7MyQ0E0VdKnfS7eWOEmrk4OZlevzwNbSoY2WEo3m9Cyz9cd203qY5-nwWDjSQI8VMIEth3aXOjFMrtcvoAgCMS25kwNVEwB4_r_Fd840hkpKnhwXT/s400/2011-09-11_21-37-37_238.jpg" width="223" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Shower Surprise Culprit- Toren</td></tr>
</tbody></table>And they probably don't want to. But I do. And if poop in my shower and long division are the price I have to pay, I will pay it gladly.Grouchymommahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06279120554239717269noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6419147138559582908.post-40931594074964928712011-08-16T20:44:00.000-07:002011-08-16T20:44:42.629-07:00Dear Kindergarten TeacherMy Owen started Kindergarten yesterday. I had to complete a form which aimed to help his teacher learn a little bit more about her students. General questions were included; questions about siblings and family structure, medications and allergies, et cetera. The last question on the form was this, "Is there anything else that I should know about your child?"<br />
<br />
Ummm, yeah! <br />
<br />
Dear Kindergarten Teacher,<br />
You should know that I prayed for two years for God to give me a 3rd child before I became pregnant with Owen Scott. You should know that Owen means Young Warrior and Scott is my father's name.<br />
Also, you should know when he was born, the bones of Owen's head were overlapping and I was sick with worry until the neurologist told us the bones would return to a normal position with time. And you should know that Owen had RSV when he was a baby. The doctor said he was amazed that our little guy wasn't blue as hard as he was working to breathe,. And you should know that I watched him breathe all day, everyday for the next week, wishing I could make it easier for him.<br />
<br />
I also think you should know that Owen was an easy baby. He hardly ever cried. I mean, almost never. He never hit the terrible twos. He never hit the ferocious fours. Owen is my most easy-going child. He can be a little shy at times, but generally he is filled with self-confidence. He just has this understanding that he is divinely created and he is enough.<br />
<br />
Oh, also, you should know that Owen tells me he loves me, unsolicited, at least 20 times each day and he gives me kisses and when he does he makes the "mwah" sound. And last year Owen's brothers caught him talking to himself in his room one day but Owen said he was talking to Jesus. When I asked him about this Owen said, "Yeah, mom, its because Jesus talks to me".<br />
<br />
So basically, be careful with my little Owie. He is wonderful, delightul, sweet and fragile. And he is mine.<br />
<br />
Sincerely,<br />
Owen's Mom<br />
<br />
I am not entirely sure this is what Kindergarten teacher had in mind. But she did ask. <br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbmHavd56QM8v7brRj_Sa6738uBIb9p-Cuq2_xv-l949-QrCi62I_7MkTN6zFz64DDSr5ySntD9sCHmWMN1oXGazxcP0CSMJGzhsTZxZKZA1GQSz8oHTlrTpq6eRZ_E3NRPeaH9WbBKDbS/s1600/Owen+Kindergarten.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbmHavd56QM8v7brRj_Sa6738uBIb9p-Cuq2_xv-l949-QrCi62I_7MkTN6zFz64DDSr5ySntD9sCHmWMN1oXGazxcP0CSMJGzhsTZxZKZA1GQSz8oHTlrTpq6eRZ_E3NRPeaH9WbBKDbS/s320/Owen+Kindergarten.jpg" width="191" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Owen on his first day of Kindergarten</td></tr>
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Grouchymommahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06279120554239717269noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6419147138559582908.post-5379181734368689272011-07-06T13:26:00.000-07:002011-07-06T13:26:07.219-07:00ImportantThis week I have soothed a crying baby, oh I don't know maybe a hundred times. I have changed about 50 diapars. I have done 10 loads of laundry. Well I have done them half way, as I never fold the clothes. I take them out of the dryer and make a huge clean laundry pile. But thats besides the point. I have settled several sibbling squables. It felt like several hundred. I have made dinner. I have bought dinner at Del Taco. I could go on. <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgv7Kr8LgmuE_UqM6Me4bGfyBACnSkRQ3HpDDOZ0PlfqMu0FYxP6lIeOrnCX60d4dXrRUwM_Z7SU-gNcyvI26diVpZYoDe75BS_RKS5hDRyQN2W7GQwS5raPLRJH6hyphenhyphen6J4zV4Pt5J57aLQ6/s1600/Vacation+2011+261.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgv7Kr8LgmuE_UqM6Me4bGfyBACnSkRQ3HpDDOZ0PlfqMu0FYxP6lIeOrnCX60d4dXrRUwM_Z7SU-gNcyvI26diVpZYoDe75BS_RKS5hDRyQN2W7GQwS5raPLRJH6hyphenhyphen6J4zV4Pt5J57aLQ6/s320/Vacation+2011+261.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
But the point is, I do the same sorts of things every week, every month, every year. It is all rather routine, rather mundane. Sometimes I get frustrated with it all. I have friends who are doing great things with their lives; missionaries to Africa and such. And frankly, I am a little jealous. I want to do something important. <br />
I wonder if Mary ever felt that way. I wonder if she was ever rocking a crying Baby Jesus thinking of all the things she couldn't do with a baby in tow. I wonder if she wiped the tears from his eyes when he skinned his knee and thought, "this is so not a big deal, I could be out saving the world." Did the mother of our Savior ever feel her job was unimportant? I hope not.<br />
And so I am humbled. Not that my children are perfect, or that I am as blessed as Mary, but I am humbled because God has given me the opportunity to raise world-changers. I know there are many great men and women who would not be so great if they did not have a mother to love and teach them, to care for and admonish them.<br />
Next time I have to settle a dispute between siblings, I will remember that perhaps I am raising foreign ambassadors or diplomats. Next time I am trying for the millionth time to teach my five year old his alphabet, I will remember that maybe I am raising a great scholar. Next time I have a conversation with my 8 year old about faith, I will remember that I may be raising a great theologian. Next time I have to rock my crying baby instead of taking part in an adult discussion, I will remember that one day my baby will grow up, and know that he is loved, and have the courage to change the world.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj78T_2vy7QtI8RQ5EgdvE4e2wWSvMDKDSFpBkbjVnRo0QhNiYTPmuZepUeIMTyFJle9aO96E54KyzWx2RyvheN9GdyyaQGZjJ5rR4p89DJW2G4vrIG4hu3UOS-hI8yc61L5i19FcfT1umn/s1600/Vacation+2011+251.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj78T_2vy7QtI8RQ5EgdvE4e2wWSvMDKDSFpBkbjVnRo0QhNiYTPmuZepUeIMTyFJle9aO96E54KyzWx2RyvheN9GdyyaQGZjJ5rR4p89DJW2G4vrIG4hu3UOS-hI8yc61L5i19FcfT1umn/s320/Vacation+2011+251.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>Grouchymommahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06279120554239717269noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6419147138559582908.post-67269661060601980382011-06-02T11:10:00.000-07:002011-06-02T11:18:41.754-07:00Sins of the Mothers<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBSYS_kIRqgnV9Fvx4g_ycpXnGDNn1sX8OA3XzCNmQ93dfpnFilkTwX8iMWlEuky42dlOqGo_RPTeGVubMCbyrEd7d25yy5FlWjTAQhK2NstQed0lCHNUhFwu75SeqiQrGhAln_P14ZdE6/s1600/HPIM2586.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a>My kids are extraordinary. They really are. Each one of them is so different from the rest, such little individuals even from birth. The credit I take in this is that I have not totally screwed them up. Parenting is like that. Bad parents scar you. Good parents let you be who God made you to be. But the longer I parent them, the more I realize that my children do bear little scars, little character flaws and I am ashamed to admit they look remarkably like my own.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBSYS_kIRqgnV9Fvx4g_ycpXnGDNn1sX8OA3XzCNmQ93dfpnFilkTwX8iMWlEuky42dlOqGo_RPTeGVubMCbyrEd7d25yy5FlWjTAQhK2NstQed0lCHNUhFwu75SeqiQrGhAln_P14ZdE6/s1600/HPIM2586.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBSYS_kIRqgnV9Fvx4g_ycpXnGDNn1sX8OA3XzCNmQ93dfpnFilkTwX8iMWlEuky42dlOqGo_RPTeGVubMCbyrEd7d25yy5FlWjTAQhK2NstQed0lCHNUhFwu75SeqiQrGhAln_P14ZdE6/s320/HPIM2586.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<br />
My oldest, Jaden, is a people pleaser. He lives for the approval of others. He dresses in a way that other people will like. He won't allow himself to do things that he fears other people will laugh at. If you tell him you liked the way he did something, he will do it that way again and again and again. I wish I could convince him that his value is intrinsic. He is a worthwhile, fantastic 10 year old because HE is Jaden Delon. But I remember when I was trying, striving to do anything that would increase my value in the eyes of others. I remember starving myself because I was sure that being skinny would increase my net-worth.<br />
<br />
Cael worries. A lot. He is sure the world's end is just around the corner. Cael, like his mother before him, is under the assumption that if he worries enough about a situation then he can control it. This hypothesis has never proved itself to be true but we worry none the less. I remember when he was 6 he had a fixed lymph node on his groin. We went to get it x-rayed, just in case. I was secretly holding my breath while assuring Cael it was no big deal. When the doctor told us the news, that it was JUST a fixed lymph node, Cael exhaled. "So, does this mean that I don't have cancer. Because that is what I am really worried about." Aaagghhh! Now I have another reason to worry. Now I worry that my son worries to much. <br />
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Owen is his father's child. Strengths, faults, so far those are all Matt. For example as a little boy Matt hit his dad over the head with a 2 by 4. And last week Owen swung at his brother with an axe. His father's child. But I am sure as he grows more, I will see things about him that I hate about me.<br />
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Toren's biggest fault right now is that he bites people. Mom, dad, brothers, little girls in the church nursery. I am very relieved to say neither my husband nor I bite people so that is all baby Toren.<br />
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My biggest prayer for my kids is that God will redeem those traits that will cause them pain. I pray that Jaden will learn his value before he allows what others think to change him. I pray that Cael will learn to lose the illusion of control and just trust God before the cares of this world choke him out. I pray that Owen will control his temper before he hurts someone with an axe or with his words. I pray that Toren will stop biting before he gets kicked out of the nursery.<br />
AmenGrouchymommahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06279120554239717269noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6419147138559582908.post-32476664028522964412011-05-10T20:45:00.000-07:002011-05-10T20:46:28.407-07:00Air Guitars and McDreamyI am sitting on the couch with my three older boys literally jumping around on it. They are singing songs that they have written. They think they are in a music video, air guitars, dance moves and all. <br />
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I am missing my husband tonight. He is away on a business trip, he goes away about once a month for a week or so. Every time he goes away I become all sentimental and chick-flick-cheesy, missing him. I have known Matt since I was 13 years old. I met him in my middle school sunday school class at church. From the first time I met him he represented everything I needed, wanted, had to have. He was warm, he was unbridled, he was ridiculously fun. <br />
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He still is all these things. He is also stubborn. He gets tunnel vision. He does not put his dirty clothes in the hamper. And he sometimes forgets to feed the boys, which must relate to his tunnel vision.<br />
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I love Matt, all of him, even the parts that infuriate me. Because he is my McDreamy. Yes, I did just make a reference to Grey's Anatomy. I know it's not a terribly intelligent reference, but appropriate none the less. Matt just IS love to me. <br />
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So as I am getting ready to tuck the boys into bed, my mind is really hundreds of miles away. I am anxiously awaiting Matt's call with a little Snow Patrol running through my head. I almost feel an air guitar coming on. Cue the music.<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">If I lay here...</div><div style="text-align: center;">If I just lay here....</div><div style="text-align: center;">Would you lie with me </div><div style="text-align: center;">And just forget the world?</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Matt</td></tr>
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</div>Grouchymommahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06279120554239717269noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6419147138559582908.post-3569929458803061452011-05-05T13:00:00.000-07:002011-05-05T13:00:09.770-07:00Roses in DecemberWe celebrated two birthdays in our family this week. My youngest, Toren, turned one. And my oldest, Jaden, turned 10. I feel like I am going to cry even as I write this. How can I have a 10 year old? He is closer to going to college, than he is to being born. Wow. If you don't believe time flies, try having a child. <br />
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We started the celebration with a Crazy Dinner. I gave everything on the menu an odd name. For example, spaghetti noodles were called "Silly String", alfredo sauce was "Butter Britches", lemonade was "Egypts Pride" (did you know it originated in Egypt?) and forks were "Little Presents". All in all there were about 20 items and each person could only choose five. Since you didn't know what you were ordering the plates were quite unique. Only about 5 of the 13 of us got forks. My sister in law got two salad dressings, marinara sauce, olives and a meatball. Jaden got olives, alfredo sauce, lettuce, lemonade and a fork. It was a lot of fun. And we did really get to eat after we ate our Crazy plates.<br />
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Then we did birthday cakes! Toren raised his hands in the air everytime he took a bite of cake, indicating it was time for the rest of us to cheer. He also fingerpainted on his dad and brothers with the icing. Jaden helped me make an NFL cake that the rest of us ate. He got all his candles out in one blow. <br />
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I am glad my children are not cognizant of how quickly the years pass. They are just busy having fun, busy being a kid. This week Toren is busy walking. Owen is busy playing Wii, and watching Mickey Mouse clubhouse, and riding his bike with training wheels. Cael is busy working in the yard so he can earn money for a sheriff set he found at the store. And Jaden is busy playing legos and looking at his football cards, anxiously awaiting next school year when he will get a locker.<br />
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Me, I am busy trying to enjoy it all. I heard a quote once that I fell in love with. It says, "God gave us memory so that we might have roses in December." Thank you Lord for all my roses.<br />
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</div>Grouchymommahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06279120554239717269noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6419147138559582908.post-39633047668687879292011-04-26T13:21:00.000-07:002011-04-26T13:21:37.353-07:00Mother GuiltI recently recieved a note from my oldest child stating that I had destroyed both his Easter and Birthday because I grounded him to his room. I am not sure how the destruction of said holidays correlates with his grounding but, okay. He also used my Christian name. I believed his exact words were, "You have destroyed both Easter and my birthday, Candice." It is funny now, but at the time, I wondered what terrible mistake I had made as a mother to make my 9 year old write such a hateful note. Then, about a day later, I remembered my 9 year old is a Drama King. It still stings, but maybe nothing for me to feel guilty over.<br />
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Thats the thing about motherhood though, guilt is an emotion you are quickly introduced to. I guess because, as mothers we want their lives to be pain free. We want them to get good grades, make lots of friends. We don't ever want bullies to be mean to them. We don't ever want them to be bullies. We want a perfect life for our children. And when the inevitable happens, we feel guilty that we were unable to offer them perfection. At least I do.<br />
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Other guilt ridden moments this week:<br />
1. My Cael in an effort to make me feel better about not being "cuddly" as his dad said, "Its probably just because your not around as much." Thanks Cael.<br />
2. My school children, Jaden and Cael, both cried for me to homeschool them like last year because their teachers are "mean". How quickly they forget how mean I was.<br />
3. Owen, my 5 year, old asked me why we never eat dinner as a family? BECAUSE WE ARE NEVER HOME AND I HATE IT. <br />
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There are more, there are always more. You would think after four kids, I'd be over it.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Jaden (Left) and Cael giving each other a hard time.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Grouchymommahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06279120554239717269noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6419147138559582908.post-18954776920038071552011-04-21T16:18:00.000-07:002011-04-21T16:18:35.403-07:00Moab and Rubbermaid Cribs<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">We went to Moab this week for the boys spring break. We were supposed to go camping near home but the weather was so lousy, my husband decided last minute we should go to Moab. It is crazy how beautiful it was there!! We had a completely great time, hiking and swimming and spending time together, which we don't get enough of. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;">The only negative part was we forgot the portable crib for Toren. No biggie, he can sleep on the floor. Right. After the first night of no sleep we went to ALCO, their variety store, as there is no Walmart in Moab. We bought, I kid you not, a Rubbermaid container which was just about the size of a portable crib. We were so looking forward to a good night sleep. But then we got to wondering, what if the oxygen can't circulate well, afterall they must put slats in cribs for a reason. So we had a huge rubbermaid container in the middle of the room and a one year old in our bed. He tossed and turned, but slept a little more than the night before. We returned the Rubbermaid the next day. My 5 year old, Owen, said "Mom, if you didn't want to hear him cry, you just should have put the lid on." The final night of our Moab trip, Toren slept with us again. He actually slept pretty well, not that I did, he must be getting used to it. I am hoping he goes back to his crib with no problem. Because 3 sleepless nights is quite enough for me, thank you. Not to mention, his inner beast is unleashed when he isn't rested. Our sweet little man became "the most unpopular member of our family" as my husband put it. And I'm ready to have my sweet baby back. </div><br />
<div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>Grouchymommahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06279120554239717269noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6419147138559582908.post-82096925983284084552011-04-14T19:30:00.000-07:002011-04-14T19:32:51.515-07:00Unfinished BusinessToday i woke up at 6, no wait, back up. Last night i taught the kids class at my church and finally left, kids in tow, at 10pm. i fed my kids Del Taco at 10pm. Then i cleaned up, watched one episode of 30Rock and fell asleep on the couch. i woke at 6am to give a bottle to my 11 month old, who still does not sleep more than 7 hours at time. i got Jaden and Cael up for school at 730, drove them to school at 8. i came home, vacuumed, made doctors appointments for my sick in bed husband, did two loads of laundry. i made lunch for Owen, fed Toren, took a shower and fixed my hair. i helped Owen clear out a trashbag full of clothes that he does not wear and form a small volcano in his room. i picked up my kids early from school at 230, took my husband to get a procedure at 3, the same time i tried to attend a work meeting at the hospital.<br />
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So here i am at my staff meeting in the hospital, my poor husband alone upstairs in a procedure, and my poor kids sitting alone in the education departement with Dr. Pepper and Rice Krispie Treats. i left my meeting early to rescue my kids and see my husband in recovery. Drove everyone home at 530, picked up hubby's prescriptions on the way home, as well as diapars and baby food. Ordered a pizza and watched American Idol with my family.<br />
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Things i did not do today..... offer my children healthy choices to eat, take the clothes from Owen's room to the Rescue Mission (i actually THREW them away), make any kind of dent in housework, pet my dogs, let my kids finish their school day, be there for my husband before his procedure, stay for all of my staff meeting, provide meaningful after school activities for my kids. i did not get to have coffee with a friend that i never seem to find time for. i did not get to visit my friend who just had her baby.<br />
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Hmmm, kind of makes me want to go back to bed and try again tomorrow. Lucky i get to.Grouchymommahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06279120554239717269noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6419147138559582908.post-31410064947323713842011-04-12T19:56:00.001-07:002011-04-12T20:08:50.201-07:00My First Blogi am writing my first blog. i realize i am hopping on the blogger train about 5 years later than a lot of my counterparts. Better late than never. i actually decided i need to write a blog so that when my children are grown they can read this and understand that being their momma is the best thing i have ever done. My grouchiness is quite often present, thank God not usually contagious, and i hope outdone by my love for my kiddos.<br />
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So here it is, the grouchymomma blog.<br />
i have four boys, ages 9, 8, 5 and almost 1. They are spectactular, really. i also have a job. i am a psychiatric nurse. This means i get to see the effects of bad parenting on a regular basis. And, i am a pastor's wife, but i am definately not typical. i don't put on tea parties or play the piano, though i wish i could do both. i also frequently have so much on my mind that i find myself scowling. Not pretty.<br />
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My 8 year old told me today that his dad is more cuddly than me. i was genuinely offended. What? i am supposed to be cuddly, for goodness sake, i'm a freaking mother. But okay, cuddly does not a good mother make, right? AAAGGHH. I love you Cael, whether I cuddle you or not.Grouchymommahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06279120554239717269noreply@blogger.com2