How the Xbox Changed My Life

It isn't a great secret that I hate video games.  I loathe them with a hatred that is nearly indescribable.  But just for the sake of trying, let's pretend that video games are called Yvette, and then watch the following clip and you will have an idea of what I mean.
You with me now?

I hate video games.  And because of that, we own a Nintendo 64 and a Playstation 2 - two of the most outdated machines you can have - and I have been known to ground the children from them for months at a time and just once to throw the PS2 in a fit of rage.  I'm not proud of that, but there it is.

So when my husband and I, along with two of our kids, walked into a Game Stop the other day I can't really say what kind of insanity or evil demon had taken possession of me, but a string of words came out of my mouth that I swear I thought I would never utter.

"Why don't we get an Xbox?"

Yep.  That's what I heard myself say.  And I didn't have to say it twice before Andrew was on board and the cursed thing was being scanned at the register.

Buyer's remorse is something that I experience with a fair amount of frequency, and this was no exception.  All the way home I kept thinking, "What have I done? What have I done??"  But then this weird kind of elation came over me, like a beautiful sunrise, and I began to understand the amount of power that I held in that enormous bag on my lap.

Rules were quickly established as to when the Xbox could be played, a system was put into place for the boys to earn their playing time.  The rules and the system were implemented on the first day, and the change that has come over my four children is astounding. Not to mention the cleanliness of the house.

First, the boys are never allowed to play unless their rooms are clean, their chores are done and their schoolwork/homework is completed.  And then they are awarded ten minutes of playing time per requirement.  (Ten minutes for homework, ten for chores, ten for a clean room.)

Second, I have the right to take away minutes for bad behavior or sub-standard work.  I've done it twice already, and it is a beautiful thing.

Finally, the kids may earn extra minutes by doing extra work around the house.  This is the best part.  My van is getting cleaned tomorrow.

What have the results of this plan been?  Oh, sweet joy, allow me to share!

Cameron has finished all of his online schoolwork by one in the afternoon every day.  He has yet to notice or mention the fact that I've been putting extra lessons in since Tuesday.  His chores happen immediately after lunch and I never have to ask him to do them.  In addition to his other chores he has done three loads of laundry this week, done the lunch dishes, folded clothes, swept the floor, helped the little kids with their chores, made dinner and vacuumed - all without being asked!

Ethan has resumed his old habit of doing homework, which had disappeared over the last month.  He has been kind to his brothers and offered to do extra work.

Drew has decided that he'd rather play with his friend across the street than work to earn dumb old video games.  This is the best triumph of all and I hope it lasts!

And finally - Trent has consented to doing the homework that his speech pathologist gives him, which basically means talking with a popsicle stick holding his tongue down and he hates it.  But he's practiced more this week than he ever has before, and pretty soon he'll be saying lick and truck and snack without any popsicle stick required.

So as long as the boys continue to be obsessed with the object of my deepest abhorrence, I think we can consider this a win-win.  In the meantime I am completely stumped at what to do while I sit on my arse and watch my kids work.  So I'm currently playing 12 different games of Words With Friends, eating a lot of cookies and obsessively watching An Idiot Abroad.  I may need to start a weight-loss blog soon.  Until then, I plan on letting the kids earn ten extra minutes if they vacuum all the cookie crumbs off my chest during the commercials.

$20 Discipline Plan

I'm sure there are lots of parents out there who have the whole discipline plan nailed.  Their children never flip off the neighbor kids or get in fights or leave their skid-marked underwear on the bathroom floor after a shower.  Yey for them.

I don't happen to be one of those parents.  My discipline techniques change from day to day because I get bored easily and can't be bothered to enforce a time out or a grounding.  Unless it's a grounding from video games.  I hate video games and am always happy to declare them off limits for lengthy amounts of time.

So Andrew suggested the $20 Discipline Plan.  Each child will start the month with a jar of twenty one dollar bills. For every wrong doing, tantrum, fight or neglected chore the child would lose a dollar - which would then be placed in a jar labeled "Mom and Dad".  At month's end, whatever money they have left in their jar they can keep.

Turns out that I wasn't very good at remembering to fine the kids.  I just wanted to yell at them or give them the death glare and be done with it.  Plus, who can remember the tally of dollars lost for each child when you spend the day away from home and those stinking jars?  It got to the point where Andrew begged me to remember the jars or we would be out $80.  That's money we need if we're going to get to see Total Recall, people.  So just in the last few days of July I claimed a collective $16 from their jars and stuffed it triumphantly into the jar labeled "Mom and Dad".  Phew!

On the morning of August 1st, all four boys came charging down the stairs to see what spoils they had managed to hold on to.  They furiously counted their dollars, and I asked, "Who has the most money?"  Drew, with his fists full of ones and shoulders slumped said, "You do!"

Victory.

Child Prodigy

Trent is my baby, and with his third birthday rapidly approaching I decided it was time to potty train.  

Right now, nothing feels more insipid than a story about toilet training a three year old, so I'm going to make it quick.

This kid was potty trained in four hours.

I'm not kidding.

I put him on the toilet for the very first time in his life at seven in the morning on Monday, and nothing happened.

He peed his underoos three times before eight o'clock, and again at ten; then, at eleven in the morning we had success.  Pee-pee in the potty.

No joke - Trent has not peed his pants since ten in the morning on day one of potty training.  

He goes by himself.  I don't have to ask him if he needs to go, he just says, "Pee-pee's coming," and trots off to the toilet where he climbs on, does his business without the aid of a kiddie-sized seat, and gets back down.  (I do help with the hand-washing.)

The kid did go four days without pooping, and I was a little concerned that it would hit suddenly and with ferocity - but no.  Tonight, right before bed, he just did the doo.  Simple as that. 

I declare him a child prodigy.  And this week's favorite child.

The end.

A Lesson About Mammals

Both of my sisters recently told me that I need to watch a documentary called "Babies".  They made it sound awfully intriguing, so I decided to give it a whirl.  

It happens to be one of the movies you can stream from Netflix, so I was sitting at my computer completely dumbstruck by the way babies are raised in different cultures, when my seven year old son, Ethan, came into the room.

I hit the pause button on that movie so fast, it was like lightning.  Ninja skills with the mouse kind of speed.

Why?  Because I was watching a documentary that showed bare-chested African women, that's why.

My sons have never seen a bare-chested woman of any race, and I wasn't sure if this film was how I wanted them to first encounter that, or if they are even ready to encounter such realities.  I remember the first time I saw a National Geographic magazine, and I recall with perfect clarity the feeling of regret over the loss of my innocence.  So I shewed him away.

I know that it's the culture in many parts of the world to go without much clothing, and I know that breastfeeding is natural...  But we're talking about a seven year old boy and a whole bunch of boobies.

It took me about three days to finish watching this film, and during the last twenty minutes or so, both of my older boys came in to my room again, wanting to know what I was watching.  I gave it about twenty seconds of thought and decided that if I prepared them, they would be fine.

"Boys", I said, "this is a movie about four real life babies who are growing up in different countries around the world, and it shows naked women.   If that's something you're OK with seeing, then you can watch this with me.  If you don't want to see that, then you should go find something else to do."

They both said they didn't mind, (no shock there), so I hit the play button and away we went.

Not too far into it, the African woman is walking along a road with her small son, and he begins to cry, so she bends down and offers him her breast for a drink.  Ethan scrunched his eyebrows up and said, "Is that a bottle or something?"

How did my children get this far into life without knowing about breastfeeding?  I never imagined they were so sheltered.  They've seen people doing it, but I guess they didn't know exactly what was going on.

I explained what it was to Ethan and Cameron, and you would not believe the shock.  I asked them what they knew about mammals, and they told me all the basics - they give birth to live young, they have hair, etc...  I said, "Yes -- and they feed their young with milk they make from their bodies."  And then I uttered the words, "We are mammals."

Cameron immediately bolted from the room, and Ethan screamed and lifted up his shirt to inspect his chest.  "Are you telling me I'm going to grow those things??"

I was laughing so hard I had to end the lesson there.  Imagine their horror if they knew that they were both breast-fed for the first few weeks of their lives. 

Loving It, Even When It Stinks

Lately I've tried to really enjoy being a mom, instead of just surviving it.  Everyone says, "You'll miss this stage of life when it's over."  

Well, crap!  I want to enjoy it while I'm in it - not look back at it and think, "Sheesh, that was hell.  I wish I'd loved it then!"

So I've decided to love it now, even if it totally blows.

Like this morning, I decided that it was high time to teach Drew to wipe his own butt.  It's so much easier to just do it myself so I don't have to worry about any poo-on-finger fiascoes.  And the kid always has to poop right in the middle of dinner.  He jumps up from his chair and runs to the bathroom.  About forty seconds later he yells, "Moooooom?  I need a wipe!!"

So inconvenient.  And not good for the appetite.  Especially on nights when we're having homemade split pea soup. 

And this system - he poops, I wipe -  is hardly doing Drew any favors.  At the rate we're going he's going to need a bathroom aid when he goes to kindergarten.  So today when he yelled about needing a wipe, I forced myself to keep my hands in my pockets while he got the toilet paper himself, wadded it into an appropriate shape for a tiny butt, and did the reach around.  Then I guided him.  Simple.  I'm pretty sure he'll be able to tackle the wiping on his own now.

And did I love this part of parenting?  You bet I did!  It was super fun!  

We bonded.

I just have to make sure he never touches my face again.  He's not exactly an excellent hand washer. We'll save that lesson for another day. 

Making the Punishment Fit the Crime

Today I mailed a $649 check to a district court in Washington to pay my husband's bail forfeiture for a crime he did not commit, but which we have no way to prove.  

Life's kinda awesome sometimes, isn't it?

Anyway, it got me thinking about making punishments fit crimes.  I try to do that in my own house with my kids.  For examples, see this post about discipline.  But the King of Punishments is my father.  Hands down.  I will never forget the lesson I learned on the way to my grandma's house when I was just five years old...

It was a cloudy day and I was in the backseat of our tiny car because we were all going to see Grandma.  My parents were in the front seats talking about boring adult stuff, and I was sitting near the window with my older sister beside me.  We were coloring in our She-Ra! Princess of Power! coloring books to pass the time on the drive. 

I was always the scandalous child who had to be warned and threatened before my parents could take me to any social gathering.  I didn't have a very proficient personal filter, and it's still a little faulty today. So in the car that day, being who I was, I took a purple crayon and snickered while I filled in the giant spheres of She-Ra's breasts.  I thought it was so hilarious to color just her boobs and leave everything else un-colored.  I simply had to show it to my sister!

When our giggles caught the attention of my parents in the front seat, I was made to pass my coloring book up to my mother.  She looked at what I had done, (I'm pretty sure I remember her pinching back a smile), and showed it to my dad. 

Not. Good.

My father told me that because I was so proud of my drawing, I could present it to Grandma just as it was.  

I was Horrified.  With a capital H.

And my father followed through.  When we arrived at Grandma's house, I had to tear the page from my coloring book and present it to Grandma as a picture I had colored for her.

She hung it on her refrigerator.

To this day, I do not color boobs.  I do not draw dirty pictures. Except for that one time on a Magnadoodle, but I quickly erased it. And I only did it that once to entertain Andrew on a long road trip.  Even now I feel really bad about that.

So how do you make your child's punishments fit the crimes? I don't think I'll ever be as good at it as my dad was, but I'd love to hear some ideas.

P.S.  Still time to enter the drawing for the super-awesome scarf or baby blanket!

Child Labor

We have an apple tree in our yard, and only a mild affinity for apples.  That means we have a lot of rotten apples on the ground in the backyard.  Hard to mow the lawn like that. 

So today I put a bucket in the "garden", (giant weed patch that we don't mow), and told the kids to throw apples into it.  First person to get three apples in the bucket wins.

We got about 200 apples off the grass, and the kids had no idea that I had just gotten half an hour of work out of them.  Now we all have sore arms and an almost clean backyard.    Score one for Mom.

You Know You're a Mom When...

...you're so desperate to get a good picture of the kids that you're willing to have a Carmel Apple sucker in the photo.  Bribery - it's the mark of a desperate parent.

My Job Rocks. Most Of The Time.

I'll be honest.  Some days I feel like my job sucks big, hairy monkey balls.  (Sorry Mom.)  But most days I love it.  Why?  I'll tell you why.  And in a top ten list, no less.  (Idea courtesy of Mama Kat's Weekly Writing Prompts.)

Top Ten Reasons Why I Love Being A Stay At Home Mom

#10 - The break time snacks rock, and I never need to find exact change for a vending machine.

#9 - I am my own boss, and I get to boss around four kids, plus a husband, plus a nephew three days a week.  I am a powerful woman.

#8 - The dress code is loose. I can wear pajamas all day long if I want to.

#7 - I get to be present to witness all of my kids' firsts.  Like the first time Ethan called his brother an ass.

#6 - I never have to drop my kids off at daycare and know they might feel that heavy homesick feeling of missing mom.

#5 - I get to eat macaroni and cheese for lunch.  Oh, wait...  Let me go puke for a while...

#4 - I get to play teacher this year, which means that I can force my sons to make paper mache butterflies if I want to, and then tease them about it later on.

#3 - When the cosmos align just so, I get to take naps.  

#2 - I can add to my job description anything I want.  Photographer, creative chef, artist, decorator, literary critic...  And I can find the time to do it all, if I really want to.  Sometimes the lure of #3 wins out, though.

And the #1 reason I love my job?  Seeing these cute faces every second of the day...

The Truth About The Tooth Fairy

"Mom, don't forget I put my tooth under my pillow."

"Why would I need to know that?"

"You know, just in case the tooth fairy doesn't exist."

Well, it happened.  Cameron is beginning to figure things out.  I felt kinda sad about this exchange we had, but I've known this was coming, and was even a little worried that he was catching on too slowly.

I sent him off to bed for one more night of believing, and tomorrow, I'll have the unfortunate task of taking the magic out of every holiday he's ever lost sleep over.

Because I can't tell the truth about the tooth fairy and expect that Santa will remain unscathed.

But if he knows the truth about the Tooth Fairy, do I still have to fork out a dollar every time he loses a molar?

Life With Boys

Being the only female in a house otherwise full of male family members, I have come to the realization that there are just certain things you get used to. For instance...

...always checking to make sure the toilet seat is dry before you sit.

...grocery shopping one day for an entire two weeks worth of food, and having bare cupboards the next.

...being teased relentlessly for failure to make acceptable sound effects during pretend wars.

...smelly socks littering the floors all through the house.

...at least one ghastly burp at every meal, followed by explosions of laughter.

...stepping, rather painfully, on army guys and Legos whilst tip-toeing through dark bedrooms to check on the kids before hitting the hay.

...always having to be the one to replace the toilet paper rolls. (Admittedly, I probably use more of it than anyone else, but I'm rarely the one to use the last of the roll.)

...constant haircuts.

...knowing the names and teams of several professional athletes.

...frantically fumbling with the remote to change the channel whenever a Victoria's Secret commercial comes on the TV.


Of course, there are a few nice things about being the only girl...

...knowing that someone's always got your back.

...never having to mow the lawn.

...the added pride that comes with being the one to successfully teach a proper batting stance.

...knowing that in about two years, everyone will be old enough to go on weekend camp-outs and fishing trips with Dad. I will be all alone for days at a time.

How do ya like dem apples?

The Life Of Drew

This is my record of Drew's life from about a year ago, maybe a little more:

Today in the life of Drew:

7:15 Wake up. Pound on bedroom door until someone lets me out.

7:30 Scream until someone gives me a cookie.

8:00 Brush teeth by dipping toothbrush in toilet.

8:02 Receive thorough hand scrubbing.

8:10 Drink milk out of cereal bowl, dump a bunch on my shirt, throw cereal bowl containing all the cereal onto the floor.

8:25 Help Ethan find his shoes. I love shoes.

9:00 Listen to mom's ipod, scream when she takes it away because there are no more appropriate songs for one-year-olds on it.

10:00 Take apart the toy Cameron has been building.

10:02 Receive stern lecture.

10:30 Climb onto kitchen counter and apply butter to a new package of socks that dummy Mom didn't put away.

10:31 Receive spanking.

10:33 Put new socks in trash.

10:34 Receive spanking.

11:45 Eat two bites of corn dog.

11:46 Cry until Ethan trades me his bologna sandwich for my corn dog.

11:47 Smash bologna sandwich on carpet.

11:50 Give Trent tonsillectomy with corn dog stick.

11:51 Watch Mom freak out. Joy radiates from me.

11:52 Grab bread bag from counter and try to squish it all while Mom makes sure Trent hasn't died.

12:00 Take nap. Why does Mom look so happy?

Now for a day in the current life of Drew:

8:30 Wake up, make way into living room and babble incoherently about Max and Ruby and Poptarts.

10:00 Play outside.

10:15 Listen to Mom tell me if I take my clothes off outside again she'll spank my naked butt.

10:16 Run naked to the front yard to see if I can make Mom's entire head explode.

10:17 Be dragged inside by Mom to get what was coming to me.

10:20 Dressed again, color at kitchen table.

10:22 Color ON kitchen table.

10:24 Pee into kitchen trash can.

10:26 Feed crayons to Trent.

10:30 Leave crayons and paper on table, run outside, get naked.

10:35 Caught again. Run from camera. (And spanking)



11:00 Beg for snack of straight sugar. Licorice, gummy bears, or Airheads will do just fine. Forget the banana.

11:30 Poop in the kiddie pool.

12:00 Eat lunch. Grapes will be cleaned off of plate, sandwich shall remain untouched.

12:30 Back outside to play. Naked.

1:00 Gaze into Mom's eyes and know that she is reminiscing the days that I still took a nap.



In case you noticed, I really can't bear to record an entire day.

Don't forget to Name That Bug!

Putting Motherhood First

A few days ago I took a call from a woman I love. That call was a very rare thing as she works so much that it is nearly impossible to get hold of her on the phone. I was so excited to talk to her because she is vivacious and spunky and alive. She's a fun person to be around.

But quickly that conversation turned one-sided as she told me about a spat she had had with her mother over the number of hours she was working. I sat in stunned silence as she told me that she was working really hard to make sure that her kids had everything they needed, and she even said that her own childhood would have been so different if her mother had worked at least part time.

I agree, it would have been different. But I think she and I see that difference in completely opposite ways.

In actuality, this woman isn't working to give her kids everything they need, because her husband is perfectly capable of doing that. She is working to give them everything she didn't have when she was a kid.

Listening to her go on, I felt like a bug being squished beneath the shoe of a superior bully. She was knocking everything that I have spent my life happily sacrificing for.

I am a mother who has not worked a day outside the home since my first child was born. Sometimes my kids do go without certain things that they might like because we just don't have $160 extra dollars a month for the older two to take karate lessons, or a spare $300 to make sure they each have a new wardrobe for every season.

We have to be careful with money, but my kids have never, NEVER, had to go without anything that they needed. And if you ask me, they get plenty of things that are simply for fun. We have season passes to an amusement park, we take them fishing, camping, to the park, we go to the theater, they play the sports they want to, they get birthday and Christmas gifts, we buy them ice cream for no reason, we make memories together. My kids are not deprived.

I was angry during this phone call because this woman, who I continue to love, caused me to feel like I was being a bad mom for not providing my kids with the things she deemed necessary. Essentially, she was saying that her kids would have a better childhood than mine because her kids would have THINGS.

I steamed about this call for about a half hour before I came to my senses. I understand now that she and I just have different beliefs.

(And here is the part where I will most definitely introduce controversy and force people to bring out their claws. I accept that because I feel so strongly about this.)

I believe that, with very few exceptions, mothers who have a working husband should be home with their kids.

I believe that putting my kids in daycare, whether provided by family or otherwise, is a bad idea. No one can love my kids like I do, and my kids deserve to be raised by the parents who love them more than anyone else does. And what's more - our kids WANT to be near us, not dropped off to someone else. I know that any child who was given a choice would choose to spend their days with their mom, not a babysitter.

I believe that most, (not all), women who are working could find ways to stay home with their kids if they really wanted to. It takes guts and sacrifice, but when I consider who my husband and I are sacrificing for, there is no doubt that it is the right thing to do. No one can convince me that a high paying career or a boat or anything else is more important or rewarding than a sticky kiss or "I love you, Mommy" from a toddler who is growing faster than I want him to.

I believe that spending time with my kids is far more valuable to them than spending money on them. We could provide all the toys, clothes, vacations, and lessons that we want, but if I am not around to read to them, play games with them, answer their questions about life, teach them at every turn, praise their good deeds, see them grow, and discipline the way I believe is right, then I am doing them a disservice. If I'm not doing those things, someone else is. Only so much life happens after working hours.

I DO NOT believe that "Mother" is a title one receives by giving birth, but rather, is a badge of honor that is earned outside of the delivery room.

I believe that it is important for a mother to be there for every milestone and learning opportunity in the early years. It is a mother's place, her right, to see the first steps, to teach right and wrong, to shape and mold her children.

I believe that the later years are just as important. Kids need to come home from school to a welcoming mother, not an empty house. Kids need to talk about their day, they need support, they need to feel like Mom is always there to talk to. They need to know that there is someone checking up on them, keeping them on the right path. Choices are good and all, and I hope that my husband and I have taught our kids well enough that they make good ones for themselves when we're not around, but kids can only handle so much temptation and responsibility. Teenagers are notorious for making bad choices - it's their job. The parents job is to keep them out of as much trouble as they can.

I DO NOT believe that a woman can "have it all". She can certainly try to be a mom, a wife, run a house, and have a career, but she will almost always fall short in some area. It's the kids, and often the husband, who suffer for the selfishness of the mother who wants success or fulfillment for herself as well as a picture-perfect family life. It is an illusion. It is stressful. It is not worth it.

Could I be a good mom if I worked? Absolutely. But I am most definitely a better mom for devoting my entire self to it, and don't my kids deserve my best? Not to mention my husband who prefers a wife who isn't run ragged and completely spent at the end of every day from trying to do it all.

Does being a stay-at-home mom automatically make me a good mom? Not at all. It completely depends on what I do with my time every day, the example I am to my kids, and what I teach them.

So after listening to this other woman state her purpose, I realized that I am the lucky one. I am choosing to be a full-time mom to my kids and to build a peaceful and happy home for my whole family. I am putting time with my kids before stuff for my kids. I have a husband who strongly supports this decision. I have not missed a minute of their growing up.

I think this other woman just doesn't yet see all the wonderful, irreplaceable things her mother gave her by staying home and raising her. One day, she'll realize.

Time with my kids is precious and fleeting. I know that I am right where I am supposed to be, and I'm loving every minute of it.

Mom, I'm Bored!

I took some of my own advice, added some from this blog, and created the Boredom Jar today. I didn't decorate mine, cause I have boys and they don't give a damn if there's ribbon on it.

So our rules are that if you complain of boredom, you can draw a slip of paper from the jar, but once you commit to being so bored that you have to have help to pull yourself out of the pending doom of depression, you have to do whatever is on the slip of paper. Even if it says that you have to clean a toilet. Yes, there are chores in the jar. (But not many - I'm not 100% mean.)

The boys were excited to try it, so I let them pull a paper this morning. The slip they chose was perfect. It said to visit someone. We all threw our shoes on and went down the street to see the baby chickens that a sweet little grandma had invited us to see last Sunday at church.

The boys had a ball! They saw the chicks, even got to pet one, fed the hens some scratch, learned how the chickens are taught where to lay their eggs...it was fun and educational! The sweet couple who hosted us were really good with the little kids and I am so glad we went.

On the way home, Cameron said, "All this excitement is making me want to be a farmer!"

Lessons At The Berry Farm

I have fond memories of berry picking with my mom and siblings every summer. We went to blueberry farms and plucked dozens of pounds of fruit from the heavy branches. Those outings were always one of my favorite parts of summer; I felt peaceful and happy.

Yesterday I took my boys plus Bryan to a local farm to pick strawberries in hopes that they would find the same simple joy in filling buckets that I had found in the task when I was young.

It almost went well.



I hadn't really taken into account that I was making this journey on my own with two one-year-olds, one three-year-old, and two school-age kids who were so anxious to fill their containers that they didn't bother to check that the berries were ripe before they plucked them from the vine. Grrr...



Add to that the babies who were stepping on the plants, taking bites out of green strawberries and then throwing them, and Drew who ... well, he pretty much did the same thing as the babes. There wasn't enough of me to keep up with them.



Then the wind kicked in and began to blow dirt into all of our eyes. My contacts were screaming in rebellion, while tears streamed down my cheeks.



I completely lost my cool and was chewing kids out for wandering off, picking unripe berries, and everything in between. I felt really bad for turning our outing into an unpleasant experience, but I decided to just fill the stinking boxes as fast as I could and get everyone back in the car before my eyes turned all that dirt to mud.



The day was not a total loss. I learned to never take toddlers to a u-pick berry farm without reinforcements, stay home if it's windy, and that no amount of squashed fruit or sticky hands is worth me becoming the uptight mom who rains on the parade. The kids still had fun, and we used those berries to make some killer smoothies.

Discipline: The Creative Part of Parenting

From the very beginning, Andrew and I have tried EVERYTHING. We have spanked, given time outs, made them stand with noses in the corner - everything.

I'm talking about punishments.

That nose in the corner one did nothing but elicit snickers from the child being punished. Won't do that a second time.

Andrew and I became parents without having a firm game-plan for how to discipline our kids. We just kinda figured we'd wait for something to happen before we decided what to do. The reality is, you can't have a game-plan until you know who you're dealing with.

And you don't know who you're dealing with until your kid starts doing their thing. So about the time your kid turns two, you'll know who he is and how best to handle him.

I've learned that no matter what form of discipline you choose, follow through is the most important part. You can't count to three, (without ever actually getting to three), and expect a toddler to take you seriously.

And maybe I'm just impatient, but I never have liked that counting to three business. Not only have I never seen anyone arrive at the dreaded number, but why in the world would I want to give my kid to the count of three to decide whether or not to obey me? When I tell them to do something, I want them to do it NOW. Not after I count to three using every fraction I can on the way there.

When I was little, my sister and I got caught jumping on our beds. My dad told us not to jump on the beds several times until finally he had had enough and said that if we jumped on them one more time he was going to throw them out the window.

We jumped again.

And what could my dad do? He brought in his tools, took apart our beds and chucked each piece out the window. My sister and I were left to sleep on the floor.

We never jumped on our beds again. Ever.

So there you have it! All you have to do is mean what you say. If you tell your child he can't go to Tommy's birthday party if he continues to pick on his sister, and sister continues to get picked on, you have to have the guts to break your kid's heart and teach him that you expect his obedience.

But that's easier said than done, isn't it?

It stinks to punish our kids. We've all heard the phrase, "This hurts me more than it hurts you," right before we felt a swat to our bottoms. I really didn't believe that until I was the parent.

I have always been a fan of making the punishment fit the crime. If my kids are hurling insults at each other and I can't take listening to them scream, "Butt-licker!", one more time, I make them stand facing one another and compliment each other until they are laughing together. If someone leaves their dishes on the table and a smaller person comes along and hurls their cereal bowl against the wall, then the dish-leaver gets to clean up the mess, and they may as well mop the entire floor while they're at it.

You get the idea - right?

Well, over the past several weeks, my two oldest boys have been making me so crazy with their constant whining and bickering that I have ground all my teeth down to nubs and pulled all but three of my hairs out. I felt like I need to be tossed into a padded room and left for a few days.

I had tried everything to get them to be pleasant. They spent a lot of time alone in their rooms, but all that did was give them quiet time to come up with better insults and more things to complain about. I tried passing out additional chores, but those were never done to my satisfaction and whining continued for the duration. I tried distracting them with ideas of things to do. They turned them all down. I even tried whining right back at them and telling them how miserable they were making me. Turns out that whining breeds more whining.

So finally, one day this last week, Andrew saw me on the verge of another mental breakdown courtesy of our eldest children, and he employed one of the standard punishments from his own childhood. And it was gooooood!

Andrew kicked the kids outside to run laps around the house. If they were going to make our lives miserable, he was going to return the favor. Cameron ran until he was crying in pain from the stitch in his side, and Ethan worked up a respectable sweat.

When they had each completed their assigned laps, they came back inside and behaved like completely different children. Well, once Cameron stopped crying, anyway. They had learned that making our home unpleasant was going to result in feeling unpleasant themselves. It was raining and cold outside - it was not good weather for running. (When is it, really?)

Our home has been a peaceful haven ever since we began this ritual. We've only had to do it one additional time, and we got even better results after that one. It was like giving them a personality transplant.

So now, all we have to say to get the kids to behave is, "Do you know where your shoes are?"

Score one for the parents.

The Sunny Side of Life

Admittedly, I spend a lot of my time feeling like I'm out of control of my life.

By nature, I am a pessimist.

And I don't like it. (Because we pessimists just don't like stuff.)

So I've been working hard lately at seeing the bright side of things...

Having to take three toddlers to an hour long "Spring Sing" performed by a bunch of first graders can be a nightmare experience trying to keep little bodies still and little mouths shut...

OR it can be an opportunity to watch a little boy who belongs to you sing his heart out as you cry tears of joy that you get to be his mom.

Having to drive thirty miles in traffic to take a bag of baseball equipment to your husband who forgot to bring it with him to the game can be an exhausting chore when you factor in the one year old who will giggle maniacally while he steals balls from the dugout...

OR... it can be a priceless gift when you realize that not having to bring that bag of equipment would have meant missing the sight of your really old husband sliding into second base and even better - getting to watch him try to stand up afterward.

Finding the joy in life's not-so-fun moments makes the journey so much more beautiful.

Now I'm going to go find the joy in scrubbing the kitchen floor. I know it's there somewhere!

It's safe to come back now - I'm not talking about my trip.

Last night I was watching an episode of Parenthood. It's a pretty good show and does a fine job of keeping me entertained while I fold my endless heaps of laundry.

There was a conversation that happened between two characters on this particular episode, (which I believe aired two weeks ago), that made me want to stand up and yell, "Hallelujah! About time!"

And in fact, I did pause it and take a moment to marvel.

There was a woman, married to a man, mother of two children. One of her kids is a teenage girl and the other a young boy with Asperger's Syndrome. Mom had gone off for three days to help an old friend with a political campaign, and when she returned, she told her husband that her friend had offered her a permanent position on her staff. The husband could tell that his wife really wanted to take the job and so he began to verbally spout off all the ways they could make it work...

"We'll have someone come in a couple time a week to clean, we'll get groceries delivered and we'll have someone come in to make sure Max gets to all his therapies..." It was at that moment that you could see the mother's face fall and she started to think about what would be required of her family in order for her to take this opportunity.

And then she said that she wasn't going to take the job because her kids need her.

I almost died when I heard her say that.

"There will be other campaigns," she said, "but our kids are only young once."

This was on NETWORK TELEVISION!!! Can you believe it?? I was so pleased that I couldn't sleep last night.

It is so gratifying to see a representation of a mother who will make the unpopular decision to put her children before her desire for her life to be her own.

BRA-VO.

I understand that there are women in the world who have to work, but I do not sympathize with a woman who goes to work to prove that she is just as capable as a man or to gain power or respect while she neglects her most important role in life.

'Nuff said.

A LITTLE SAFETY QUIZ

I asked Cameron today what he would say if someone called on the phone while I wasn't home. He seemed confused, so we role played. This is how it went...

Me: Brrrrrr-ing! Brrrrrr-ing!

Cameron: Hello?

Me: Hi, is your mom home?

Cameron: She can't come to the phone right now.

Me: How about your dad, is he home?

Cameron: He can't come to the phone either.

(I was trying to elicit an offer from Cameron to take a message...)

Me: Are they really home, or are you just saying that?

Cameron: Yeah, they're home, they're just both in the shower.

Our conversation ended there.

Boys

Just when you think you've finally got a thoroughly clean house, you find the booger canvas on the back of the playroom door.