The Dog Ate....er....Crapped On My Homework....

I had my binder review scheduled, as I mentioned last post, but then I rescheduled it because the year end stuff -- dance recital, the begin of swim practice, actually organizing the binders -- all coalesced into one week and I needed to take my time. So, I rescheduled. No big deal.

On Monday night I spread the binder materials on the floor and began assembling them. I flirted with the idea of putting all  Sarah's work in page protectors, but I needed to save them for specific things, so I whole punched and organized them.
Violet: Done
Sarah: 1/2 done.
John: untouched
I needed to get to bed. With all of Tuesday and Wednesday left, I wasn't worried at all.

We woke up Tuesday morning and John asked me what the brown stuff was on the school room carpet. I absently replied that I must have spilled my soda the day before and I'd go clean it up. Except I hadn't had any soda ....

You guys. YOU GUYS.

Our dog, Buck, had peed and pooed all.over.all.over.all.over Sarah's entire binder. Directly on the work I hadn't page protected. All her essays -- from her first awkward attempt at dialogue in September  to her full on script in May. Her journal entries. Her letters to Santa, her aunt, her siblings.The entire year of attendance, so carefully recorded and color coded, days added up repeatedly and my work shown.  All covered with dog pee.

And right in the middle of the science papers? You know, the papers filled with  all the pictures of our major FAILS in science this year? A GREAT BIG STEAMING PILE OF DOG CRAP.

Appropriate, yes?


I cried. I yelled. I swore like a sailor. I picked up all that nastiness, spread the papers out on my counters and went to swim practice. Then called my binder reviewer and cried. She talked me off the ledge, some. I bought Febreeze pet order remover, came home and sprayed all those dog pee smelling pages with it, and continued to clean up the lake of pee. And the stench.

The pages dried, I salvaged what I could and then put those in page protectors, which I sealed with tape. I washed my hands obsessively, because EEEWWWWW. I had to throw out the actual binder and quickly liberate a new one from science curriculum. Then a friend helped me slip them into the binder, along with John's, on Wednesday afternoon.

I finished in time and made it to my review, still so very worried that without Sarah's attendance log my umbrella school would be like, "Well, too bad you can't prove you actually had school days for her. No home school for you!) (said in Soup Nazi voice, obviously.) But she assured me that I had records for Violet and John, as well as dated work for Sarah.

Buck.
You're name rhymes with a certain other word. For a reason.

Lazy Days With Grandma

On Tuesday we went to my in laws in New Jersey with the hope that my husband would get to kayak the Delaware and fish while Sarah and John and I hung out with Grandma and Grandpa. I took my knitting and some work, knowing the kids would be entertained by the new "old" toys at Grandma's and the brook in her yard.

Only it started raining about 10 minutes from their house, a huge deluge of water that kept my husband out of the river. To say he was upset is an understatement. He'd taken time off from work and was looking forward to this so much.

So we hung out. And did a whole lot of nothing. Nothing that included the kids playing Mr. Piggly Wiggly with Grandma and Daddy teaching the kids how to play Domino's - not the stand up and crash down kind, but the old man at the table in the park kind.

They loved it! (and so did Daddy. Then they played the stand up and crash down type.)

We had a lovely lunch and it stopped raining. So the kids got on their swimsuits and climbed down into the brook while my husband 'fished.' This is how the fishing goes:

Cast the line.

Snag a very dumb fish.

Toss said fish at children.

Children scream in fear.

Children beg for more.

Cast the line.

Catch a fish. Toss a fish. Scream. Beg.

 

I don't understand the game, but it never changes and the kids initiate it every time we are there and it's warm enough to be in the brook.

Incidently, this is the same brook my husband grew up fishing, building dams in and riding his canoe down -- and no, it's not that big.Canoes should not go down this part.

They all splashed and ran and screamed while there. Grandma and Daddy were in on all the action.

They built a huge dam that took about an hour to complete. John laughed and screamed, jumped and dunked himself in the new, deeper water.

Sarah stood on the bridge and declared: I don't walk in wet grass. You can carry  me.

*snort* Like that's going to happen.

I took pictures and giggled. Did some knitting and chatted with my mother in law.

In the end it was a great day -- all saved by Domino's and a dam.

 

Going Old School

So. Violet, Sarah and I are battling lately. This is getting to be old, hearing me say this, right? I've allowed them to become very disrespectful of my husband and myself. So much so that two people have commented on it.

You have no idea how humiliating that is.

But I had no idea on how to fix it. I'd take Violet's ipod away and she'd read -- which she loves. And I don't feel right taking away reading. I'd restrict t.v and she'd play with her Barbies and not care that she lost t.v.  Sarah just screams.

So I was at a total loss.

I thought I had a moment of parental genius the other day when she told me that playing was boring and I decided that I'd teach her what boring was. So she cleaned her room all day long - seriously. From 10:30 til 2:30 she dusted, put toys away and organized her closet. Only in the end she declared, "Look at my room, it's awesome!" So, kind of a fail there.

I discussed my frustrations with a friend, one who had noticed the disrespect - the eye rolling, the laziness, the outright refusal to complete my requests- and she told me what she used with her kids, what had worked.

Writing lines. Bible verses specifically.

Hmm.

So I talked to my husband about it. To the girls about it. Then spent the afternoon reading Ephesians - the book that seems to deal the most with obedience and children - and we got started. I copied down a few verses on cards, put them in a box and prepared myself.

And Violet promptly began being rude to Sarah.

I, somehow, calmly handed her a card and the pad of paper.  Had her read the verse out loud to me: Ephesians 4:29 Do not let any unwholesome talk come out your mouths, but only what is helpful for building others up according to their needs, that it may benefit those who listen.

I asked her if she knew what it meant. She did not. I had her write it twice, then we discussed it again. And she understood part of it. We had a true discussion about what it meant to speak kindly and helpfully. Later, she started in on Sarah and I said, "Violet, what did you write earlier?" She kind of tilted her head and said, "This? This is unhelpful. Huh."

It was a tiny 'aha' moment.

And it also reminded me -- big time- that I need to speak in a way that helpful for building others up according to their needs -- especially my children.

Today Sarah started in on something, I can't even remember what. And I, again, somehow calmly, handed her the verse Ephesians 6:1 Children obey your parents.

She had a fit and refused , but I stuck it out. Eventually she wrote it down two times and handed it to me -- nicely.

I think the key is I stick to this and remain calm. Remain calm.

So today, it was a success.

Here's hoping tomorrow is as well.

Another Year, Another Dance Recital. *happy sighs*

Violet and Sarah had their dance recital on Saturday and Sunday. And my two favorite dancers danced. I mean, my two favorite dancers besides my girls. Josh and Ryan danced -- be still my 39 year-year-old-mother-of-three-they-are-20-years-old heart - they danced.They graduated you see, so I don't get to see them anymore. That is very sad for me. You may remember that during the Holiday Magic Show of two years ago Ryan made me cry with his dancing.

Yeah, he's that good.

And I saw Josh dance in the first recital Violet danced in, four years ago. I kind of forgot about her when I saw him dance, he was that mesmerizing. I adore these two young men. Josh tap dances like nobodies business. We've watched Ryan grow from an awkward teenager to this amazingly graceful young man who gives me goosebumps when he dances.

So yes, four of my favorite dancers danced on Saturday and Sunday. And I was in heaven.

Now, I know many moms who dread the end of the year dance recital. And while I may grimace at the work required of me the week leading up the recital, I love the recitals.

Yes, we are crazy busy the week of the recital. We have a leotard rehearsal and a full dress rehearsal that last about two hours. But I get to see all the girls dance, from all the classes. I get to see all the babies - the tiny 4 year olds -- in their frills and bows do little ballet pirouettes. I get to see the big girls leap and twirl across the stage and watch my girls imagine the day they will do those amazing things with their bodies.

So I love it.

The day of the recital is tiring -- especially Sunday. But I still love it. ( Plus, I'm not nearly as tired as the staff of the dance studio, who this year put on four shows.) Saturday we're all geeked up for the recital, it's all new and the girls are excited. Sunday they are a bit more tired and so am I.

But I still love it.

They look so beautiful in their costumes, concentrating on a dance they've spent the year working on.

Backstage they giggle and laugh, share secrets, tells jokes and eat a ton of snacks while waiting for their dance. I don't see any fear. I see only fun and friends, talent and education.

And I love it so much.

The worst part of it all is doing the buns -- I like a good bun. So it takes me a while. And I like to be complimented on my bun. So it takes me even longer. But it's worth it when they look as good as they feel.

And every year I think, "This is the year that is the best. There is no way Miss Anna Marie can out do this." And then the next year I find myself thinking the exact same thing. She does know how to put on a show.

 

Target and Kids: It's An Odessy

I took the kids to Target this morning with a very short list of things I needed:

*shorts for me

*play dress for Sarah

*cat food

*q-tips

*night gown for me

*shirt for me

*thermometer covers

I stuck to my list and it was easy peasy.

*snort*

I had to try on five pairs of shorts, two pairs of Capri's and three shirts. Therefore we had 'dressing room conversation.'  If you've never had 'dressing room conversation,' it goes a little like this:

Mom, what are those dimples on the back of your thighs?

~ I have no dimples. Look away. Liar liar pants on fire. (glaring at child)

Mommy, what is that?

~ what?

All that squishy stuff above the button of your shorts.

~Nothing. These shorts lie. I just lost 15 pounds. Your mom is HOT. These shorts lie. Moving on . . .(more glaring)

Mommy, why can I see your bra when you put on your shirt?

~Because it's too thin.

Why is it too thin?

~We're moving on again . . .

Mommy what is that? (pointing to my tattoo, which is usually hidden.) (for the record, I have no problem with tattoo's, on other people. I don't like explaining mine to my kids.)

~We'll discuss it when you're older.  Why are you in here?

Ohhh, those shorts are tooooo short. I can see those dimples again.

~And again, I call you a liar. There are no dimples. (throwing shorts in corner. Using very special words in my head)

Finally, shorts and and a pair of Capri's are found, two shirts that are not tissue thin are thrown in the cart. We rush into the lingerie department.

Oh, please. What in the world was I thinking??? I have three children with me. It doesn't matter that I just want an overs sized t-shirt as night gown. I have to walk through bras, thongg, sexy night gowns, etc. John's eyes are roving everywhere and his hands are reaching for satin, lace and brocade. Obviously men are born to enjoy this. I'm torn between horror and complete amusement.

Sarah is happily jumping in between racks, making mazes of Spanx and panty hose. Violet is eye-ing the lace bra's and I can see her mind racing, wondering when she'll be old enough for that. As she reaches for one I put out a burst of speed and race us past them to the modest pajama's. The three of them are bickering, laughing, and revving a car engine the entire time this is going on. Generally letting the entire store know that my children are here, so watch out!

I'm reduced to begging after our 'dressing room conversation.' So I'm saying things like, "What did I ask of you? To give me this time. It's been 20 minutes. About 10 minutes too long. Please. Just stop. Let me grab this. Stop it. Knock it off. Please. Did you hear me?" At one point I say, "This is supposed to be Mommy Time. Yeah. Pretty lousy Mommy Time." And I hear a lady start to laugh two rows over.

Eventually I grab a night gown - of some unknown color, race through the kids clothes and find nothing for Sarah. But I've completed my list and we've only been in the store for 30 minutes.

30 minutes.

Success! Glory!

But I still didn't get out of there under 100 dollars.

 

It's Summer. . .

Which means Violet is 9 today. And officially in the 4th grade.

Sarah is officially in the 1st grade.

And John is officially a kindergartner.

And I am officially old and living in some sort of weird time warp. Because I'm absolutely positive that just yesterday John was born, Sarah was 15 months old and Violet was 3 1/2 years old.

I'm positive.

I know that I have just put the girls in these sparkly dresses for Violet's 4th Birthday bash and forced them to hold a sleepy eyed John.

The rest of the world has moved on but we have not.

Anyway. Summer also means that it's time for the end of softball, the beginning of  swim team, the girls dance recital and long, lazy days at the pool. Which I love, because let's be honest, if we are at the pool 1) My house isn't getting trashed by three rowdy children and 2) I can't clean if we are not home. That's a win - win situation right there.

John briefly flirted with the idea of swimming on our swim team, but in the end the playground was far too attractive. So he's not swimming this year - which is totally fine, even if his swimming would have alleviated my  mommy guilt of his sister's being in summer activities and his not being in one. I'll just have to let that go. Let.It.Go. (and repeat.)

Swim team means Swim Meets, which means cue me becoming 'that' crazy poolside mom. Yes. Oh yes. I may  stand at the end of the lane, on occasion, ( OK, like every time they swim) and cheer and yell for my kids and their friends. Loudly. And jump around. Like a fool at a Josh Groban concert. Whatever.

It may also highly embarrass my husband. Which I just may find pretty entertaining. But the thrill of seeing those kids finish a lap for the first time? Or seeing their face as they touch that wall, winning time or not? Priceless. So I'll be throwing my 39 year old body all around the pool deck again this season, waving my arms and screaming like a fan girl.

It's all good. :)

I Met A Mom . . .

Who is more conservative than me.

I know.

And it is wonderful.

She restricts the same shows I do. I even let my kids watch a show she doesn't - crazy days! Her kids watch less TV than mine, spend more time outside  and play more independently than mine.

I love it.

Sarah and her daughter have had two lovely play dates together. It's not enough.

The mom and I have become FaceBook friends. It's not enough.

I want Sarah and her daughter to play together every weekend, I want to sit and have coffee, chat, while they play.

It's so refreshing to meet another mom who is like-minded. Who doesn't think I'm crazy for being so conservative. I know I'm conservative. I know. So meeting a mom who is even more so than me -- without being freaky?

Awe.some.

And she's not freaky. She's all kinds of stylish and pulled together. Funny and so friendly. She owns her own business. Parents two girls and two dogs by herself all week while her husband works out of town. She's busy and frazzled, high energy and grounded.

Like I said, I want to sit and chat with her more while our girls play.

Am I in love?

I think so.

Now, to stalk her without her knowing . . .

 

 

 

Seriously?

On a normal morning we wake up at 7 a.m. And I'm dragging my bum out of bed, prodding and pushing, yelling and threatening my children to get up, get dressed and get ready for the day. Especially Sarah. (We've discussed this before.)

Today there wasn't any school.

Guess what I heard at 6:30 a.m?

That's right. The happy sounds of Violet and John. By 7: 15 Sarah had darted out of bed and was happily sitting at the kitchen island all smiles. She got dressed immediately when told -- the first time. Made her bed. Brushed her teeth.

I'm living in bizarro world.

Sarah Actually Sleeps. Really.

So, she sleeps.

*cheers all around*

We've got a six step plan in place that assures her she is ready for bed:

Melatonin

Lovey #1 - ducky

Lovey #2 - Summer her dolphin

A night light with a blue light in it

A CD playing ocean sounds that stays on all night long

A picture on her wall of her happy thing - Cars 2, the movie

With these six (yes, six) things in place she is sleeping. Sleeping people! Some nights she resists falling asleep because she's not wanting the melatonin - which is great. She wants to not take it because she wants to have a sleep over. But without it she can't fall asleep. So she'll lay up there for hours - from seven until 11 sometimes, wide awake and talking to us every time we venture up there.

The downside: Regardless of how fast she falls asleep she doesn't want to wake up in the morning. She resists getting out of bed like a teenager. She pulls the blankets over head; I yank them off the bed. She buries her head under her pillow; I whip the pillow off. I turn her light on and light up her bedroom; she squeezes her eyes shut and burrows between the bed and wall. When she finally does get up she moves as slow as . . . Sarah. It takes her 15 minutes to dress. Five to brush her teeth. Five more to brush her hair. 20 to eat breakfast.

It's driving me batty.

Nothing makes me happy, right? Because SHE IS SLEEPING! And that was the problem. Next to tackle:

Sarah Sleeps . . . Sometimes

Yes, we're still having problems with Sarah sleeping. And yes, I'm writing about it again.

We've taken her to a therapist now, it's that bad.

She has a special music CD that thankfully is helping block out sounds and we've rearranged our home because evidently she's hearing every little thing, including the TV. And NCIS isn't exactly kid friendly.

What's Goin' On?

Today I'm over at Branson's place, A Reflection of Something -- so cool! When she asked me to be a guest blogger on, as she put it, how I'm 'rocking' motherhood and depression, I was blown away. First of all, she thinks I'm rocking this gig? Cool. :) \m/ While I don't think I'm  rocking this whole thing (especially this week), I jumped at the chance. Branson is such an inspiration. So head on over there and check it out. Really.

Over here, I'm filling you in on Sarah and that Elf on The Shelf of ours, Mr. Red.

Elf On The Shelf: Curse You!

My Grandma and I bought an Elf on the Shelf for the kids yesterday. I'm sure you've seen them - so cute! You sit the little guy on a shelf and he communicates with Santa every night. He tells Santa what you've been up to - have you been naughty or nice? I love this idea and the thought of starting a new tradition just warmed my little heart.

What.was.I.thinking?

I put him on the shelf, read the book to the kids and we named him (Mr. Red). Then Sarah began asking questions. And freaking out.

Six.Years.Old.

How is that even possible, Sarah? How are you six? You were little for so long and now you're a growing kid. I'm sitting here typing this and remembering your birth. We should have known then what an energy filled child you would be. You came into this world just as you occupy it: with an excitability and energy that I've rarely seen.

I spent the night before you were born thinking, "I can't sleep." So I paced and rocked. At 6:45 I had a contraction. At 7:00 I had a contraction that took my breath away. At 8:00 we were in the car on the way to the hospital. In the car I wanted to push. We got to the hospital at 8:30. They took me right back, as I was 'mooing' with every contraction. But they thought I was over reacting. They were wrong. You were born at 8:54. Two hours, start to finish. It was fast and wonderful, exciting and full of laughter. Just like you.

These Are The Days

I used a writing prompt today: What was the happiest day of your life thus far? And the answer was so quick and obvious-- and cliche that I cringed to write about it. Then I started thinking . . .

I have more than one. And more than four. I married the man of my dreams, so naturally I never thought I'd top my wedding day. Then a year late we found out we were expecting -- the sheer joy! When Violet was born I believed I'd never been happier. Nine months later we were expecting again and I felt that same joy again. Even though we lost that baby, and the next, that joy, that extreme happiness stands out in my mind.

Dance

I've had many mom's ask me (in the real world) why we chose dance for our girls, and how we chose the studio we are with. On some level I'm always a little embarrassed to tell them whywe chose dance. When I say it out loud I always fear it will sound materialistic to others, especially those 'non' dance mom's. But here's the reason:

[caption id="attachment_982" align="alignright" width="300" caption="June 2011 dance recital"][/caption]

Ballet helps makes you graceful. A dancer moves with grace and purpose.

However, I always feel the need to add that it's a skill. It can be a talent. Dance  keeps them active. It's also a discipline, something I believe our children (not just mine) are lacking today. It's something I wished, badly, that I had pursued as a child/teen.

And obviously, we have them in it because they enjoy it.

Most dance mom's I've talked to feel the same, but I always fear that if/when I say, "Ballet dancers are graceful and hold themselves so well," I'll get a judgey look. Like, "That's the reason you chose dance?"  Well, yes. And the others I listed.

But here's what I don't say, unless specifically asked:

Our girls will dance until they are 12, regardless of if they like it.

I know.

But I believe it is that important to build these skills, this discipline.  During Violet's first year of dance we decided that at 12 they could stop if they wanted. That 12 is an age where they would be making good enough decisions to stop dancing if they weren't enjoying it.

Thankfully, both girls enjoy it immensely, are eager to get to dance and constantly want to add more classes. But can you imagine the parenting dilemma I'm going to have if one of them decides that they don't want to dance any more? Because, honestly, I'll be heartbroken. I love watching them dance, and I love how they enjoy it. If that changes . . . . well.

After that question, the next one is always, "Why did you chose this studio?"

And I always answer the same, with no embarrassment: It's the best. 'Our' girls go to California every year with Dance Excellence and win awards. 'We' have dancers on Broadway and in commercials, etc. I love how Mrs. A runs her studio. She means business - this is a discipline. The girls are expected to wear certain clothing, come prepared, have their hair neat and off their face. Mrs. A is also the nicest, most loving dance instructor. Sarah bloomed with her as a teacher. Mrs. A knows every student's name, and their parents by site. This studio is also careful about the song content (no sexy songs for the little ones, and I've only seen one tad racy routine for the Seniors. And it was beyond amazing.), keeping the little ones 'little' and not overworking their bodies. I cry at the recitals every.single.year because without fail there is at least one dance that is so well done I'm overcome by the beauty of it.

These reasons are all great reasons for choosing our studio. My reasons for having the girls dance? Well. Some I know would disagree with them. Right now they work for us.

Sleep

Sarah's not sleeping.

Again.

I'm at a total and complete lost. I'm desperate. And I thought I was desperate before. Remember this summer, what we went through? It's starting again. Only this time she is systematically breaking my heart with the pitiful cries.

It started about a week into school, once she was settled into the routine of school. It's steadily gotten worse. By the time we went to Colorado she simply laid awake until 11 or 12 every night.Then she'd be a zombie the next day. We started the melatonin again, with some success. But the time between her taking the melatonin and the time she falls asleep is hell on us.

We took her to see a therapist. She drew a picture of the monster that lives under her bed.

Excellent.

And talked about all the things that scare her: Scooby Doo, Halloween. Some random show Violet had watched one time. The monster she drew just killed me.

We elminated Scooby Doo and let her decide what she wanted to do about Halloween. The decorations people put in their yard were really freaking her out, especially at night when she had time to think - and needed something to delay bed time. We upped the amount of melatonin she takes (per our pediatrician).

Last night, and for the past three nights, she has gone to bed crying, saying her belly hurts. We stay upstairs with her as long as we can. But soon it becomes apparent that she is manipulating us. Then she is up and down all night complaining about her belly. Is it real? I honestly don't know.

She decided to go trick-r-treating, and loved it. But the very minute she hit the steps to come upstairs her voice changed and she said her feet hurt. Her whole demeanor became sad and pitiful. She'd had her medicine, she was tired. And fighting sleep like nobody's business.

Tonight I let her come into my bed until she fell asleep. She literally shoved her body against mine, tight as she could fit, and immediately fell asleep. I was able to slip downstairs. But I worry about what will happen if she wakes and I'm gone. We'll still put her in her bed when we go to bed, and leave both our bedroom doors open - she can actually see us from her bed.

But I'm at a loss. She does sometimes have nightmares, I know. But how do we stop this? How do we cope? How do we make her feel safe in her own bedroom?

Sometimes Relief Comes In The Oddest Ways

This little blog and I are back on track.  I've made some changes, I'm updating some pages (you'll soon find many new blogs on my blog list and under 'more bloggage').  I've got some exciting things in the works as far as guest posts go -- with some women who blow my mind.  And will blow yours as well. One I've guest posted with before, the other I haven't. Both are amaze-balls. I can't wait to see what we do.

In other news . . . Sarah's sleeping issues have not resolved themselves. She is sleeping through the night -- not because of a savvy book or some intelligent parenting gem on my part. But because I lost it one night. She'd been up, screaming, about 6 times, the night before, and was starting  in again. I was exhausted. The windows were open and that was a trigger for me to coddle her because holy crap, what would the neighbors think if  they heard me yell at her? But I'd had enough. So I yelled. And told her that she wasn't in control, I was. That she was not going to disrupt the entire family any more, it wasn't fair, etc. That I didn't care if the neighbors heard. I may have yelled some neighbors names, as in, "Michelle? Do you hear me? Sarah cannot keep waking us all up at night!" And told Sarah that if Michelle heard me she'd agree with me. Sarah was very, very not happy with me. I was very, very not happy with her. And loud. But she slept all night, and has since then.

Going to bed? Hell. I'm not going to get into the cycle we've gotten into. It's horrible. I've called the pediatrician three times. I've taken her to see the pediatrician. Talked to and listened to every.single.mom I know. Hid my head as she screams. Cried. Yelled. Ignored. Tuesday night she screamed for three hours. Three solid hours. No breaks. No lulls. And? No tears. She's not actually crying. Just screaming. Screaming things like, "You will come up here right this minute!"  (Uhmmm, have you met me?? Do you really think that is going to work?) Wednesday morning she very sweetly informed me, "My panties and bed are wet. Because I peed them. Because I was mad at you."

Special words were used. Yes. Very many. Said at my child. Yes. I swore at her. Then I put her in the van, drove to swim practice and cried.

I called the pediatrician and cried some more.  He told me to give her melatonin at bedtime and to get some books on, and I quote, "the defiant child."

Then I had to tell my husband, at eight o'clock that evening, why Sarah was sleeping so soundly, and that I'd sworn at her. Good times, people, good times.

Today I talked to my sister in law, Kerry (who is so smart about these things) about getting some therapy for Sarah. Again, good times.

Then I had a discussion with a friend about her daughter and a possible speech delay. I was able to offer some help, possibly, given my background. But honestly, given the massive failures I've been exhibiting lately I didn't think I'd hear a whole lot back. Instead I just recieved the most uplifting text: And just like that she signs and says more. You rock.

And just like that I felt a huge sigh of relief.  Maybe, just maybe we're OK. We'll give Sarah the melatonin for a week or so. My therapist is also an amazing child/play therapist. So I don't have to search and worry. And my picky, picky Sarah is taking the melatonin crushed up in grape jelly like a champ.

So.

Deep yoga breaths.

Also? Diana? You rock. And I expect a full wing in El Paso. Corrugated, high end, got it?

Twilight: The Vampire Baby

I haven't been posting a whole lot the past couple weeks, you may have noticed. And I know you have, because I'm your crack. Or, rather, I'm your brand of heroin, for you Twi-hards, right? Right? I thought so.

Anyway. The reason I haven't been posting as much as I want to is because Sarah has suddenly reverted back to her infant stage of vampirism is up all.night.long. She's five. And I feel like I have a newborn. I'm stumbling around the house during the day starting multiple activities, only to be distracted by some small thing, like oh, a horizontal surface. Then I forget what I'm doing, start something new and by the end of the day I have a three loads of half folded laundry, the dishwasher is open and might be clean -I'm really not sure -- and I'm desperately trying to get everyone in the car for some after school activity. And she's five!

Our first night home from the hospital we knew something was up with Sarah. She screamed and turned tomato red, then burped this man burp that had that smell. The smell of reflux. Thus began eight months of Sarah sleeping on me.  We medicated, we thickened her formula after I had to stop breastfeeding, etc etc. The only thing that worked was her sleeping on me. At about a week old we dubbed her 'Vampire Baby.' The name has stuck.

My husband would come home from work and I'd literally meet him in the kitchen, Sarah in my arms. I'd be covered in puke. Dinner may or may not be cooked. I'd hand her off, run screaming for the stairs and fall into bed with the sound machine at full volume. He'd feed himself and Violet, attempt to feed Sarah, put Violet to bed, then begin to walk Sarah around the house. And around. And around.

At midnight he'd come in our room and dump the Vampire child into my arms. I'd stumble down the stairs and set myself up on the sofa with the vacuum within reach (really), a sound machine, the remote, two or three bottles, the birth ball and a good book. Sarah and I would begin our night together bouncing on the ball. She was born in November. By March I was pregnant (yeah, you read that right) and had killer thighs. Thank  you birth ball. Then we'd move to the sofa, where she'd lay on my chest and begin a cycle of sleep - cry - sleep -  scream -sleep - eat all night. We rotated through the the vaccuum, static on the TV and sound machine to keep both of us calm.

[caption id="attachment_826" align="alignleft" width="300" caption="This? Not happening."][/caption]

And now, five years later? She's at it again. The sun starts to set and her eyes get big. The tears well up. Her face gets red. The screaming starts as soon as the word 'bed' is uttered. So do not prep her for bed -- that just means the freak out begins earlier. We've been spiraling down for about a month, and this past week we hit rock bottom. We, for an instant, revisited spanking. At 11 o'clock, after three hours of screaming --from Sarah, we've been very calm -- my husband spanked her. One swat across the bottom, with a warning before hand. She looked at him, said, "You spanked me." He said, "I did. Go.to.sleep." And she did.

Well.

The next night, after hours of the screaming, again, a single spank. 15 minutes later? Fast asleep. Then next night -- the same thing. Then he went out of town, and I did not want to spank her. Oh, the screaming. And the jumping on the bed and the slamming of fists against the wall. So I spanked her. One swat. 15 minutes later she was asleep.

Really?

The next night I decided that I wasn't waiting until 11 o'clock for peace and quiet. So I explained to her that instead of turning off the radio, the night light, etc, I was just going to spank her when she started to scream.

She looked at me and said, "That's the worst thing you can do. So what will you do after that?"

Cry. I cried.

Childlike Love

I want to be as good as my children. I want to love like they love. I want to feel with such passion, the way they do.

On Saturday night I took Sarah and Violet to Unshakeable Kingdom: Japan Relief Concert. They were a little confused - I guess they thought Jeremiah was going to be singing songs off the radio. When I realized this I was amused. Because then I totally wanted to see Jerimiah rocking out to 'Fire Work' or doing his rendition of 'Mean.'

But that wasn't the type of music we were about to enjoy. We got to participate in a full on gospel concert. It.was.awesome. There were people "amen" - ing and "hallelujah" -ing and "praise the lord" ing left and right. They were dancing in the aisles and raising their hands to the Lord. Hips were swaying, heads were bobbing, hands were clapping. I was in heaven. Violet didn't know what to make of it. Our church is a bit more . . . reserved. When the first guy stood up and raised his hands, Sarah asked me what he was doing. I told her he was worshiping Jesus, just like we do, but in a very joyful way. And that she could join in. Her little hands shot into the air right away.

In between performances there were video's of the earthquake and subsequent tsunami in Japan. Violet and Sarah watched and actually asked quite a few questions. They listened to Jeremiah talk about why he doing this concert and they understood. On March 11, Jeremiah was at the airport getting ready to board an airplane to Japan when the earthquake hit. He was a missionary there for 2 years and was getting ready to go back to see some of his Campus Crusade For Christ friends. So this tragedy has touched Jeremiah in a very personal way. And this concert was his way of giving back.  (In case you haven't realized it yet, Jerimiah is an incredible guy. I didn't fully understand just what a great, compassionate, kind man he was until the night of the concert. )

[caption id="attachment_815" align="alignleft" width="300" caption="Sarah, Jerimiah, Violet"][/caption]

Sunday afternoon Sarah was watching Scooby Doo when she suddenly jumped up, ran into the kitchen and said to me, "Mom, we need to help Japan." I told her that we had helped Japan, we'd gone to the concert and given a donation to Jeremiah. He'd make sure the money got to Japan. Then I walked away.

Monday morning at breakfast she stopped eating, looked at Violet and said, "Violet, we have to help Japan. People there don't have houses." Then she and Violet started talking about the video's they'd seen with Jeremiah. About the people who don't have homes, or food. About his friends who are taking trucks full of food to people. About the shaking and the big wave.

Then Sarah said, "Mom, I need to go to Japan."

I explained that she couldn't go to Japan, but that Jeremiah would take the money we'd given him and get food and clothing to the people who needed it. She told me we needed to give Jeremiah more money. I was busy doing dishes. There was cereal everywhere. I said, "Sarah, I don't have any more money to give Jeremiah or Japan. We gave at the concert."

She sat down, played with her bowl, then looked over at her 'Disney Jar.' It's a jar she's been saving all her money in for the last six months or so. She's saving up for Disney World. She hopped down, grabbed her jar and had me empty almost all of it.
Violet followed her with the money she's been saving to get a DS.

John sat there with his fingers in his mouth shaking his head.

We took the money to Jeremiah right then. On the way there I asked Sarah why we were doing this. Why were we giving Jeremiah this money? She told me she had to give Jeremiah the money because Japan needed it, the people needed houses.

And because God tells us to help

.
I want to be as good as my children.

Thank You, Eastah Bunny

When Violet was three the Easter Bunny freaked her out. She woke up, screaming, yelling that the Easter Bunny had snuck into her room and touched her on her elbow. (I have no idea.) My husband had to take her from room to room and show her that the windows were all locked to prove that the stupid bunny could not get into our house. That was the year that outside egg hunts began - because the bunny was not allowed into our house. He left the baskets on the porch and hid the eggs in the yard.

This year I was running, uhm, slightly behind in my Easter purchasing. Behind in that I was at Target at 5 o'clock on Saturday night. So I talked with the kids and discussed that the big Bunny hides the eggs and Mom and Dad get them the cool gift -- because I needed to know what cool outdoor thing they wanted. I didn't have the time to run around town looking.  They thought that was the coolest thing ever, and gave me a list of five thousand things. Well done.

About midnight Sarah began screaming. Screaming. (and when she screams? Glass breaks.) She launched herself into our bed, sobbing that she'd heard hopping. Hopping. Are you kidding me? My husband tried to console her. No, I did not try to console her. Why? Because I was laughing so hard the bed was shaking and I was crying. He was kicking me. Repeatedly. Pretty sure I'm bruised. When she couldn't calm down I told him, "Listen, Violet freaked out because 'he' was going to touch her elbow. Now Sarah is losing it over hopping. Burst this bubble. I'm fine with it. What's it going to be with John? Just pop the bubble."

So my husband, very gently,  told Sarah, "Honey, there is no Easter Bunny. Mommy and Daddy are the Easter Bunny. We hide the eggs."

Sarah got very, very still. She stopped crying. She looked at him. She wiped her eyes and said, "No, you're not. The Easter Bunny is the Easter Bunny."

He explained some more. She said, "I heard him hop."

Well, then.

She slept with us the rest of the night, lest she hear the freaking frackin' rodent come hopping down the bunny trail, woke up in the morning and ran downstairs to find her Easter Basket that I bought and I told her I was buying and yelled, "Look! The Easter Bunny came! Look what he brought me! I knew I heard him hopping!"

Seriously?

But I had my say. Because today the kids began talking about the Easter Bunny. I was willing to let it go. So we told her the truth and she didn't believe us. Fine. Then I hear, "Well, the real Easter Bunny is dead. So this bunny took his place. But the real one has been dead a loooong time."

What the what?

So. I.burst.that.bubble.

Because, really? I'm going to let them think that some long dead rabbit passed on the job to this bunny, who touches random elbows, hops by the house and waves? Judge if you must, but this is some magic I can do with out.

(and I did do it gently. Honest. I'm not that mean.)