Anger Mis-management

My mind has been very preoccupied lately. So many different parts of my life are flying in as many directions, and I often find it difficult to be "in the moment". This is a dangerous place to be when five small children are constantly running circles around my ankles and asking questions about life and their pursuit of a mid-morning snack.

Needless to say, it hasn't gone very well.

Take today, for instance. All day I was sitting on pins waiting for a call from our loan officer. The appraisal for our hopeful house was supposed to come back today, and it was ALL I COULD THINK ABOUT. The kids would come up, be completely in my face, and I wouldn't even see them there. I would hear my name being called, as if from far far away in a distant Narnia land, only to realize that their nose was touching mine and they were screaming. Bloody, evil screaming.

So I screamed back.

Bloody, evil, Mommy screaming. Ugh.

Case in Point:

While trying to explain a math problem to one of the older boys today, the younger one piped up with the answer. I asked him to wait so that I could finish my sentence. And he kept talking. No pause, nothing...just kept going. As if the words coming out of his mouth had to be expelled before he could breathe. It was infuriating. After shushing him three times to no avail, I lost it. I started to make this terrible noise. Like the one they teach you to do when you're being attacked. Not a high pitch scream, but a guttural, loud, annoying air horn type of sound. One that might just make you pee your pants if you're 6 years old and sitting at the dining room table trying to do your math.

And this was not a singular sensation today. Granted, I didn't pull out my victim scream again...but seriously, every time that I felt crossed or disrespected or ignored or inconvenienced, the volume of my voice would jump. IMMEDIATELY. No questions asked, just yell.

By 4pm I was certain that all was lost. I just knew that the appraisal would come in low and that we would have to walk away from the house we wanted...that my children would grow up knowing only one form of communication defined by its excessive volume, and that they would need therapy in order to survive...I knew that I couldn't do any of this well enough, not school, not child rearing, not wifery, not housekeeping, nothing. And it was only 4pm, so I just couldn't justify that glass of wine.

*sigh*

There are some days that are just like that. ^

Sometimes things are beautiful, and my children listen and I can just feel God working through me to raise my children. Then there are others where it's lost before 8am and the desire to hide in my bathroom behind locked doors is so intense that I can not resist the fleeting respite, and I sit on the pot with my face in my hands and choose to breathe through the din of the banging on the door.

It's on days like today that I am so thankful for tomorrow.

When my 6 year old wakes up tomorrow, he will look at me with fresh eyes. He will see his mama. His strong, beautiful, morning coffee breath mama, and he will curl up in my arms as if there was never an evil bloody screaming match over a math answer. He will reach up and twist my pony tail and tell me he loves me because, like the God that made him, his mercy for me is new every morning.

hallelujah.

A Day in the Life

Last night I ate broccoli. Hence little man enjoyed broccoli milk later on. For a guy who has problems with indigestion anyway, I doomed myself with the first bite. Along comes 11pm, and with it, the first wake-up of a very long night. 11:30, 12:15, 1:30, 2:15, 3:30... and that was the last, because the little broccoli monster stayed awake. It's a good thing he's so cute.

So, yeah. My day began at 3:30am with screaming broccoli burps. Coffee is my best friend.
I finally dragged him back into our bed around 5:30 trying desperately to get a few winks. The back of my eyelids are beautiful, and it's too bad we only got to hang out for a little bit, cause I could look at them all. day. long.

Adam woke up and forfeited his warm spot in bed to a sleepy eyed little lady. Within 30 seconds of her arrival, the midnight beast had awoken to play. Squeals abound. Good-bye sweet, sweet eyelids. I miss you so. I rolled off the bed and stepped on a mountain of blanket and a snoring boy that had made himself comfortable on my dirty carpet somewhere around 2am. That kid can sleep anywhere.

In an attempt to take some of my bed with me, I crawled into my robe and slippers. Plodding downstairs with a squeaking baby in my arms, I realize it's Friday. Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus. We can do this.

Slowly but surely, all the children appear like prairie dogs. The snuggles are delicious, the halitosis, not so much. But I'll take what I can get. The coffee is ready, and my wonderful man hands me some fried eggs on a plate.  I look over, and he's eating his out of a dirty pyrex measuring cup. He responds to my raised eyebrow with a shrug. Delicious, but a little weird. Bless him.

The euphoria doesn't last, cause we all know he has to go to work. It's Friday, not vacation.
Once he's out the door, I'm bombarded with the daily question: "Can we watch an episode of Clone Wars...pleeeeeeease?" Historically, I can count on one finger the times that a video in the morning has resulted in a good day of school, but I decide to ignore my instincts and say yes. I was up all night, so my problem solving gears are broken. Smashed, like something that's been...smashed, really well.

Yes. Turn it on. Pronto.

Two episodes later, I make them promise me that when I tell them it's actually time for school, they can't argue...and that if they do, I'll take away all their happiness. And their toothbrushes. Grrr.

Where am I during all of this screen time? Amnesia.  I type this line a mere 8 hours later, and I can't tell you what happened while Anakin Skywalker was saving his padawan. Those minutes have been fully erased from my mind. I would love to say that something got done, like laundry, or dishes...but since both those piles are still there, I'm gonna have to go with 'no'. The force is strong with this one.

Around 10, we finally turned it off and opened the blinds to reveal an absolutely breathtaking day. Hallelujah! Spring is a real thing. Something about those sunbeams transformed all of our groggy brains and put us into hyper-drive. Without a word, each boy pulled out their reading book, curled up in a sunny spot, and entered another universe. It was magnificent. Apparently, they really value their happiness...or their toothbrushes. Either way, there is little that pleases a homeschooling mother more than her child devouring a good book.

This lasted a few minutes, until nap time was over for little man.

Having five kids means that no one lives in silence. One must develop the ability to function and listen in the midst of chaos, or otherwise suffer the defeat of hearing nothing clearly for the entirety of childhood. One child is asking how to carry numbers while subtracting, another spelling out loud, hit, it, bit, sit..., the oldest pacing the kitchen asking for another snack, and someone else yelling from upstairs about needing a wipe. All piled atop of one another, while the smallest continues to squawk and pull my hair and refuse to be put down.

Most days, this cacophony draws me into a very dark place. I have explained borrowing three hundred forty nine times, I already know how to spell, you can NOT have another snack, and wipe your own butt. Today, however, I am amazed at the hope that the sunshine has brought to our dining table. I flit (spelling word!), answering each question without yelling. I wander into the kitchen and clean a counter, come back, answer another question, wipe a poopy behind, glide back downstairs, move on to the next spelling word and repeat the process until they've all finished. I felt like a domestic goddess.

Everything seems better in the light. The rooms are still dirty with the shades wide open, but something about those little dust particles dancing in the sunbeams makes even garbage look beautiful. With the spelling done and the carrying completed, I kicked them outside into the balmy 45 degree day. They chose sandals and sweatshirts (true Michigan-born babies), and rode their bikes back and forth on our block for an hour until lunch.

When they came in, their hair smelled of sunshine.  

That's up there with the smell of newborn babies. Seriously, someone should bottle that stuff and sell it on the black market. So. Intoxicating. And after the snowiest winter in the history of Ann Arbor, I could have parked my nose on one of their heads and left it there for the remainder of the school day. That has great potential for mommy weirdness though...you have to know your boundaries.

So instead I made lunch. --Three boxes of mac and cheese with veggies and meatballs. That snack at 11 didn't make a dent in their appetites. While I'm chopping up the meatballs, one comes in with a joke:

"Knock knock," he says.
Who's There?
"I'm a poopin."
*eye roll* I'm a poopin who?
"No, not I'm a poopin, ihm a poopin"
*still cutting meatballs* Okay, Ihm a poopin who?
"I'm a poopin"
*sideways glance*
"I know mom, I'm just not good at telling a joke."

I love that kid.

All that stuff ^ is now 48 hours gone. There was more, but considering the fact that two days of my life have passed since those memorable moments, I've completely forgotten all of the wonderful and hilarious things they said in the afternoon. Which is sad, 'cause my kids are funny. Currently, two out of those five hilarious kids are throwing up, which isn't nearly as good fodder for blogging...so I'll spare you the details. But it just goes to show that Master Oogway was right:

Yesterday is history, tomorrow is a mystery, but today is a gift. That is why it is called the "present."

Escape from Hermitage

We don't get out much.

When my children were smaller, I blamed it on the difficulty of taking little children anywhere. In fact, for the first year we were living in Ann Arbor, I'm pretty sure we did a whole lot of nothing. Not only that, I also avoided interactions with the rest of the universe. Neighbor and child playing outside? Let's stay in. Community event to attend? Um, I'm good, thanks. Moms getting together for coffee? My baby naps during that time. I could come up with off the cuff excuses to stay inside like it was my job.

In-tro-vert.

When the two boys started walking and talking, they made it clear that they didn't share my desire to hide from civilization, so we started venturing out into the unknown. This brought forward another buried fear of mine: city driving. I fully realize that I do not live in a "large city." This does not matter to my unsubstantiated fears. After the country roads of central Ohio, and the winding switchbacks of southeastern Kentucky, the roads here in Michigan seemed crazy busy. Not only that, I had no idea where anything was. Blast it all. The fear of finding myself going the wrong way on a one-way street, finding a parking spot downtown, or trying to navigate interstates, kept us in the northeast corner of town for another year. Thank God for U of M buses. Without them, my children would have remained uncultured swines.

Once we had three children, for some inexplicable reason, it started to get easier. I think I could probably attribute it to the fact that -once you have three kids- you realize that chaos is to be expected. You let go of your preconceived notions of a good day out, and you're willing to accept pretty much anything as a success. Did we cross the threshold into the outer realm? Yes. Did my children learn something/have fun/see something other than our walls? Yes. Did I remember to bring them all home? 

...yes. 

If two out of the three were accomplished, I could chalk it up to a good trip and move on.

Once we started homeschooling, the pressure I felt to get them out was like a gorilla on my back. As one who was both public and private schooled, I understood the value of field trips and group activities. During those months when we would leave home only on Sunday mornings, I feared that I was failing my children...that they would grow up to be introverts like their mother and flounder in the real world. Not to mention the fact that we never got out of our pajamas. Darn it. *Unsocialized homeschoolers.* 

Must...not...support...stereotypes.

Slowly but surely, I've gotten better at integrating these things into our curriculum. It's always nice when it fits in well with what we're studying. But to be completely honest, the best trips have been the ones that have had absolutely nothing to do with a study unit, and everything to do with getting out and having fun.

This last week, we went with some friends to the children's science museum here in town. We arrived just as two buses were unloading 3,000,000 children into the lobby. It was chaos. Orange shirts everywhere, children running in circles, chaperons running after them...bedlam, I tell you, pandemonium at it's finest.

It. Was. Awesome.

math class

music class

balancing chemical equations

no clue...but it's really cool.

...and meteorology. cause it's a science. 

Did we cross the threshold into the outer realm? You betcha. Did my children learn something/have fun/see something other than our walls? Absolutely. Did I remember to bring them all home?

...yes.

Success.