Stacey's Mothering Moments

How to obtain sleep deprivation

Stacey — Thu, 17 May 2012 14:11:54 +0000

1. Have children

b. After children go to bed and the house is quiet for the first time in 14 1/2 hours, stay up reading/watching television/playing games until way too late.

5. Out of desperation and desire for long sought after sleep, allow various children to sleep in your bed. Specifically, but not limited to, a certain 3 year old who has acquired the skill of slipping in quietly and unnoticed.

X. Have an infant who may or may not sleep all night.

6. Develop a bladder the size of a pea by giving birth multiple times which will require at least one trip to the bathroom during the night.

88. In order to bond with pre-teens, stay up chatting until your eyes are heavy. But don’t go to bed after bidding them goodnight. No, you still need your down time, so go watch a movie.

C. Wake up at the crack of stupid so you can go for a run without your children.

10. If you aren’t waking early to go running, make sure your infant will wake you to play. You must attend to infant in order to prevent the joyous noises exiting his face from waking other children who will become cranky upon waking at the crack of stupid.

Z. Make sure napping children are on alternate schedules so that you will never be able to nap. It’s more fun that way.

2. Just when you start to acquire appropriate amounts of sleep, a child will get sick in the night.

77. Have children.

An Hour In a Day

Stacey — Tue, 15 May 2012 05:59:11 +0000

I gently nudged her towards the door, her preschool teacher taking her hand and propelling her forward even more. I backed away slowly with words of reassurance for both of us. Her teacher smiled and pulled her in, tears streamed down her face and her shoulders shook with each sob.

I turned and walked to the car with a heavy sigh. Dropping children off for school is supposed be easy by the end of the school year, not harder. It wasn’t the first time I left her crying, but each and every time, she came home beaming. So I told myself that today was no different, that she would have fun and come home happy.

The short trip to the grocery store was easy and uneventful. The bonus of having an older child out of school is the built-in babysitter aspect. I have almost forgotten how easy it is to shop alone. But throughout the quiet of my shopping trip, I couldn’t shake the feelings and worries about my sweet daughter.

As I got in the car to take my groceries home, the phone rang. My husband was just calling to see how my day was going.

“It was so hard to leave her today.”

“I’m sorry. You know she always has fun.”

“I know. I just hate leaving her when she is so sad.”

Our quick conversation ended and the phone rang again almost instantly. I turned into our street only to be greeted by my daughter’s teacher on the other end of the phone.

“She just won’t settle down. I’m not sure what you want to do.”

“I will come get her. I need to drop some groceries at the house, but then I will be there just as quickly as I can.”

I ditched the groceries and returned to school. I could see her through the small window in the door. She was standing with the other children barely singing, her little shoulders shuttered with each breath as she tried to be brave and stop crying. I thought she saw me, but she didn’t acknowledge me. I tapped on the door and beckoned her to come. The relief in her little body evident as she quickly gathered her backpack and stood next to me.

I took her small hand and led her to the car where I gathered her onto my lap and asked what the problem was.

“We had to sing with more kids and I don’t want to make new friends. And I don’t like that classroom.”

I squeezed her tight and brushed her tears away and reassured her that it was only for practicing the program. As we drove home, I listened again while she recounted her worries and my heart ached to take away her fears.

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What is an hour out of your day like? Link up and share, whether through pictures, poetry, lists, or words and let us walk a mile in your shoes.

Mother’s Day

Stacey — Sun, 13 May 2012 03:36:53 +0000

I still remember my first Mother’s Day. I had visions of breakfast in bed, not lifting a finger all day and finally being given the credit I deserved for wiping bums and noses all year. This was going to be the day I was showered with love, affection, and gifts. It was going to be better than Chrismas, and my birthday.

I worked hard, and somebody better acknowlege it, by golly.

I want to preface the rest of this post by saying that this is not a post to rag on my husband. While he has made some grievous errors in the past in regards to Mother’s Day, this post is really about what Mother’s Day is really, truly about.

That may lead you to guess that my first Mother’s Day was not what I expected. I’m pretty sure I got a card and some flowers and the traditional plant at church. (Why they give mothers something else that needs tending to on Mother’s Day is beyond me. I kill my plant every year.) And the day was a normal day. I still changed diapers, wiped noses and I think, but I’m not sure, that I still helped with dinner.

Source: facebook.com via Stacey’s on Pinterest

Not quite what I expected. And I’m pretty sure I cried on more than a Mother’s Day or two.

I wanted grand adulation, dang it.

Source: nickmom.com via Stacey’s on Pinterest

While my older children were still too young to give me all the applause I thought I needed, I still recieved colored pictures, handprints with poems, and the traditional card from the husband along with flowers or chocolates. But somehow, I always felt let down.

And then came the year when my older children were finally old enough to really appreciate all the crap I do. And I got some cards a distant and mumbled “Happy Mother’s Day” from my eldest who had decided that hugging mom was no longer acceptable. And I still wiped noses and changed diapers and I think, but I’m not certain, that I still helped with dinner and probably even the dishes.

This Mother’s Day thing was crap.

So I started to dread Mother’s Day. The media’s portrayal of what the day was all about was a load of crap.

But then something changed.

One year, my middle son brought me breakfast in bed at the crack of dawn which consisted of a bowl of cereal on a cookie sheet. I was given cards and flowers and chocolates. And I still had to change diapers and wipe noses, and help with dinner and get the kids ready for church.

And somehow it was enough. I had finally realized that Mother’s Day was not about showering me with gifts and applauding all the crap I do every day. Mother’s Day was about appreciating the fact that I was a mother, that I had a mother. It was about the little faces beaming up at me for which Mother’s Day was the two seconds in which they gave me their little cards and then proceeded to need something from me.

Mother’s Day was not about getting away from everything that made me a mother, it was about me embracing and appreciating all those things.

It WAS about changing diapers, wiping noses, getting children to church and helping with dinner. Mother’s Day was not a day in which I was showered with gifts and adulation because I was showered with those things continuously.

Source: fbcdn-sphotos-a.akamaihd.net via Stacey’s on Pinterest

Mother’s Day was every day. My adulation came when little arms wrapped around my neck to tell me they loved me. They came in the form of phoenetically spelled notes telling me that I was the best mom ever after a particularly grueling day. It came every time I watched a child grow and learn. It came in the giggles when I forced my eldest son to hug me. It came at the birth of each child. (I know I was cheering.)

So this Mother’s Day, when you recieve your card and are awakened at the crack of stupid by the baby, take a moment to revel in those moments. Close your eyes and smell the soft smell of your children. Don’t lift a finger and smile at the mess. Because without these little people, there would be no mess, no diapers to change, no rush to get people to church, no noses to wipe or dinner to prepare.

Source: blog.playdrhutch.com via Stacey’s on Pinterest

Don’t feel ripped off because you aren’t having a spa day. Take a deep breath and smile. You are a mom and today is the day that you get to revel in everything that made you a mom.

Happy Mother’s Day, now go change that diaper.

On being a mother

Stacey — Thu, 10 May 2012 05:03:19 +0000

I strapped my not-quite-two-year-old baby boy into his car seat while maneuvering my rather large belly. Dinner at Grandma’s house was always a treat because I didn’t have to cook. We had recently moved into our first house and I was nearly due with baby #2. To say that I was exhausted would have been an understatement.

I climbed into the passenger seat and slumped down, closing my eyes for half a minute whilst waiting for the hubs to come out to the car. But then I heard the sound that all mothers dread. That gagging, I’m-gonna-puke sound coming from the backseat. I whirl around, if you could call it that with my large pregnant self, just in time to see my son gag again.

“No! No, no, no, no, no! Don’t. Please don’t.”

But there it went. All over the car seat, all over the back of my chair, all down his front, everywhere.

I heave a big sigh and lug my body out of the car and wonder what the crap is taking the hubs so long to get out to the car. I reach for the diaper bag and haul out the wet wipes to attempt a clean up. This wasn’t the first time this had happened. It seemed as though my tiny son had developed a sensitive gag reflex since the onset of my pregnancy and the kid threw up about once a day.

I guess he just didn’t want to feel left out.

Wet wipes weren’t doing the trick and just as I burst into tears, the hubs arrived.

“Are you ok, honey?”

“No.” I sobbed while wiping my son down. “I can’t do this. I can’t clean this up.” I felt my own tummy churning at the stench. I had done fairly well with this little issue, but that day, I just couldn’t hack it.

“It’s ok. You go inside, I’ll clean it up.”

I put down my wet wipe and cried all the way into the house where I proceeded to cry on my own mother.

“Share a parenting moment where you really began to realize what this mothering thing is all about.”

Industry

Stacey — Wed, 09 May 2012 03:11:31 +0000

Recently, certain of my children were off-track for three weeks. And of those children, a certain boy had a bucket list of things he needed to accomplish during his break.

I tried my very best to accommodate him and we had some high adventures. Including, but not limited to, making a volcano just for fun.

These little faces were along for the ride, but not at all sad about it.

Industrious. Yes, that word explains it all.

For more Wordless Wednesdays, visit Live and Love Out Loud, Parenting by Dummies, Dagmar’s Momsense

An Hour In a Day

Stacey — Mon, 07 May 2012 02:12:55 +0000

I am so excited to be sharing my new meme with week with Stasha! I hope you have all enjoyed making your list of 10 things you do in an hour of your day! Don’t forget to link up with me as well. It’s like a twofer!

My hour begins on Saturday evening at 4:30.

1. I got my creative cap on and made an impromptu cupcake stand.

Step 1: Take a cake stand and stick an empty glass in the center, then fill with pretty things.

Step2: Stick pretty plate on top, stick smaller glass thingy in the middle and Voile!

I was a little proud of myself.

2. Make Pizza for little man’s birthday dinner bash.

3. Freak out a little because camera stops working. I was seriously almost in tears thinking I might not get pictures of my final first birthday celebration!

4. Breathe a sigh of relief when camera begins working again and sing “It’s his party, he can cry if he wants to.”

5. Release the babe because he is all done and doesn’t care to wait for the rest of us to eat.

6. Sing Happy Birthday to my boy. Try desperately not to cry.

7. Watch baby boy perform the rite of passage of mushing cupcake absolutely everywhere.

8. Presents!

9. It’s not a big family birthday unless everyone plays with your presents.

10. Say farewell to the spousal unit as he takes off with Miss L to the instacare. Apparently, it’s not a birthday at our house without a trip to the doctor. My girl injured herself at gymnastics practice the day before and after nearly 24 hours was still hobbling and in pain. It was just a bad sprain, but she gets to wear a fancy and expensive boot for 5 days.

Whew! That was quite the hour! I don’t know about you, but I’m pooped! Next week, come back on Tuesday and link up An Hour from your day! Make a list, make it a picture post, an essay, a poem; pretty much anything that represents an hour from your day!!

Growing up

Stacey — Thu, 03 May 2012 14:18:59 +0000

My babies are growing up. I told them not to, but they aren’t listening. And this week is Birthday week. A certain little girl turned 3 yesterday.

She sang Happy Birthday to herself all day. But not the regular version. Oh no, no, no. She sang her own version of what she has heard repeatedly from older siblings. “Happy Birthday to me. I’m one hundred and three. I look like a monkey.” Nice.

Of course we had to make the obligatory trip to Chucke Cheese.

And blowing out candles is just necessary.

Of course, someone, who will be one on Saturday, wanted to practice the birthday cake eating ritual, so we let him.

And what would your third birthday be without riding in a limo?

Oh yes she did! But only because my awesome friend and neighbor also had a birthday yesterday, rented a limo and let us come party for a little while. I told her it was very nice of her to share.

Since I became a grown up, I have celebrated my birthdays with a little sadness. I don’t want to grow older. But my sweet neighbor said something yesterday that made me rethink it.

I said, “You know how to celebrate a birthday!”

She said, “I have an awful lot to celebrate.” Ahhh, wisdom. Next year, I want to celebrate my life, not my age.

After that, I went and kissed this little face beaming with life.

And the big present she has been patiently waiting and asking for, ended our evening with some joy and a little tragedy.

This little guy was a casualty of war, or rather a casualty of sister learning to ride her new bike.

I’m sure it will make his one year pictures on his birthday a bit more memorable. And even though I am determined to celebrate their life, I’m still mourning the loss of my babies just a little bit. Dang that growing up.

An Hour In a Day

Stacey — Tue, 01 May 2012 05:59:43 +0000

Thanks so much to everyone who participated last week. It was so much fun to spend in hour in each of your lives!

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This week’s hour is brought to you by An Effort In Futility.

Friday, 5:08 p.m. I am dropping Miss L off to Gymnastics late because she didn’t pay attention to the time and came home late from her church activity. I’m a bit frustrated, but decide it’s all good.

5:15 I decide to stop by the store to pick up a Redbox movie I had reserved earlier even though one child is missing shoes.

5:21 I swipe my card only to be told that there is no reservation for me. So I check my phone for the confirmation email and confirm that I am at the right location, which I was.

5:30 After attempting to resolve the problem via my super cool phone while containting an uncontainable and screaming toddler, I give up and head home, knowing it will be faster and less frustrating on the computer.

5:40 In the house and calling Redbox, only to be told there is nothing to be done. The movie was reserved under the wrong card, I can’t transfer it and since I no longer have the card, I can’t get the movie.

5:45 I attempt to reserve the same movie at another location with no luck. It won’t let me since I have the movie reserved already. Oh, the irony. So I drive like a bat out of you-know-where to get to the location and hopefully rent the movie before someone else does.

This is all done so my son can have a late-over party for his friends.

5:52 I arrive at the new location only to find the movie no longer there. Of course.

5:59 I see another Redbox location on the way home and figure, why not? This time I send the boys with my card and tell them to find a movie. They return with a Muppets movie, which I later learn they have seen and are almost completely uninterested in watching.

6:08 We are sitting at a stoplight, almost home, tired, hungry and frustrated.

For the record, my son had a great time with his party and my hour spent attempting to rent the coveted movie was quickly forgotten.

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Link up an hour from your day and see how the other half lives!

Super Powers

Stacey — Mon, 30 Apr 2012 03:21:05 +0000

The lovely Stasha has graciously allowed me to pick next week’s listicle and is simultaneously helping me with a linkup I have recently started. How cool is that?!?

The topic is An Hour In a Day. Make a list of 10 things that happen in an hour in your day and come link up next week not only with Stasha, but also with me. My linkup usually runs on Tuesday, but next week is special and my linky will open on Monday instead.

Pretty cool, huh?

Now for other pretty cool things. I don’t know about you, but motherhood has afforded me the opportunity to develop some serious super powers. Here are my ten best!

1. I can grow people. I don’t know, but I think that’s a pretty cool super power. I can just see a sweat-pants clad pregnant woman with a cape flying through the air…ok, maybe it’s not for television, but still a cool super power.

2. I have the ability to make miniature people giggle. It may not seem like a super power until you hear that magical sound of a little giggle, then it seems like the best power in the world.

3. My ability to find other people’s crap is staggering. Now if I could just keep track of my keys…

4. I can produce my very own milk which can sustain the life of a little bitty person. I’ve always thought that was pretty cool. I know not everyone has an easy time breastfeeding and I have always felt very blessed that it was never an issue for me.

5. I have developed the power to not be grossed out. I may declare the grossness loudly, but I can still clean up grossness without vomiting. That, my friend is a gift when you have 7 cute, but occasionally very gross people running around.

6. After birthing 7 people whcih came from my own uterus (as was so kindly asked of me the other day) I still have a sene of humor.

7. I can drive a 12 passenger van. It took some practice and backing into a couple of people first, but now I rock the extended van. Definitely a super power.

8. I can get 9 people to church early enough to sit on a bench and not in the overflow almost every week. If that’s not a super power, I don’t know what is. It stems from the fact that if we have to sit in metal chairs, my children become psychotic.

9. I can sing the theme song to nearly every child’s show, educational or not, without too much thought.

10. I can smell a poopy diaper a mile away, even if it isn’t on my own kid. Nearly 13 years of checking for poop has made me an expert.

Peace and Quiet…What?

Stacey — Thu, 26 Apr 2012 13:14:46 +0000

“Mom, Can I go outside?”

“Mom, I need help with my homework.”

“Mom, Baby boy is in the pantry again.”

“Mom, is it snack time yet?”

Questions come flying at me like loaded missiles. Five faces stare at me impatiently, expectantly.

“Ummm, I don’t know. I’m kind of busy right now.”

“MOMMMMM!!! Baby boy is in the cat water again!”

I snap to and holler to get him out of the cat water and methodically answer everyone’s questions. I rub my eyes and my head, wondering if any brain power is left up there and try to remember what it was I was doing. Motherhood onset ADD is no laughing matter.

I remember a time, though it is long past, that my life was quiet. I think I remember that time.

I miss the early morning quiet of a shower. Alone. In a dark bathroom. Alone. In the quiet. Ok, so the radio was always on, but I could hear the music and no one was asking me why I had hair “there”.

I miss driving along in my little car with the radio blaring. I realize that’s not quiet. But now, if I blast the radio, someone is usually shouting that they don’t like that song. Either that or they are tattling on a sibling or suffering from a life threatening illness.

I miss reading. I still read, but it’s in between poopy diapers, naps and other chaos. I had to renew my book because I couldn’t finish it in three weeks. That’s just really sad.

I miss thinking. I remember a time when all the thoughts in my brain could be thought of. It was so quiet in there. Now it is filled with the location of shoes, practice schedules, and school schedules. My brain is rapidly running out of space.

I miss the quiet of an evening spent on the front porch listening to the birds chirp and watching the people go by.

I miss long quiet evenings of quiet.

And sleep. Quiet, undisturbed sleep. I miss that too.

“Mom! Can you help me with my homework or not?” I look at a perturbed 11 going on 16 year old girl, heave a big sigh and answer with an “of course”.

And then I realize that I wouldn’t trade all the quiet in the whole wide world for my noise.

I quite like my evenings spent on the front porch hearing my children laugh and play in the street. And thinking is totally overrated, as is sleep apparently. When a teeny person crawls in bed with me, I have to get in a quick snuggle, and a sniff of their cute little heads before I send them back to bed. I would miss that if I had my quiet.

And if my evenings weren’t spent trying not to giggle at all the reasons the children come up with to come downstairs after being tucked in, well, that would just be boring. And quiet. Too quiet.

“Mom. Hurry up!”

“Alright, I’m coming.”

A quiet shower, though. I could use one of those.