THE LAWS OF CHAOS part 1.

The child who wakes up covered in puke is exactly the child whose entire bedding set got washed the day before.

The day that your husband has put extensive effort into getting dinner reservations and babysitting lined up BY HIMSELF will be the day that a pregnant woman will come in for her appointment, in preterm labor.  And the night will then consist of corndogs and Blues Clues with a 3 year old.

The one day in a million that you all are ready for church with ample time to spare will be the morning that the youngest steps in a pile of dog shit, and gets into the car, and climbs all over the drivers seat ...before anyone notices.

The one full can of paint that you forgot to tightly seal will be the can that is tipped over by the three year old... on the newly laid kitchen floor.

The kitchen chairs you painstakenly strip and stain will be the exact item your son decides to use as a teething toy.

The rescue dog that you adopt and treat to a day at the puppy spa will be the dog that rolls in cow shit the very next day.

The 30 year old  collectible John Deere tractors (still in the box) are exactly the toys a three year old will stack a chair on top of a table to retrieve and remove from their boxes.

When your nephew asks  "Do we need to take this along?" regarding the bucket filled with tire jacks and tire changing tools, and you reply "Nope!" will be the exact bucket you need when the trailer blows a tire less than 15 miles from your house... in sleeting rain and 40mph winds.

The wallpaper you decide to paint over, for fear of finding paneling underneath it, will be the exact wallpaper your toddler decides to pick at and peel off chunks... in several spots.

We call this style Modern Toddlerism with a hint of Destruction

When on a nature walk with your toddler, the one thing laying on the ground, a dessicated racoon poop, will be the one thing he mistakes for a cheetoh... and eats.

The only household chore that will be copied with zealousness by a toddler will be cleaning the toilet, and walls, and floor... with the toilet brush.

The night you decide to stay up way too late gluttonously watching a Hoarders marathon (in an attempt to feel better about your own house) will be the night before your children will wake up a two hours earlier than normal.

The day you forget to put away your inhaler is the day the 3 year old decides to freshen the bathroom with an "albuterol air freshener."

If you are born a night owl, you will marry a morning dove, and birth only morning doves.

If you wait for 10 years to buy your first home together, the zipcode in which you wish to purchase said house will be declared a Natural Disaster Area due to flooding. Mortgage companies don't particularily like Natural Disaster Areas.

And finally, the expensive vet-prescribed dog food you buy is refused by the same dog that prefers to eat cat poop and dead deer carcasses.

I is smart.

  

The unexpected aftermath

I am happy to report that life is pretty much back to normal.  I'm driving, walking quite normally and even found  myself running through a parking lot in the recent rain!  I get a bit tired towards evening but that is nothing I am going to complain about.  I am blessed with recovery, health, and wonderful family and friends.  

Going through my ordeal, I had a lot of time to think.  A LOT of time.  One place my mind continued to return to was my children.  It brought me back to the last month I spent with my Mom before she died. Something I don't think I could have ever grasped without experiencing this hiccup in my health was the fear she felt about us, her kids, upon her departure from this physical earth.  I know she didn't fear dying in the sense of where she was going, in fact I think a part of her looked forward to seeing her parents again.  But there was this look she had when she would look at us, her kids; a look created by an emotion of which I have now felt an inkling.  She was worried about US. What would happen to us after she was gone. What has she left untaught? On what experiences would she miss out?  Would she miss the opportunity to hear "Mom, you were right?" a couple more times?

Not knowing what was going on with my health, I spent some time thinking about these same things.  Not the bread and butter stuff about how they would get to school or piano lessons, or if they had their homework signed. I thought about the long term stuff, the stuff that isn't really fitting to discuss at their current ages, but they eventually need to know.  

For instance, I have not yet told my boys to NEVER sleep with a woman before his wedding night.  This isn't for the obvious reasons most would think.  They need to know that NO woman can ever, ever, ever know just how badly they each grind their teeth and thrash around in their sleep before she is legally bound to one of them.  I worry that they will end up as eternal bachelors because the exhaustion a woman will endure trying to catch some REM sleep will be grounds for terminating an otherwise great relationship.  They need to know that on any flight they fly on, they will be asked to stow everyone in their area's bag in the overhead compartment.  So they should just expect it.  They will need to know that the highest shelf in the bathroom is not the acceptable place to store the toilet paper, even if it makes perfect sense to them and is easy for them to reach.  They need to know that many will try to squash their sparkle, and they will tell them to be tough and stoic. They need to know a kind and empathetic heart will make them vulnerable, but it will be worth it.  And so it doesn't take until they are 35 to figure this out, like it did with their father, if a girl walks all the way to your apartment (which is the complete opposite direction of hers) and then offers to bake you cookies at her apartment, SHE LIKES YOU.  Oh, and listen to your sister's opinions about potential girlfriend because she will have insight that only a woman possesses.

For my daughter, there are so so many things I would want her to know. Things about life, love, pregnancy, marriage... the list goes on and on.  For her, I think it may require a book.  I've mulled over  the idea of a writing a book for a while, but never much more than just a fleeting thought.  That was until I went through my crippled chicken-walker phase.  And maybe that is what was to come of that whole event, my rediscovery of my love for writing.  

For about 2 months, my family weathered an unknown storm, and now in the aftermath, I continue to process the experience (which by the way was finally called an Atypical Migraine resulting in physical manifestations, or in my kids' words ' A really, really, really, really, really, really bad headache.') I know that life is too short to leave things undone or unsaid. So, soon I hope to  start to put words to paper (or in reality, fingers to the keyboard) and start expressing the ideas that have played in my head for a while.  A written record of advice for my daughter, and all young girls really, to use as they navigate through the murky and hormonally driven existence of their teens to twenties.  So stay tuned as I begin the adventure of writing a book!

16 things Designed to Institutionalize a Parent.

Upon cleaning up Easter grass for the 876th time in two days, I realized that many things must have been researched and developed by either extremely hateful and sadistic people, or childless people. So I compiled a list of things that were seemingly developed with the sheer purpose of driving parents to the brink of insanity.

1. Easter Grass

2. Moon dough ( sole proof of Satan's existence)

3.  Red, orange and purple Kool Aid

4.  Nerds Candy

5. Any and all things from Oriental Trading

6.  The rubbery dresses of the small Disney princesses that NO child is able to put on the princess herself.

7.  The decided upon volume of any siren on a firetruck, police car or ambulance toy.

8.  The show Max and Ruby

9.  The show Calliou

10. Glitter

11.  Slide whistles and harmonicas

12.  Ice Cream Magic,unless you like your ice cream drinkable

13.  2 foot long pixie sticks

14.  Hungry Hungry Hippos (Marbles AND noise!)

15.  Silly Bands

16.  Finally,  ZuZu pets (Another toy created by the hands of the Prince of Darkness himself.)

Even the Dog wanted the damn thing to shut up.

The exhaustion of being "on."

Parenting is exhausting. I don't mean the first months of sleepless nights, the crying, the night feedings, waking in the morning to find you have put a clean diaper over a dirty one.  Those are physically exhausting times, but the beauty of that early time is that if you are more cloth monkey than wire monkey in your mothering, your baby is going to be fine.  

I am talking about the exhaustion that comes when they are older.  The exhaustion that comes with being "on" almost all of your waking hours.  Even the most demanding professions usually come with two 15 minute breaks and a half hour or hour lunch.  I'm beginning to think I should loan my 3 children to investigative agencies for their tracking skills, because they ALWAYS FIND ME.  They must have a heightened sense of smell that is exclusively used in locating and zeroing in on the smell of despair, because within 42 seconds of locking the bathroom door, they have found me.   

As they age past nighttime feedings into toddlerdom and beyond, the exhaustion of trying to be a good parent is overwhelming.  I don't mean "good" as in mastering the most vogue pinterest birthday treats-giving the latest electronic device-ensuring they have the current in-fashion wardrobe "good".  I mean good as in my ultimate hope is we are raising children who will eventually be productive, accountable members of society, a society they don't feel entitlement from, or that they are owed from.  Children that, when finding themselves in tough situations, will make good choices because we have instilled them them decision making abilities.  Children that will know life isn't always fair.  It is exhausting being "on", and also continually shutting up that bad parent voice that sits on the exhausted, selfish, responsibility-free dusty shelf located in the corner of my brain.  For Example....

My Oldest (age 9): "Mom can I play Minecraft?"
Me: "No"
My Oldest: "PLEASE can I play Minecraft?"
Me: "No, go play with some Legos."
My Oldest: "Mom, I made my bed."
Me: "Thank you!!"
My Oldest: "Now I get to play Minecraft?"
Me: (Bad parent voice starting play in my head says: 'For the love of Pete, let him play already so we can get to page 3 of the People magazine, we have been trying to read this for 35 minutes!!') "No, I said no Minecraft! How about you go play with your Lego Minecraft set or go do some origami?"

6 MINUTES LATER

My Oldest: "Mom, here is an origami Yoda and Darth Vader and a leaping frog and a  fox.  Now can I play Minecraft?

Me: (Bad parent voice really starting to bark 'Screw it!! Let him do it! We can enjoy the next 14 hours in peace!!) "No. I have said no, and my answer isn't going to change.  Please go find something to do!"  (Bad parent voice grumbles in my head, and knows this is probably round 1 of 3 of this same scenario that will occur this evening.)

When it comes to 3 year olds, they are not quite the negotiators, but the perpetual motion they are in, and the desire to teach them to make good choices creates never ending exhaustion.  Examples:

"No we don't eat BBQ chips for breakfast."

"No we don't stack stools on top of laundry baskets on top of chairs to get something (like childrens' Advil) because you can fall and get hurt."

"No we don't put kitties in the washing machine (or dryer) because they can get hurt."

"No we don't throw Thomas the Tank Engine at brother's head because it hurts."

"No we don't fee the dog chips (or Clif bars, or meat, or pretzels, or cereal, or crackers) even though she really likes them because she will get sick.

"No we don't eat 7 bags of fruit snack because you will get sick."

"No we don't color on the walls, only paper."

"I see you did that! That's wallpaper. We don't rip that off."

(Bad Parent: "Oh Shiiiiiiit.")

"No we don't cut Mommy's stuff, only paper.

(Bad Parent screams: "F&%$K! You CUT THAT ????)

"No, you can't watch Cars again, (and again and again...)"

(Bad parent pipes up, "Give the child a bag of cheetos and put in Cars, on repeat. We have a Hoarders marathon to watch.")

When I comes to my daughter, at every turn I feel like I am waging a war against societal pressures women face to be skinny, pretty and perfect.  The conversations are always heated and passionate, and exhausting:

My Daughter (age 6): "I want to wear my pink skirt."

Me: "I'm sorry, it isn't washed yet. Wear some jeans."

My Daughter: "JEANS are UUUUUGLY."

Me:  "It's -27, it is more important to be warm, and kind and smart."

My Daughter: "Jeans are not pretty!

Me:  "It's -27, it is more important to be warm, and kind and smart."

My Daughter:  "No one will think I'm pretty!!!" (insert flailing and back bending tantrum about here)

Me:  "It's -27, it is more important to be warm, and kind and smart.  How about jeggings?"

My Daughter:  " I HATE jeggings!! THEY FALL DOWN!!" (Said no female ever, except my daughter."

Me:  (Bad parent at this point is slugging back whiskey at 7:30am as she sits on that dusty shelf in my brain saying "Give her the damn skirt! Who cares if it smells like feet and dirty dishclothes! She'll stop this fit!) "It's -27, it is more important to be warm, and kind and smart."

And this will be the first of many of these encounters this week.

It is wearing. It is all out exhausting to be present, and meaningful, and honest. And honestly, there ARE days I miss those days of my 20's when I could sit, uninterrupted and watch TLC all afternoon, and eat a pint of spinach dip for lunch as I sat wrapped in a blanket.  No one to worry about except me and my cat.  My 17 year old geriatric cat probably misses those days more frequently than I.  And honestly, there may have been a morning recently where multigrain Doritos seemed close enough to Chex cereal to count for a breakfast food for the 3 year old.   And maybe I hope by acknowledging the exhaustion it will validate that I'm doing something right.  So as with so many things, I guess this quote is perfect for parenting: "It's not going to be easy, it's going to be worth it."

  

Parenting and Training

Over the last couple months, between watching friends finish their IronMan race, and doing my own marathon, I have been amazed at the number of people who are “older” who are completing these races.  I’m talking in their 50”s, 60’s, and 70’s.  Maybe it is because it isn’t until your kids have moved away to college and you’ve changed the locks that only then do you have time to concentrate on yourself.  Whatever the reason, I have a theory that with age and especially parenthood comes the toughness required to be an athlete.

Pain may deter some from running.  The reality is you are already prepared.  Plantar fasciitis of the heel pales to stepping on a Lego, in the dark. IT band syndrome is nothing compared to a little person deciding to grow sideways inside your belly for the greater part of a year, using your bladder as her personal trampoline.  Knee pain would feel like Swedish massage compared to the inevitable tantrum head butt by a 3 year old that always connects with cross hair accuracy with the bridge of your nose.  Parenting can hurt. Running hurts less.

Some may be deterred by their lack of stamina.  If you have survived a snowday with subzero temperature in February, at home with several kids and have heard “Mommy” no less than 3,534 times, you’ve got stamina.  If you have at least one sick child and your only goal of the day is keeping the toddler from playing with “The bucket” and you succeed, you’ve nailed stamina.  You need no more stamina than what is required to endure a 35 minute trip from Jamestown to Valley City, with a 3 year old screaming at the top of her lungs, because she doesn’t like the Johnny Cash CD you are playing, and not crack to her tantrum.  Parenting IS stamina. 

Being afraid of being too tired from running may be a fear.  Tired is having a baby who eats every 2 hours…for 8 months. Tired is having a dog with diarrhea every hour through the night… for two nights.  Running 3 miles is not tired. In fact the irony is it is pretty energizing.  Tired is burning the candle at both ends to just allow yourself an hour of “me time” which usually only coincides with the clock striking past 11pm. 

Plain old fear can prevent some from starting to be active.  Fear is sending your child down the hallway to a surgical suite, hoping and praying the hands you just gave him to are skillful and competent.  Fear is a 5 minute shower, knowing the 2 year old and dog are unattended in the house.  Fear is looking around the yard and only counting 2 heads instead of 3; your gut clenches and your heart drops to your feet and after screaming relentlessly you find the youngest inside the car blissfully flipping every switch and knob, saying “I dwive!” 

Some may claim they don’t have the patience to train and they may get bored.  You have all the patience you need if you have stood over an 8 year old trying to paint his pinewood derby car, with paint dripping and pooling, and resisted the urge to just do it yourself.  You are ready to train if you have painfully sat through your child reading the longest children’s book known to man, “One fish Two fish” and didn’t say “Let’s finish it another time.” 

I know that I could never have completed a marathon in my twenties.  Parenting in itself should be its own endurance sport.  It is through parenting that I have really come to know strength, because parenting sure ain’t for sissies.  The reality is once you become a parent, you don’t have the luxury of quitting.  Your home becomes command central for an army of little people, who will try to test you to your breaking point.  General McArthur had nothing on my 6 year old the days the wrong skirt is dirty. She could break the best Delta Force or Seal Team member. They’d give up information to just make the screaming STOP.  But I’m thankful to God for them. They gave me the greatest gift, which is parenthood, and all that comes along with it. And the opportunity to discover strengths I never knew I possessed. 

her skirt was dirty=flailing back-bending tantrum