letting kids be kids

I'm trying to be the mom who reacts positively when her daughter shortens a dress with scissors (“Oh, she will be a fashion designer some day!”) but, honestly, it’s more, “What the h__ were you thinking?” She would've been wise to try this in the first half of the day. Shenanigans look more like treachery after 6:00 p.m.

Tomorrow is a new day. Thank God for fresh starts.

My children gift me with more smiles and laughter than I have ever known, but they also excel at getting  under my skin. Several times per day, I  breathe deep and remind myself that they are “just kids.”

Like when IMO, inspired by science camp, asked for an empty pump bottle so he could mix Sprite and soap. He claimed this potion would heal stubbed toes. I cringed as he dribbled it all over the counter and floor and proceeded to rub the sticky, foamy substance on his foot. Some mothers would not become unglued by this. But, sadly, I couldn’t see past the mess I was going to clean up later.

You’d be amazed how many times a day I have this conversation:

Me: “Is that food?”
Child: “No.”
Me: “Well, then, it shouldn’t be in your mouth. Only food and drink go in your mouth.”

My children will probably etch that last sentence on my grave.

I told a dear friend that I wasn’t sure that I was cut out for this job. I love order. I crave a quiet house. I hate stains. Some aspects of motherhood came naturally to me, but many others did not.

On my worst days, I fear that I enjoy babies more than I enjoy kids. Which means I will probably pack up and leave when they reach their teens. No one has a sweet, newlywed moment where you turn to your spouse, peer deep into his/her eyes, and say, “Honey, let’s have a tween.” No, we get warm and fuzzy over babies. And they grow up to do the things that bug us most about own personalities. Ever recognize your bad habits and quirks in your children? I do.

IMO obsesses over things. (Right now, the flavor of the week is Pokemon). He cannot change the channel. He perseverates. My poor Mom also had to deal with a relentless child with a one-track mind: me. Now I have one. Pay back.

Miss E is fiercely independent. We know that most kids go through this phase, but hers is here to stay. In an attempt to keep her from flipping out, I admit that I’ll undo something I’ve already done so she can do it herself. So it’s no surprise that I decline help even when I need it because I want to “do it myself.” As adults, we’re called Control Freaks. (Hmm, note to self: re-brand that.)

It might be too soon to tell what mannerisms we’ll see in Baby S. I will say that he is the bossiest and the most polite baby you’ve ever met… barking orders like a dictator but showering you with affection and gratitude once you’ve filled his need.

I don’t exactly know where I want to take this post from here. I just needed to write. But I’ll leave you with this quote from an incredible Huffington Post article by Steve Wiens, a pastor and writer:

“Maybe it's time to embrace being the kind of parent who says sorry when you yell. Who models what it's like to take time for yourself. Who asks God to help you to be a better version of the person that you actually are, not for more strength to be an ideal parent.”

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/steve-wiens/let-me-be-the-one-who-says-it-out-loud_b_3209305.html

Amen to that. I'm also asking God to help me see the magic in their messes and find joy in the chaos. They are not mini adults, after all; they are children. Perfectly imperfect children. And our house will be quiet soon enough.