After all that I've done for you...

Saturday was a fabulous day.  A particularly long day, but it was pleasant and enjoyable nonetheless. 

Lance left the house at 5:20am to go to Knoxville to the Tennessee game.  Easton was up at his normal DST hour of 6:30am.  DST is for the birds.  FOR.  THE.  BIRDS.  6:30am is far to early when you don't have to go to 'work' and school.  Anyways.  Easton was up early.  I did somehow manage to get him to lay in the bed with me until 8.  We got up, had some breakfast- 'what's those color tangs again mommy?'  Fruit Loops...for him.  Green Smoothie for me. 

My mom came over.  We took some maternity pictures, then we headed out to the Mall.  We pushed it through nap time.  Easton was a dream.  He'd walk some, then ride some.  Walk, then ride.  Listening to what we said, cooperating like a champ.  We had some lunch, rode the carousel, got Gigi's cupcakes, kept on shopping.  A full day indeed.  But fun! 

I thought surely he'd fall asleep on the way home, but he didn't.  By the time we got home it was 4:00 and far too late for a nap, but gracious, we were tired and Lance was still not home, nor on the way.  Van trouble in Knoxville.  So, we hunkered down in the bonus room for Toy Story and I did a little sewing while he watched the movie and played. 

Easton said he was getting a little bit hungry and that he wanted oatmeal.  Easy enough.  I went down and fixed him blueberry oatmeal with a side of banana.  He ate and continued playing.

He wanted to play 'hockey' and dump all the balls out of this basket.  I reminded him he didn't put them up the night before but then he said 'I promise I'll put all of them up'.  I told him he could dump them out as long as he'd put them up.  Sweet little thing climbed up on the couch and gave me a hug and said 'I promise'.  'You're my sweet baby' I said, as he got down off the couch.  He looked at me and said:

I jus been growin up. So I can't be your baby anymore. I'll get little again one day.

I gave him a sad face and he went on about his playing.  He really is no longer a baby.  But it seems like just yesterday when I was sitting on this very couch in this very same large state longing for his arrival.  We played baseball a few minutes and hockey a few more. 

But then the mood changed.  The back talking started.  The attitude.  The nap that was missed was rearing its ugly head now. 

Calmly, I told him we were going to get things cleaned up and take a bath then come back up and lay on the couch together.  Oh, the whining that ensued after this.  He didn't want to clean up.  He wanted to play balls.  There were too many to pick up.  He didn't want to put the cushions back on the couch.  On and on and on and on. 

A little too much attitude and I sent him to the corner.  Where he protested.  Loudly.  And very unkindly.  I kept my cool, although I was burning on the inside.  After all I'd done for him today, lunch out, cupcakes, carousel ride, skipping nap, some really cool bear house shoes, etc.  He got louder and louder.  More defiant with each second.  I started raising my voice.  "After all I've done for you, and this is how you act..." I began to try to reason with him.   

But I'd had it.  I spanked him and raised my voice.  I don't spank.  I don't think it's the answer.  I was never spanked as a child.  Probably needed it but never was.  Talking was always the discipline in my house.  Sometimes I think I'd rather have been spanked.  But Saturday, I spanked.  I needed him to know I meant business.  I'd tried the calm approach.  I'd tried ignoring him.  Nothing was working.  Spanking was the next route.  The one I rarely ever take. 

I cleaned up all the balls while he kept crying, acting ugly.  I put the couch cushions all back on the couches.  I picked up the baseball bats and the hockey stick.  We proceeded to the bath room, where we would NOT be playing, but taking a bath then getting in the bed.  At 7pm. 

I.  WAS.  DONE.

As the bath went on he said 'mommy, I'm done being ugly.  I'm sorry for being ugly upstairs.'  And the waterworks started.  I got him out of the tub, dried him off and explained to him that he hurt my heart and I did not like getting on to him.  He apologized again for his actions.  He hugged me and said he was sorry.  I told him I was sorry too.   I cried a little more.  He hugged me again. 

We made up and I let him come back upstairs to rest on the couch until bedtime.  10 minutes later, he was sound asleep.  I started recounting the nights events.  My heart was hurting for spanking him.  I was praying I wouldn't go into labor and have this be the kind of memory I'd have of 'the night I went into labor'.  And the words I'd said to him were ringing back in my head...

'after all I've done for you...' 

How many times does Jesus feel that way about me and my ungrateful attitude?  Rather- how many times can He feel that way, yet doesn't.  Simply opens His arms and says easy does it sister, you've got all you need.  And more.

This stay at home mom thing is awesome.  Wonderful!  But it's really an adjustment for me.  It's hard for me to be home all the time.  It's hard to know how to fill 8-10 hours a day, productively and fun.  I'm trying to be very conscious of what I spend and what I do because we are now a one-income family.  There's not a lot to do in the fall & winter that's free or cheap.  Not to mention, I'm VERY pregnant and low on energy.  And that's when Satan creeps in and steals the joy that I've been given.  This joy to be home with Easton, and soon, Emerson.  He puts me on the pitty party train and I ride it a long way.  Yet.  This is something I've prayed for.  Longed for.  Hoped for.  To be home. 

And that's when it hit's me. 

He's given me so much in this gift of being home.  Yet, like a 3 year old I get in the corner and kick and scream and lay down and cry because I don't get to go to Joann's or Hobby Lobby every time I want and buy something else to craft.  Or because I can't go to Target or the Mall and get new clothes.  Or go out to eat dinner every time I don't feel like cooking.  Those things are limited now.  Those things are bonus now, instead of the norm.  BUT.  On the flip side, I'M HOME WITH MY CHILD!  How extremely selfish of me!

This is an adjustment period for us all.  But I pray that each time I start acting like a 3 year old, even though most of my battle is done internally, never seen by anyone, that I remember the blessing that I have been given.  All the other is just stuff.  And I pray that I can say 'I'm sorry' as easy as my child does when I do act like a 3 year old, and that I trust and believe that I am forgiven and can climb up in my Heavenly Father's lap just as Easton climbs up in mine. 

Grace for the momma

I overslept.  I paid for the Tylenol PM I took last night at 10:30.  What was I thinking?  I was thinking about my heavenly 2 hour Sunday afternoon nap I took and knew I wanted to SLEEP so I was trying to induce sleep.  However.  I paid for it.

I need to leave the house by 6:45 to get to work by 8.  I was just waking up at 6:45.  Great.  Fantastic start to this Monday.  This last Monday that Easton would be commuting with me to work.  He starts a new school April 1.  Closer to home.  Less money.  All around a good plan, but it still makes me sick.

We hurried to get ready and got out the door by 7:15. I knew several counties were out of school for Spring Break so I was hoping this would help in our late-ness. 

I got Easton loaded in the truck.  He'd dropped a glove.  I retraced our steps and found it.  I got in the truck to realize I left my phone.  I turned the truck off to go back in to get it.  I get back in the truck, I unwrapped Easton's granola bar and backed out the driveway.  I need a tissue mommy, I hear from the back seat.  I open the glove box and get out a tissue.  I wanna do it myself.  No Easton, you don't need the whole pack.  He wipes his nose and throws it back up front.  He thinks he's helping by doing this, but my truck looks like a war zone.  Sweet boy, just hold it in your seat for the next 17 times you will ask before we even make it to the interstate.  We have 2 miles to go before we make it to the main drag that takes us to the interstate.  About 8 miles on that main highway.  By about mile 5 I had already passed about 16 tissue and 3 wipes, half of my banana, cleaned up yogurt from the front of his jacket, which he thought would be best to eat with his fingers, passed back his milk and I was grabbing the 4th wipe from the console when I lost it.  I. Lost. It. 

Instantly, the guilt came over me.  He's 3.  He's only 3.  It's early.  No one wants to be rushed.  He's only little once.  He depends on me.  This is our last Monday carpooling together, as we've done every day since he was 12 weeks old.  And that set the tone for the whole ride in. Quiet.  Somber. 

He knew it too.  He was quiet.  He was gentle with his words when he did speak.  About 15 minutes down the road, I apologized.  He looked at me with those big brown eyes as if to say 'you let me down, mom.'  But, I apologized again.  I asked him if he accepted my appology and he said yes.  He sang Little Bunny Foo Foo all the way to school.  He wanted to know what the Good- Fairy said.  I reminded him. 

And the good fairy said...
Little Bunny Foo Foo
I don't wanna see you
Scoopin up the fild mice
And boppin 'em on the head.

He sang it all the way in.  We held hands walking in school.  I told him I loved him.  He knows I love him.  I know that without a doubt.  He bound in his room with a big smile on his face and kissed me and gave me my I Love You's at the door.

I've cried off and on all day long.  These days are so short.  They go too quickly.  Most mornings we are up and out the door by 7am, and land back at home around 5:30 or 6.  I then have 2 hours with him, which consist of laundry and supper and clean up and bath and then bed. 

The guilt creeps in every so often.  I rush, rush, rush to get him to school.  Then we rush, rush, rush home to get to bed.  Every day.  It's exhausting.  At times I really wish I could stay at home with him, but I know how much he loves his friends and his school (and hopefully will feel that same way about his new school).  I think back on my own childhood when my mom worked.  I went to daycare.  Every day.  But the afternoons were spent with her.  I don't ever remember feeling anything less than HAPPY to be with her.  It didn't matter what we were doing, we were together. 

In between moments of tears, I offer myself GRACE.  So very quick to offer it to others, but so extremely slow to accept it myself.  And.  It's not excuses.  It's grace.  Grace to do better, starting now.  Grace to do better, starting today.  Grace, that when I pick Easton up, he will KNOW he has my attention for the hour and fifteen minute ride home.  Grace that when we get home I can sit down and play a minute.  Or just sit and  hold him.  Grace.  Grace.  Grace.  Grace to let go of the little things that I think are important but to take time for the big things that really do matter.  Grace.  So freely offered.  Yes so difficult to accept at times.  And Grace to be able to get up and do it all over tomorrow, but with a new attitude.

Thank GOD He never runs out of it for me. 

It's a new moment.  Starting now. 

We may not have it all together, but together we have it all

This pretty much sums up my life right now.  Every day seems to be a whirlwind, each day Easton is getting older, growing up, doing more. The term "working mom" has brought on a new meaning and I have the utmost respect for working mothers, rather, for ALL mothers!  It's hard work.  Actually, being a mom is easy, it's all the other things you have to do that become hard.   

Most days I'm up at 5:45 to get out the door by 7 to get Easton to school by 7:45 so I can be at work by 8.  On a good day I'm home by 4:15.  I get our bags unpacked, bottles made and washed, TRY to make dinner- which doesn't always happen (it did last night though, and it was off the charts, if I do say so myself!), load\unload\fold laundry, pick up the house, load\unload the dishwasher, eat dinner, give Easton a bath, get him ready for bed then maybe sit down on the couch to crochet a minute.  By then though, my head is nodding and I'm exhausted.  Then I go to bed and pray that Easton sleeps all night in his bed and we all get some rest...only to start it all over again tomorrow. 

Lance works a LONG day, most days not getting home till 6.  He's limited on what he can do because of his shoulder so that makes it extra hard.  Temporary, this is only temporary. 

With all that said, I absolutely LOVE being a mother and a wife.  My boys are #1. They are my most important responsibilities throughout my day.   Oh, and I can't forget Kirbs- she's still #1 too- although she'll tell you she's slipped a bit in the rankings. 

However, I have a hard time sometimes remembering that 'it won't be like this for long' and 'he'll only be little once' and I'm trying to savor my time with him and not worry about the chores as much.  It's hard though. I'm a perfectionst- I'm anal- I don't ask for help. I'm a worrier by nature, so it bothers me to let things pile up: laundry, dishes, yardwork, etc. I'm trying to remeber to stop and savor these moments.  All of his noises, his laugh, his babbling, his accomplishments- though they may be small, they are big to us. 

I want Easton to remember that his mommy played with him, and she was fun, and she encouraged him and helped him be whoever he wants to be.  Most of all, I want him to love Jesus.  

This is my verbal reminder to myself to take time to enjoy.  Live life. Slow down.   Savor each moment, each laugh, each grin when he first see's you in the morning over his crib, each fresh Johnson's lotion after the bath smell, each snug on the couch, each smile, each little twinkle that comes from those eyes, each time I nurse, each, each, each.  Enjoy it all. 

Until next time,