Sticky Toffee Pudding!  

 ”I don’t want to talk to those guys. I just want to hit them.” 

(Discussing how he will make lots of new friends in preschool.)

This picture is special for a few reasons. Kyle usually just scribbles. Before this drawing, he’d never drawn anything that resembles anything at all. He usually moves his crayon really fast in circles and calls it “fire.” This is his first portrait, really.  I took notes on a few of Kyle’s thoughts as he drew:

“I’m gonna color a picture for you, Mommy. Do you want me to draw your happy eyes or your mad eyes?” (He had tried to draw a picture of me before, right after I had put him on the naughty mat, and he told me he drew my “mad eyes”. This time, of course, I opted for “happy eyes” and I was flattered he asked.)  

I think the best part was that as he drew, he would pause to look up at me,  then add more to his drawing. It was as if he were an authentic artist at heart, wanting to draw as accurately as possible.

“Let me count your teeth.” He said. “One, two….” He counted 14 teeth. Ten on the top and apparently only four on the bottom.

In the end, I asked him what was on the very bottom of the picture. “That’s mommy’s leg, and that’s Andrew’s leg.” I was nursing Andrew at the time, so it makes sense. Still, I was proud of him for including his little brother. 

I told him how much I loved his drawing, and he said,  ”Yeah. It’s pretty nice.”

What a guy!

3-Year-Old Musing #1

Kyle: Mommy, are we going bowling today?!?!
Me: No, we can’t go bowling today. Maybe another time.
Kyle: Mommy, don’t tell me no. I say no to YOU. [short pause....] I’m going to the moon today.

I’m not sure how you did it. Five kids, I mean. You must’ve found some sure-fire ways to be efficient. Please share.

I can’t get out of the house in less than 4 hours.  And by this time, the process of getting a three-year-old and an infant dressed, changed, fed, etc. repeats itself. I get Kyle dressed, feed him breakfast, nurse Andrew, and pack the diaper bag for the afternoon. On my way out the door, I see that Kyle’s peanut butter toast and strawberries ended up on his shirt, and that Andrew has a dirty diaper. Inevitably, he wakes up when I change him, and since it’s been three hours, he’s now hungry again. I change Kyle again. And nurse again. Since it takes 30 minutes to feed Andrew, Kyle has now gotten every toy in the house out and thrown it on the living room floor. He also decided he didn’t need to wait for me to get his juice for him, so there is juice spilled on my kitchen floor. I clean it up, and attempt to load the car once again. Success!

I take a deep breath and drive. Less than three minutes pass when I hear “I have to go potty!” It’s a 30 minute drive to town, and I can’t tell him to “hold it” for that long. Back to the house. Eventually, I arrive at the doctor to a secretary who responds with a glare when I apologize for being late.

When I think about my ineffectiveness at managing TWO kids, I wonder how in the WORLD you did it with FIVE.

It’s been a long time coming…but I’m sorry for the times I missed the plate and spilled my food on my blouse right before we left for school or church. I’m sorry for all the times I waited until we were in the car to decide I wanted to go to the bathroom. I’m sorry for the times I refused to put my own clothes on. Yes, I was fully capable. But I had no idea how important it was for you to get to work on time! And most of all, I’m sorry for the times I might have been critical. I now understand why I had messy hair and blue jeans on for school pictures when all of the other girls had bows in their hair and wore pretty dresses. (In the end, I appreciate my “tomboy” picture more than the “pretty girl” picture anyway. That’s who I really was!)

And I’m sorry to say that managing two kids isn’t really comparable to five kids. Please note my humility and awe at your success with raising five children.

And for all of you out there with multiple kids, PLEASE share your helpful tips!

My mother-in-law sent me The Birth Order Book, knowing that I’m always interested in this sort of thing. I’m always questioning how my four siblings and I can have completely different personalities when we were raised (mostly) by the same two parents. Sure, there are lots of explanations, but the differences are drastic. Why did I try so hard at school while my sister was out partying? Why did one seem to have inherited charm and charisma, and me an awkwardness? Is birth order responsible, as Dr. Leman suggests?  I always thought that his theory proved accurate. The baby of the family is spoiled and craves attention (not me, of course!). The oldest is usually a natural leader and achiever. The middle child is mentally tough and independent.

Marcus Buckingham has a different opinion. In Go, Put Your Strengths to Work, there is a chapter on how to determine your strengths. He asserts that, contrary to popular opinion, birth order has nothing to do with how you get your personality, but rather it is two things: chance, and peer-influence! Now I’m confused…but I am a Marcus Buckingham fan, so I read on…

If I apply these theories to myself, I have to side more with Mr. Buckingham than Dr. Leman. According to Dr. Leman’s description of the youngest child, I should be:

• Academically challenged
• Funny
• Charming
• Affectionate
• Attention-seeking
• People-oriented

This is not me. At all. I’m actually smart, boring, awkward, insensitive and will avoid attention mostly. And I was also recently caught reading this:

What is interesting is that I do think most first-borns end up with qualities in line with leadership and achievement, so maybe he’s partially right.

Marcus Buckingham, on the other hand, states that 50% of your personality is nature. Purely genetic. The other 50%? How you are judged by your peers throughout life. He claims that your peers give you the most accurate and direct feedback about you, “…if and who you can dominate, if you’re funny, if and when you’re a good ally, if your ideas are interesting, if your ideas are practical, if you are trustworthy, and so on.”

The idea that I like most in Marcus Buckingham’s book is that your personality does not change as you grow; rather, you just become more of who you already are.  He suggests looking back into your childhood to determine your strengths, and chances are, your strengths in your childhood are your strengths still today.

What did you do well in your childhood?

• I distinctly remember people commenting on my reading and writing skills. I was reading newspapers before Kindergarten. I always volunteered to read aloud in class, and I won Young Author’s competitions.
• From very early, I took pride in my grades, even though it wasn’t a big focus in my family. I never cared about the $20 reward for straight As, just the self-satisfaction that came with it.
•  I remember coaches commenting on my athletic ability…I played sports every year, beginning with tee-ball.
• I avoided conflict at all costs.
• In my spare time, I actually pretended to be a librarian. I was addicted to my mom’s digital thesaurus, and I would sit around and find big words to use in place of common words.
• I was generally a dork.

This all makes sense. I still very much like reading and writing. I still take pride in my accomplishments, without outside rewards. I’m not so athletic anymore, but I can hold my own in sports still. I still hate conflict, although I’ve learned that to survive in some situations, it’s necessary. And, I’m still a dork.

After reading this book, I took the Clifton Strengthsfinder Assessment to determine my top five strengths:

1. Achiever
2. Harmony
3. Intellection
4. Consistency
5. Includer

That sounds about right, even if it is vague.

What do you think?

At the risk of my blog starting to sound overly contemplative, I’m writing about another inner dilemma: CHANGE. After making a few changes recently, I’m reminded yet again of how refreshing change can be, perplexed that I’m actually welcoming it, and actually quite concerned that I don’t dread change as much as others seem to.

I used to think that I didn’t like change. It’s always been true that I don’t like to venture too far from my comfort zone, but lately I’m beginning to realize that maybe my comfort zone is getting larger and larger. Do I hate change, or do I actually like it? Or maybe the military, with its ever-changing lifestyle, has caused me to expect change, so I subconsciously welcome it. I know what you’re thinking- there’s nothing wrong with embracing change, right? But what happens when my world stops changing? What happens when the military isn’t an excuse for me to move every three years? What happens when we decide to settle down, I finally land my dream job, build my mansion in the mountains, and have everything I think I want? Will I be able to embrace stability when the time comes?

There are definitely some things I hate about change, such as the attention that comes with being the new person in town, or the learning curve of a new job when I’m used to being the expert. I used to get so anxious about new situations that I’d avoid them at all costs. Lately, though, I’ve noticed that I get bored quickly. Once the newness of a job wears off, I’m ready to move on. Once I’ve decorated my house the way I want it, it’s time to rearrange. Once I’ve mastered something, I find something else to learn. All of these things lead me to question whether I’ll ever be satisfied, or if I actually find satisfaction from change.

One of the things I dread is starting a new job. I don’t like being in situations in which I lack knowledge. I like knowing things, hence my call to learn new things solely for entertainment purposes, which baffles most people. So it’s usually difficult for me to quit a job based on the fear of everything that comes along with a new one. Ironically, I always find myself relieved after I quit a job, and looking forward to the next opportunity. Will I ever find a job that I want to keep forever, or will my desire to always learn more make it impossible for me to settle down in one job?

 Will I ever be able to resist chaos and invite tranquility?

Am I merely an optimist, embracing change and accepting the challenge of making things better?  Or am I conditioned to constantly revolutionize my world, incessantly discontent?

• I can count on sleeping for at least 45 minutes past my alarm every morning.
• I can count on Kyle climbing into bed with me every morning, whispering “mommy, time to wake up?”
• I can count on my coffee maker brewing my coffee the exact same way every day. (It never tastes the same from the coffee pot at work. Ever notice that?)
• I can count on forever being task-saturated with something that involves studying, researching, writing or reading.
• I can count on my friends to listen and offer words of wisdom when I’ve had a rough week.
• I can count on my sisters to understand everything about my life and join me in complaining about people who don’t understand.
• I can count on my mother to be an enthusiastic supporter every time I talk to her. And I mean EVERY time. Just look at my blog comments. She’s my biggest fan.
• Finally, as cheesy as it sounds, I can count on my husband for everything stable in my life. I’ve never actually been let down by him. He’s always given me what I’ve needed, and never anything I don’t need. He refrains from giving me everything I want, but only so that he can make a better future for us. He might not come home with flowers and chocolates, but he brings home the bacon (plus a retirement fund!) He might have to go away every now and then, but while he’s home, he’s HOME mentally and emotionally. Kyle might cry for “mom” when Dad puts him on the naughty mat, but it’s “daddy” that knows just how to play Monster Trucks the right way!  He’s my rock. My stability. One of the only things in the world that I can ALWAYS rely on.

Think about it- what can you REALLY rely on???  What is it that you count on in your life?

(Feel free to comment, since my list is looking a little slim and I could always use some more positive ideas!)

It’s happening to me….

1. I got my hair cut and colored yesterday. When I got home, I realized that had the hairdresser cut it any shorter, it would’ve been my mom’s exact cut and color. How did that happen???
2. Mother used to half-listen to people. She’d ask me how my day was while she was shuffling through the mail after work. I’d tell her. Then she’d ask me again about 5 minutes later as if the initial conversation never occurred. It drove me crazy. I realized the other day that her multi-tasking attempts have now carried on into my own life. I am slowly turning into my distracted, crazy, restless career mother, asking my husband if he remembered to take out the trash, and then asking him again 10 minutes later.
3. I used to roll my eyes at my mother when she was at the supermarket and couldn’t find her money. In fact, she wouldn’t be able to find anything in her purse without dumping it out. I’d always wish she’d organize her purse- that’s what all the pockets were for, right??? When I was 16, I swore I would never have a purse that big.  I recently found myself rummaging through my oversized purse to find my gas card. As I dug through used tissue, receipts, pens, pencils, notes, pills, toy cars, etc., I realized that my purse resembled my mother’s purse a little too closely. 
4. My son, Kyle, is three years old. He sometimes has a really hard time making decisions, specifically, when he has to choose between items that he might like equally. This, in fact, is exactly how I was when I was about his age. My mother has all the patience in the world with kids, but even she would get impatient with me while we stood in line at McDonald’s. “Chicken Nuggets or a Cheeseburger?” she’d ask hurriedly. I’d look at her and repeat quietly, “I don’t know.” So she’d choose for me. Sometimes this worked, and sometimes I’d get angry, because I still wasn’t sure what I wanted. Twenty years later, Kyle stands in front of me. He’s just gone “potty” and his reward is a sticker. I ask him, “Cars or Mickey Mouse?” He stares at them, puts his finger to his lip and says “hmm.” I try to be patient, leaving him with his stickers while I start the dishes. Ten minutes later, he’s still deciding. I ask again, and then I choose for him. He gets mad, and I begin to see the similarity of the two situations. Mom, your wish came true. My kid is just like me!
5. I think every mother is accused of saying “Be careful!” for the most boring reasons. My mothers is no exception. Every time I would leave the house, get in or out of the car, walk up or down the stairs, my mother had to say “Be careful!” It wasn’t until Kyle started talking that I realized I might be saying this phrase too much. When he was two, Kyle started to tell me to “be careful” when we walked across the road, up and down stairs, or when I was carrying a cup of coffee. The first time he said it, I just about fell on the floor. That’s when I knew I had joined the elite group of annoying moms who can’t refrain from issuing words of warning every chance they get!

As they say, it’s every woman’s tragedy to become like their mothers…but I can probably think of a few reasons I’d LIKE to become my mother. That’ll be another post.

Mom, back in the new parent days...

“Where’d daddy go?” Kyle asks in his cheery morning voice. It’s 0630. I try to pat down Kyle’s messy blonde hair, and say what I say most mornings, “Daddy has to fly today.”

Kyle is three. He was born in Del Rio, Texas- somewhere I never imagined I would live. Three years later, I find myself pregnant again. This time, we’re in England, where Kyle stands in our dimly-lit British living room.

Suddenly, his eyes get big. “Daddy’s saving the WORLD, mommy?!” Kyle exclaims, to my surprise. I laugh out loud. My first reaction is to correct him. “No, daddy’s not…” I stop short. I don’t want his smile to disappear if I tell him that his dad is not, in fact, Spiderman’s equal.

Then, I think for a second that maybe he’s right. As Kyle scurries off to eat his peanut butter toast, I sit on the couch and think about it. For the very first time, it hits me like a ton of bricks: daddy is out saving the world. While every mission doesn’t involve hunting down terrorists or dropping bombs, each mission is equally important to the support of the overall goals of the Air Force. This morning, I realize that not only my husband, but everyone else’s military husbands, wives, mothers, fathers and friends, are real-life superheroes. Kyle is right. Our Air Force is filled with every-day dads and moms who are “saving the world” one mission at a time. It’s a mission that even a three-year-old understands, and one that anyone would be proud of.