It has been a long week around here. The kids are bored, I’ve been so sick I can barely tolerate myself, and my husband claims he is tired of being a ’single parent’. My plan for the week has pretty much been: Try and keep the kids fed and the baby in clean diapers. Beyond that, I have had zero aspirations - except to nap as much as the rug-rats will allow me to.

For the most part, Jacqui has had a ball this week: Tons more TV than she ever gets to watch, complete creative control of her mess-making endeavors and zero interference with her wardrobe selections. Today however, both she and Kyle suddenly became bored with their reign of chaos. They instead felt the need to become very chatty and clingy.

Jacqui took up a post sitting on the couch next to my pillow and kept up a constant barrage of chatter. “Mom, are you still sick?”

“Yes, Jacqui.”

“…How ’bout now?”

“Yes, Jacqui.”

“…Now?”

“Still sick Jacqui.”

“…Feel bedder yet, Mom?”

“No. I don’t”

“Why not?”

“I don’t know. Probably because I’m not getting any rest.”

“…Are you bedder now?”

“No. Would you please stop asking me that?”

“Ok. I’ll ask somefing else. You don’t touch skunks, do you Mommy?”

“What??”

“Skunks. You don’t touch dem, right?”

“No. Touching skunks is not a good idea.”

“What happens if you touch ‘em?”

“Jacqui, please…”

“Do dey spray you wif stinky stuff?”

“I suppose so.”

“Ewww!! Dat would be yucky, wouldn’t it Mom? …Mom? …Dat would be yucky, huh Mom?”

“Yes. Yes that would be yucky. Would you please let Mommy rest for a while and go play?”

“Ok, Mom. I will try.”

She hopped down and pulled out her crayons, humming noisily to herself. I tried to close my eyes, but Kyle saw his chance for some undivided attention. He decided to make the most of it by head butting me. Ha! That was pretty funny - let’s try that again… And maybe again…

I somehow managed to get Kyle distracted with a toy and then Jacqui started up with another round of questions. “Mom, are you all bedder now?”

“Jacqueline, please, please, please stop asking questions for a while and let Mommy rest!”

“Ok. I sorry Mommy. I will stop.”

I closed my eyes feeling like the worst mom on the planet. What had gotten into the kids today, I wondered? Why couldn’t they just play for a little while - preferably something quiet that didn’t involve inhumane treatment of the cat?

I had dozed for a few minutes when I heard something loud and crinkly being shoved under my pillow. It was on the tip of my tongue to reprimand Jacqui, when I saw this out of the corner of my eye, sticking out from under the pillow:

I pulled it out and looked at it. Jacqui hopped up next to me on the couch. “It’s a get bedder card dat I made for you. Dat’s a big heart, Mom, ’cause dat’s how very special much I love you. Dat’s you up in da corner wen you are all bedder. Dat’s me, an’ Kyle, an’ Daddy, an’ our kitty, Jingle. We are smiling ’cause we are happy when you will not be sick ennyomre. You feel bedder now, Mom?”

I suddenly got it. All the pesky questions were because she missed me. Because she loved me. Because she enjoys spending time with me. Even Kyle misses me when I am sick. His goofy little head whacks are his baby way of checking in on me - of being close.

And then I was reminded of how God tells us in Matthew that we should become like children in our faith. In the eyes of my children I have a perfect portrait of the kind of love that God desires from my own heart. A love that longs for conversation, closeness, and companionship. Something I need to work on.

I picked Jacqui up and kissed her on the head as she clutched her ‘get bedder’ card in one hand and a purple crayon in the other. “Yes, Jacqui. I do feel better now. I feel better just knowing that you love me so much. I love you too.” She grinned and leaned her head on my chest, then she jumped up and ran off to play. She was loved and that was all she needed to know.

Today, when I was almost too sick to listen, I learned a very important lesson from the little hearts that I have guardianship over… That a question mark can mean ‘I love you.’

parenting children motherhood kids humor christian funny sick day love SAHM

102. Not a number I function well at when applied to average body temperature. I have finally managed to scavenge the remnants of my over-nuked brain through unsupervised (and in all likelihood, completely irrational and quite possibly even toxic) doses of tylenol and iburofen. At the moment, I am percolating at a slightly addled 101.1… The most clear-headed I have been all day. Might as well type a post since I most definitely do not feel like doing anything about the load of laundry that has been sitting in the washer since Saturday evening. I probably have strep throat, although at this point I have avoided any attempt at medically confirming that diagnosis. The thought of carting my little entourage with me to a doctor appointment is enough to push me past the boundaries of anything remotely resembling a rational cognitive state. I’m walking a fine line here as it is.

All things considered, I think I did OK for the day. The kids are still breathing. The house didn’t burn down. I hear the cat yowling intermittently somewhere, so she apparently survived. The family room now looks like a ‘before’ shot from Clean Sweep, but like I said - nobody died. I would have gleefully volunteered if given the option, but nobody died. Here’s what little I remember of the day…

I remember Ken telling me it was time to wake up. More than once.

I remember vetoing Jacqui’s first clothing selection for her trip to the dentist. For some reason it seems like scuba fins and fairy wings were somehow involved.

I remember feeding Kyle something. I think it was yogurt. I hope it was yogurt… I really hope it wasn’t the sour cream…

I remember Jacqui asked for cinnamon toast, but I don’t recall making it. I recall that the margarine tub seemed light when I put it back in the fridge and Jacqui’s face seemed kinda ’shiny’…

I recall herding everyone downstairs to the family room and attempting to convince Jacqui that the ‘Little Bear’ TV episode that our DVR recorded was The Best TV Show in the Whole Wide World!!! (Little Bear is a rarity among pre-school TV shows… The characters are for the most part soft-spoken and the music is of a soothing classical variety.)

I remember settling down onto the couch with a throw and a pillow as the mellow strains of ‘Little Bear’s’ theme song began lulling me off to sleep and wondering how long it would last.

I remember moments later having the remote yanked out of my hand and hearing… “Tooo-getherrrrr we’re the Back-yarrrdigannnns… In the place where we belonnnng… And we’ll maybe sing a sonnnnng… And we’ll prob’ly dance alonnnnng…” The dreaded ‘Backyardigan’s theme song. I pulled a pillow over my head.

I remember Ken coming home to pick up Jacqui and take her to her dentist appointment for me and that for an hour-and-a half, that there was relative peace and quiet.

I recall being intermittently poked in the eye by Kyle.

CRASH!!! I remember sitting straight up, pulse racing, at the sound of a thunderous explosion right near my head… Oh. Just the sound of a gazillion Fisher Price Little People and all of their accessories being upended on the family room floor. Oh well. It would keep Kyle out of trouble.

“Mommmmmy!!” I remember Jacqui bursting into the room after returning from her dental appointment and shoving a brightly colored bag filled with toys, floss and toothbrushes in my face. I waved at Ken and begged him to come home soon. He laughed at me.

“Gonk! Gonk!” I remember Kyle enthusiastically tweaking my nose. Frequently.

I recall waking up once with severe sinus pain and contemplating the value of heading upstairs to medicate it… Followed by the sound of Jacqui and Kyle laughing and Jacqui howling, “Look Kyle! Mommy’s a walrus!” Apparently someone thought it would be oh-so-clever to stuff a straw up each side of my nose. Hilarious.

I remember waking slightly and hearing, “Shhhhh!! Kyle, Shhhhhh!! We don’ wanta wake up Mommy ‘gain! She will say more weird stuff and make us do time outs ‘gain! SHHHHHH!!!!”

I remember hearing the oddly combined sound of our cat yowling along with a Fisher Price Little People door bell in dire need of a battery replacement.

I recall trying to focus my fuzzy brain and determine if that was really a smooshed kitty face I was seeing in the window of the Little People house…

It WAS a smooshed kitty face!!

“Jacqueline!!”

I remember Jacqui asking me what was for lunch and I don’t remember giving her an answer. I remember seeing her on the couch an indeterminable length of time later with a half-eaten package of Oscar Meyer bologna in her lap and an empty package of shredded soy cheese sitting next to her. Kyle was eating something too… Cheerieos? “Jacqui, where did Kyle get Cheerios?”

“Ummm… I fink maybe from da couch.”

Ok. That propelled me to my feet. I hauled Kyle upstairs under one arm, fed him lunch and made Jacqui a peanut butter sandwich. She said she wasn’t hungry. Go figure. Kyle went down for a nap and for another hour the world was a decent place.

“WAHHHHHHH!!!” Just like that it was over. Kyle was awake. The dual reign of terror resumed complete with Backyardigan’s musical score.

I remember waking up with something poking me in the back. I turned and found a humongous stash of toys stuffed behind me on the couch. I asked Jacqui about it and she said, “Mooommmm! Doze are ‘jes da toys you comple-skated from us ’cause we were squabbling ober dem. Member? You very sick Mom. ‘Jes go back ta sleep an’ don’ worry ’bout it, K?”

I recall having a disturbing picture of what my life at age 92 would be like under Jacqui’s care as I dozed fitfully back off to sleep.

More squabbling. This time it seemed to be over a roll of scotch tape. Kyle was tugging on an unfurled end of the roll at one side of the room and Jacqui was tightly clutching the dispenser at the other side of the room. Both of them were screeching like psychotic orangutans. Tape dispenser was duly confiscated and I drifted some more.

Whack!! Ow… I opened one eye. There was Kyle. He was grinning. Whack!! Whack!! Oh. He was ‘patting’ me on the head. How cute. I launched a toy from the confiscated stash into the middle of the room in an attempt to divert any further head-smacking attempts. Kyle trundled off after it squealing with glee.

I dozed in and out of similar unending shenanigans until Ken finally arrived on the scene at 5:30. I was so happy to see him I just about cried.

Well, my ability to form lucid thoughts is fading fast… Must go take more tylenol… And I suppose I better go see what has happened to the cat this time.

parenting children motherhood kids humor christian funny sick day kids and pets SAHM

Last week I decided to try something fun and different. The author of the blog, Real Life , was hosting a Mother Daughter Blog Carnival and I decided to sumbit an entry. If you would like to read my entry, please click on this link or on the photo above. And don’t forget to check out all the other great entries listed at Real Life by clicking the blog carnival link above or on the carnival icon below. Thank you Sarah, for hosting such a fun way to get involved in the blogging community!

parenting children motherhood kids mother christian daughter blog carnival SAHM

Jacqui is tooth-fairy obsessed. Much of her world these days revolves around a make-believe place - a sort of alternate reality that she has created out of an unlikely assortment of Backyardigans and Max and Ruby episodes (pre-school TV shows), Charlie and Lola books (especially this one), and her own tuity fruity imagination.

The current tooth fairy fixation has become a bit problematic of late. Primarily because Jacqui thinks it is taking too long for her teeth to fall out. She’s four, mind you. She’s actually made me a little paranoid with all her attempted tooth wriggling and I’m worried that her Tuesday dentist appointment will only fuel her unfettered imagination to new cuckoo-nut heights.

She still hasn’t given up on the possibility of yanking out one of her own teeth, but she has hatched a hair-brained alternative plan: Lure the tooth-fairy in by cramming all kinds of crazy junk under her pillow and then… “TWAP HER!!”

This evening when I got home for work, I went to go tuck Jacqui in for the night (I’m working two Saturdays a month - good for my mental health and keeps Ken appreciative). I couldn’t believe what I saw when I walked in her room. It looked like a toy factory explosion under her pillow. She had so much nonsense shoved and shimmied under that pillow that she was sitting straight up - unable to rest her head on the pillow even if she tried!

When I asked her to explain what was going on, here is what she had to say for herself:

“Itsa toof-faiwy twap Mom!”

I arched an eyebrow. “Looks like an ER bill in the making to me.”

“Huh?”

“Never mind. What’s that string doing hanging down from your canopy net?”

“Oh, dat. Dat’s da twap part.”

“Ok. Walk me through the logic, ‘Little-Miss-Intrepid-Fairy-Hunter’.”

“Faiwies don’t walk! Dey fwy. Dat’s why da stwing’s up dere Mom.”

Duh, Mom. Why else would I rig a noose up above my pillow? “I see. So what is all the shrapnel doing under your pillow?”

“Mooooom! Dat’s not rappie-nells, dat’s ta twick da toof-faiwy!”

“I think it would more likely scare her right out of the nearest window.”

“Nooooooo. She’ll fwy in like dis… ‘hm-hm-hmmmmm, la-la-la-la-laaaaa, I’m da toof-faiwy….Hmmm… I wunner if dere’s a toof unner dere. I bedder go ‘an see!’ Then she’ll fwoat rite dere, fwapping her teeny wings and look for a toof. Wen she’s lookin for da toof, I’ll sneak da stwing behin’er and…. ZOOOP!! I’ll TWAP HER!!” Jacqui finishes her kooky plan with a flourish, wriggling her outstretched fingers with a kitty-ate-the-canary grin on her face.”

“Nice try, but nooses and napping don’t mix.” I start tugging down the string and Jacqui set up a blood-curdling, wailing protest. I spent the next ten minutes talking her down to the bare essentials for creating a fairy diversion, pitching the rest of the junk into an empty laundry basket. Just for fun, here is an itemized list of what I yanked out from under her pillow:

• One Blue Tutu
• Three Socks
• Two Disney Princess Wands
• One Box of Rasins
• Six Stuffed Animals
• Fourteen Lego Blocks
• My Wire Kitchen Whisk
• Three Coloring Books
• One Bottle of Bubble Bath
• One Mr. Potato Head With an Assortment of Spare Parts
• Eight Hair Bows
• One Pair of Slippers
• Two Flashlights
• Two Toy Cell Phones
• One Toothbrush
• One Entire My Little Pony Collection
• Two Baby Dolls
• One Box of Seashells
• Four Pennies
• One Ukulele
• Six Crayons
• One Adorable Rendering of the “Toof-Faiwy” (Posted Above)

Jacqui was not at all happy about the unraveling of her ‘master plan’.

“Moooooom! But Mommmmm! She’s gonna get away!”

“She needs to be able to go and visit all the other little boys and girls who lost teeth tonight.”

“But I’ll never get-ta see her now! How will I ever see her if she comes? Faiwies are jus’ too fast ta see… Dat’s why I was gonna twap her!”

“Oh. Is that all? That’s easy. If you want a good look at her, you just yell, ‘FREEZE PIXIE!” and she’ll be stuck to the count of ten.”

Jacqui gave me a skeptical look. “Really?”

“Sure. Works every time.” (Yeah, I know. Brilliant. I don’t even want to think about what happens if she thinks she sees the tooth fairy at 3 a.m.)

Jacqui grinned and leaned back on her creaking pile of plastic and eventually chattered herself to sleep. Minutes ago, I pried the remaining silliness out from under her pillow, and a dimly flickering flashlight from her tightly-clenched little fist. I also made a mental note for the coming years ahead: Beware of ‘Toof-Faiwy Twaps’!

P.S. In case you hadn’t surmised, Jacqui is back in perfect health. I however, have a sore throat, high fever, and all the makings of a summer head cold… Should be a fun week.

parenting children motherhood kids humor christian tooth fairy kid quotes things children say funny SAHM

I suppose I had it coming. Earlier in the evening, Ken had accused me of being ‘hoity-toity’ in reference to my vocabulary. It’s really not intentional… well usually it’s not (sometimes I do get a kick out of perversely irritating Ken when he chooses to attack my choice of words). I grew up in a 900 square foot house in which no less than 300 square feet of it was occupied by books. We used to read out of the dictionary for fun. Really. For fun.

Anyway, Ken and I don’t bicker often so as a result we’re not very good at it. Ken was attempting to show me something on how to work one of our camera’s settings (in way too much detail I might add) that I had asked about and I told him, “Enough already. I got it. Don’t be pedantic.”

“I’m not being peh-whatever. You’re being hoity-toity.”

“I’m not being ‘hoity-toity’ just because I used a three-syllable word. And you are being pedantic.”

“Who even talks like that?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Literate people, maybe?”

“Nobody uses words like that. What does it even mean?”

“Oh, go look it up and leave me alone.”

“It’s probably not even a word.”

“You’re just trying to bait me into telling you what it means ’cause you don’t want to look it up.”

He skulked away to the office and came back moments later. “Why didn’t you just say I was boring you?”

“Because I didn’t mean boring, I meant pedantic.”

“They mean the exact same thing.”

“No. They don’t. If they meant the exact same thing, the proper pronunciation of pedantic would be (bohr’-ing). I meant pedantic, as in: Obsessive fixation on minutiae. Not boring, as in: unimaginative or unvaried.”

“Now you’re just being plain obnoxious.”

“Oooooh! Good word!”

“Knock it off.”

I stuck my tongue out.

Ken rolled his eyes. “Oh, that’s mature.”

“Thought that was the intellectual level of communication you were angling for.”

“Whatever.”

Good. I was glad the conversation was over.

Fast forward to later in the evening. I have become blog-obsessed (kudos Becky, you’ve created a monster) and have been tagging along in
Real Life author’s footsteps as she works her way through ProBlogger’s
article called 31 Days to Building a Better Blog. One of the steps is to write a post linking to posts in your archives. I thought I would be clever and ask my husband (who I force to read all of my posts) which of my posts were his favorites and create sort of a Top Five (or even a Top Three) list of Ken’s favorites. I should have known better, but I peeked my head out of the office and asked Ken, “Out of the posts you have read on my blog, which one is your favorite?”

Ken hit the pause button on the TV remote and looked annoyed. This whole blogging world really isn’t his cup of tea. “You write that way too you know.” Apparently Ken still had a bone to pick.

“Excuse me? I write what way?”

“All wordy.”

Now I was irritated. I made a decision to be deliberately obnoxious. “By wordy, do you mean verbose, or sesquipedalian?”

“Both.”

“Too many words, or words in excess of two syllables?”

“Like I said, I’m stickin’ with both.”

“Ok. Fine. Give me an example.” I asked, because I didn’t think he would be able to remember one.

“Oh, I don’t know… One of the first ones you wrote used a very weird word for dictionary.”

I racked my brain. “I don’t know which post you mean, but was the word ‘lexicon’?”

“Yeah. Nobody but you uses that word. It was the one about Jacqui and promises.”

Big deal. So there was one…

“Then there was that one about the bees. You used another weird word for bee.”

Ok… two. Nothing to make a fuss over. “Hymenopteron is a perfectly good word.”

“Sure. You hear it every day.”

This wasn’t shaping up to be the sort of list I had in mind. “So I have two posts that ‘use big words’ sue me.”

“Oh there’s more than that… Move over… let me have a look…” Ken swaggered into the office and commandeered my seat at the computer. He was starting to have fun now and in fine form.

“Here’s one! Chrysalis. What kind of word is that?”

“It means cocoon. It doesn’t count. If you read the post, it was your daughter that said that word. Not me.”

“Oh it does too count! You’re the reason she talks that way.”

“Fine. She didn’t learn that particular word from me, but whatever.”

“Ha! Found another one! Conundrum.”

“That one is really pretty commonplace.”

“Oo! Here’s another! Persnickety. Why don’t you just say picky.”

I sighed. “It doesn’t convey the same tone. Ok! Enough already! You win!”

Ken grinned and went back to his TV show. I sat and looked at Ken’s list of my most memorable posts. Not memorable for reasons I had hoped, but it was a list anyway. Ken peeked through the door. “Not mad are you?”

“No. I just wish you actually liked something that I wrote.”

Ken came over next to me and wrapped his arms around my shoulders and whispered in my ear, “I love everything you write.” Then he kissed me on the cheek and I melted into a smile.

As he headed back out the door he called over his shoulder, “The words you use are too big though.”

family relationships stupid arguments big words christian marriage SAHM