Silly guys and sweet potato fries

I'm in a season of parenting where each day can seem to come and go without a notable amount of significance. I begin with coffee and cozy pants and trying to get Emma to school on time without out violating too many traffic laws. And I end with desperate times of reading my "She Reads Truth" devotional and begging Jesus to undo all of the many ways I have messed up my children that particular day. I also consume healthy late night snacks, occasionally throwing in a deadlift here and there to balance out my 10pm nachos. 

There is currently a lot of boundary testing and ongoing parental coaching regarding emotion management with one of our children. I won't say which child it is, but I will say that he is sweet and snuggly and funny and wildly creative..and I was woefully unprepared for the BIG emotions of tiny male human people, whoever they might be. 

I didn't know going into this whole deal of raising humans that the emotional atmosphere of an entire day could rise and fall on whether or not I correctly guess which of his fists is holding an object. Some days I am praised for guessing correctly. Other days I am shunned for guessing correctly. Or incorrectly. I cannot win this game. No one wins this game. It is similar to a game we play called, "Use Your Words" where a patient, saintly woman attempts to decipher the code being held inside the locked vault of a male child lying on the floor in the depths of (exceedingly loud) sadness and frustration because he cannot figure out how to draw a dinosaur, or his sister got the better toothbrush timer and now dental hygiene is ruined forever, the sweet potato fries he arranged on the tray won't all fit because I told him they shouldn't touch and this is what he came up with...

...his band-aid fell off, someone looked at him when they were explicitly instructed to NOT look at him, someone looked at him before he had the opportunity to explicitly instruct them to NOT look at him, he cannot figure out how to successfully create a web shooter while wearing his Spider-Man costume after approximately 42 attempts, no one counted down from 10 to 0 before turning off the TV (we're like astronauts over here), the world is literally ending right this second, or he was served something containing spinach.

The point is, WE CANNOT KNOW because the answer is locked inside of the tiny vault! 

The only answer I know of is a Mama time out, a hidden pile of chocolate bars from when the neighbor girl did her school fundraiser (I just really love education), and texting Jaime every 5 minutes to make sure someone else knows where I am in case I decide to never exit my bedroom again. And if I do stay in there forever, I have the entire DVD set of "The Middle" to watch. Because if Patricia Heaton can make it through with humor and tiny remnants of her sanity, then so can I.

I felt challenged the other day to write down some of the positive things that happen throughout my days so I don't come to the end of them reminded only of the times where I yelled loudly corrected my tiny angelic creatures, cried multiple times, or made a sarcastic and/or threatening comment that while may have been entirely clever, was perhaps not entirely helpful.

So far it's been a week since my initial inspiration and I have written these things down a total of ONE of those days. So I am well on my way to success and consistency!  

I know that gathering these thoughts together on a regular basis will only strengthen my perspective of parenting in this season. There are so many wins and sweet moments with these people who call me Mama. They absolutely exhaust me and make me question EVERYTHING about myself and the choices I make as a parent, and they make my heart explode with joy and silliness and gratitude. 

While the Internet is excellent at misdiagnosing my ailments, giving me "copy cat" recipes that I will fail to successfully recreate, and making me feel like I am doing everything entirely wrong in my parenting, it also provides some excellent long term perspective through posts like this, https://instagram.com/p/BdN6RZFDHju/

Such things poignantly remind me that this season is brief and beautiful, painful and purposeful. And though my back suffers from years of being awkwardly used for snuggling, nursing, rocking, and sufficient floor playing, I have to remind myself that this is an entirely worthwhile investment. I may not miss my regrettable moments of Mama rage (not that I ever have these or have even had them today) but I want to look back on this season with thankfulness and confidence that it was good.  

Yesterday I informed two year old Claire that she could teach me a lot about joy. This child knows how to DELIGHT in the simplest things of life. I was sitting on our hardwood floor last night feeding her mac n' cheese (this is called "grounding" or "earthing" I'm pretty sure. We love neutrons.) and after each bite she would get up and begin to excitedly jump up and down and/or dance while chanting "mac and cheethe!" Choking hazard aside, she was having the time of her life eating one of the two foods in the world she will willingly consume (the other one being veggie straws). She is ready and waiting to meet the world and every good thing it brings her way. Dogs are awesome, dirt is glorious, blankets are wonderful, bubbles are magical, airplanes are fascinating, Elmo is hilarious. (Being told to "wait" is earth shattering, as is stopping her busy day for diaper changes, but we'll focus on the joyful moments for now).

Every day on the way to take Emma to school, the older two have specific landmarks that they have to say "hello" to as we drive. I imagine this is standard for every family in a minivan passing these same memorable spots in town. First, we drive on the "animal road," where we have to say hello to whatever sheep, horses, chickens or goats we might see. And Benny pipes up from the backseat with his accurate observations such as, 

"It look-ed like I saw a sheep, but it was a moose." 

"Horses can be lots of colors. That one was white but I also saw a green one." 

What he lacks in accurate vision he makes up for in creativity. 

Then we pass a lovely piece of graffiti on an overpass that simply says in fancy black cursive, "I love you Olivia." Lucky girl whoever she is. Chivalry isn't dead you guys. Nor is the need to read cursive. 

Next we pass the "Silly Guy," who is a pile of random orange construction materials made to look like a person promoting the local Northwest Flagging company. Then we pass a car dealership that features a fancy truck sitting on top of a sizable pile of rocks. My son dreams of this truck, hoping that it will still be sitting there on the rocks when he's a grownup so he can buy it. 

Then, if it's nice out, we pass the "car wash guy" at Jiffy Lube, which is that inflatable red guy who never stops dancing (side note: my husband does an excellent impression of the car wash guy, one of the many reasons I married him). Lastly, we pass an Eye care Center that looks like a normal house but has oversized pictures in the windows of people wearing spectacles and living their best life. We pass this building and dutifully say, "Hi pictures!" Every. Single. Time.

What I appreciate about Claire is that she LOVES this part of our drive. You will hear her belting out, "HI SIWWY GUY!" "HI PICTOORS!" after hearing her brother and sister do the same.  She faces the opposite direction of everything we're encountering, so I don't know that she's ever actually caught a glimpse of any of these natural wonders, and yet she doesn't care. She finds such joy participating in this with us and I find equal joy in catching sweet glimpses of her face in the monkey mirror on her seat as we carry on the traditions of our school mornings. 

I read a verse the other night from Psalm 115 that says, "May the Lord cause you to flourish, both you and your children." This is what I want. Our day to day is very unglamorous and simple and routine, but I know that the reality of this doesn't discredit the miraculous taking place. I want to flourish within this season of being personally refined while attempting to guide these tiny people through life. I feel terribly unqualified for this role, and yet I have to trust there is sufficient grace for me to do it well.

I don't want to just ensure we can survive public settings without too much embarrassment (though yes, I do want that, I really do), and I don't want to just survive the many ins and outs of parenting. I pray often that we would delight in each other as a family, and much of the time I just need to allow myself to delight in the moment, to be honest when it's hard and to really celebrate even the smallest win...like when they're all reasonably bathed and not hurting each other. I want to find big joy in the little things. 

I also want a perfectly kept house, a consistent meal plan, noise canceling headphones for each of our neighbors, and the motivation to finally learn how to use the Instant Pot collecting dust in my garage. But these deep desires are not always congruent with tiny humans, so I have to find a balance somehow while eating some of my educational chocolate bars and smiling as my son ensures I have the most tokens in the game we are playing, "Because you are way way way way older than me! And taller." I am thankful for my impressive height, and these little people who are walking alongside of me through this life.