Diary of a Mother

I am in the thick of motherhood.
And every single one of my other friends with young children can relate to the term "thick".

I'm not saying this to receive praise or pity. It just is.

And so I don't forget what the "thick" looks like, I'll document it so I remember.
This is not to make me sound important or whiny or busy or incredible. It just is.

It. Just. Is.

Yesterday woke up with great plans to do sewing with Morgan (who had a day off).
Woke up darling, crazy-haired Eve. Love her hugs.
Marveled at how beautiful Morgan is, especially her beautiful heart.
Said goodbye to wonderful mother and father in law who visited for the weekend.
Wished they could stay.
Folded laundry with children. Talked with them. Talked at them.
Eve went upstairs and took all the clean washclothes she could find, put them in a sink and filled them with water. Left them there. Then she took liquid soap and "fed" my plant.
I found them when I was supposed to be off for the gym.
Don't leave wet things around; we have a moth problem and moths like moist things... I think.
Eve wets pants. Convince Eve she needs to have her pants changed. Bribe Eve. Commit to fully potty training her after the MOPS Garage Sale. Commit! Commit!
Now we're off to the gym.
Really enjoyed Morgan's conversation. Something about how people who are in game shows who don't win should get Starbucks gift cards. Her idea. We don't even watch game shows. (?)
Went to gym. Enjoyed new Katie Herzig songs while I worked out. Still trying to get back in the swing of working out since the car collision/whiplash thing.
Went to McDs to get lemonade for children. "We only serve Strawberry Lemonade, ma'am... the icy kind."
Me, baptizing new car in Strawberry Lemonade sludge as I divide it for children. Note to self: Bad idea. Very bad idea.
Off to Lowes to buy plants for our veggie garden. Girls picked some beauties.
Came home to plant garden. After 2 minutes of starting said venture, daughter #1 immediately declares "I hate summer. I hate bugs" and bails on mission. We have a chat and start over.
Eve is in need of a pants change again but is happily playing at the water table.
Water table= Best investment ever.
Girls go inside for "quiet time" and I call back insurance guy. Who needs me to call medical billing. Then insurance guy again. Then medical billing again. Insurance guy recommends hiring attorney.
My brain begins to vomit about needing mulch in yard, needing to mow yard, need fence repaired, need to wear orthodontic retainer, need to fix A/C unit and many other things.
Blue eyed, wild haired child invites me to play on swingset. I go to second level of playset with her, grimace at the one piece of rotting wood and draw with her. I have her sit in my lap and feel her wispy hair tickle my chin. We're drawing. I'm happy. I'm happy to hold her in my lap for a little while. Such a treasure. She goes to collect more treasures and bring them up. "Don't leave, Mommy," she warns. I don't leave. I don't want to go in the house. The phone keeps ringing. I'm safe here.
We have leftovers for dinner.
We marvel at the funny little floppy headed baby robins in our pergola. That mother must be exhausted from feeding them.
Dan and I put the children in bed and head into bed at 8:30.
I dream of living on a desert island with my family.
Oh yeah, do sewing with Morgan some day.
Love my family.

Communicator 2000

Today I am showing you my brand new, never been seen "Eve Communicator 2000." It's made of chipboard, Velcro® and pictures which I printed at home and "laminated" by covering them with lots of tape.

Very fancy schmancy.

The "Eve Communicator" is one strategy (among many) that we're using to help our daughter understand what she needs to do. She's often looking into outer space or running aimlessly around the house. The only time we REALLY get her attention without the use of strategies is when we say "LOLLIPOP!" which causes her to run with great haste to us.



So here's how it works. When I need Eve to get ready to go on errands, I show her the socks, shoes and car images. I say, "Eve, FIRST we are going to get socks. NEXT we are going to get shoes. THEN we will get in the car."

I have printed other images which I can also use to show her the order of what we're doing and what to expect next.

She's not jazzed about errands, but the communicating device has been somewhat helpful. And at this point, I don't even care that it looks like something that belongs in the recycling bin, I'm just glad to communicate clearer with Eve and see her respond.

This morning, for example, I dropped her off at the gym. I showed her the socks, shoes and car images. It took some time, but she did follow through.

You know, sometimes being a parent means taking a page out of God's plan, shedding our skin and becoming someone else. It means remembering that in order to communicate with others, sometimes it helps to get in their shoes, learn their language, get inside their schedule and their head.

In this case, it means that I should be listening to the big blue eyed girl who keeps asking, "Wan build tower, Mom? Wan build tower?" and then building a tower 17 times and watching the little girl dance with glee when she knocks it down every single time.

I'm not doing it because it's my cup of tea.

I'm doing it because she is mine.

Mommy Manifesto

"Excuse me, Mrs. Dykstra... Are you missing any income as a result of this car collision?"

"I'm a stay-at-home-Mom."

"Okay, good."

_____________________________________

I take the emotional temperature of my family; when they need to rest, I try to provide that.

I listen to the coughs of my children at night and pray for them.

I recognize the abilities and inabilities of my children and push them to their appropriate success limits.

I shed the negativity of this world on a daily basis and direct the gaze of my children to the good in life.

I let my children express their personalities as much as I am able; their rooms are full of murals and mayhem.

I don't listen to the evening news. I declare dance parties when evenings start to become humdrum.

I pray for my friends making sure to leave room for my home team.

I cry at every TV show that shows a birth story, remembering that being a mother has been the most significant thing that has ever happened to me.

I continue to design with all my might, recognizing that my designs brought healing to my life and might offer the same to someone else.

I dance the delicate line of knowing when to save my family money and when it's best to loosen the purse strings so that they can enjoy something special.

I refuse to serve yucky food.

I choose my battles every day, taking care that no one gets caught in the cross fire. Battles about fashion have decreased 99% since my eldest was born.

I have set aside my aspirations for a magazine-ready photo shoot of my home. Nothing matches anymore and most of my worldly possessions are sticky, broken or lost.

My heart takes flight when my 8 year old tells me about a boy; I pray that she'll always feel carefree enough to tell me about this.

My three year old pushes me to the limits of my own selfish core; she is the reason I am graying. She is also the reason that I can't stop loving and dancing and giving and living.

I save my energy for the most important people in my life; I shun drama queens because they cost too much energy.

I still can't figure out the propensity of midwest women to just "grin and bear" life. But I'm trying to fit in as best I can.

Wooing the most handsome and funny man in the world is one of my best accomplishments.

I pretend like the tall grasses of the midwest are ocean waves; I'm acutely aware that I am and always will be a transplant to the midwest.

There are always 12 thoughts running in my mind at any given time. I struggle to be "present" in any situation.

I don't receive an income for any of my work but feel compelled to do what I'm doing for the health of my family. I don't care if women are working in or outside the home; they know in their hearts if what they are doing is best for their family.

I never say I'm JUST a stay at home mother because the word "JUST" diminishes the value of a person by 97%.

So, no, I haven't lost any income.

Motherhood: It's the best job I was never hired for.