All Hail Selah Day

My little girl turns four today. Since her birthday falls on a Monday, we celebrated on Sunday by having an "all about Selah" day. Granted, in her mind, this is every day. But yesterday, we all played along as if it were true.

It began with Selah's ballet show. She got to wear her hair up in a bun, and put on a sparkly, glittery costume and tutu.

She and the rest of her preschool dance class definitely stole the show with their rousing twinkle twinkle number.

She got to eat as many sweet desserts at the reception as she wanted.

Best of all, she had all of us sit through the 2 hour show just to watch her 5 minute routine. Nathanael spent the whole time counting how many more numbers till the show was over, and Simeon went deep deep deep into his "happy place." I'm pretty sure he's fighting some imaginary pokemon in his head.

Then we went and picked out a little pet shop house as her present from us and the grandparents. The rest of the evening, her brothers gave her the absolute best gift of all. Without complaint, and without any prompting from me, they played with that pet shop house while Selah barked orders at them. "Nathanael, your doggy has to go in the spinning thing. Now make it spin. Simeon, your monkey has to go to bed. Not that bed. The purple bed. Gabriel, you have to put the fish in the tub."  She loves her brothers. She loves ordering her brothers around. She loves when they obey her. They gave her all of that.

Happy birthday to our little girl who will pirouette one moment, and knock you out the next. Just ask Gabriel. For one brief moment, he forgot that it was Selah day and tried to upstage her. I couldn't take a picture of what happened next because I was too busy consoling him, but let's just say she wiped that smirk off of Gabriel's face fairly quick.

More things change, the more they stay the same

It's been 10 years today that John and I began this journey together. Reflecting back, I can't help but think of all the ways our lives have changed since those early years.

Then: We ate out all the time, going to whichever restaurant our palette felt like indulging in. We ate slowly until we were full and utterly content.
Now: We eat out sporadically, going to whichever restaurant has the buy an adult meal get a free kid's meal deal going on. We watch our kids eat till they are full and content while our own stomachs grumble, and we end up packing our order to go so we can eat in peace.

Then: We saw every movie out there, even the really lame ones. And boy have we seen some pretty lame ones (anyone else see Hard Rain in the theaters...yup...didn't think so).
Now: We see movies when they get to redbox. When we do go to the theater, we never go together. We see it in shifts.

Then: We had tons of pictures together.
Now: We are lucky if we accidentally snap both of us in the shot.

Then: We woke up when our bodies wanted to.
Now: We wake up when our kids want us to.

Then: He never saw any broadway shows or knew anything about pop culture, and I was computer illiterate and had never stepped foot in a home improvement store.
Now: He shares my love of broadway, and no longer thinks I am speaking gibberish when I go off on my pop culture tirades. I know enough about computers to do this blog, and menards has become my bff.

Then: I had portion estimation issues. I was so used to cooking for large groups of people at our church that I had no ability to cook for just the two of us. Poor John ate the same meal for a week at a time.
Now: I still have portion estimation issues. I am so used to cooking for toddlers that I have not quite adjusted to the voracious appetite of my non-toddler boys. Poor John has gone on many unintentional diets this year.

It's been 10 years, and we've been through this.

Then this.

Then this.

Then this.

Now this.

But with all the changes, some things have remained the same. He still "gets" me, even when I don't "get" myself. He is still the first person I want to talk to when something happens. He still makes me feel like the prettiest girl in the room. He still stands unflinchingly by me even when I am not the best version of myself (which is quite often). He still believes in me...the me I am today...and the me I am becoming.

It's been 10 years, and there is still no one else I'd rather walk through life with. Thankful.
(Sidepoint: Perfect illustration of my point above. I had to dig around for just a picture of us two...and it's from our last anniversary)

Here's to hoping for a chicken nugget free dinner tonight.

Four Words I Never Want to Hear

It's been a rough few days. My girl left her blankie at the gym...the blankie she is never without...the blankie that she has loved to pieces (literally)...the blankie that I have to sneak in while she is sleeping to wash...that blankie.

I told her not to bring it in the gym.  Knowing that it's like a valued seventh member of our family, I warned her to leave it in the car. This has happened before. She's left that thing in grocery carts, at other people's houses, at the park. But she has always remembered before we strayed too far, so she has never had a night without it.

Until now.

We left the gym on monday night. We got everyone out of the child care room, past the throngs of sweaty people, past the hustle and bustle of the parking lot, and safely locked everyone into their car seats (that in and of itself is a work out). We made our way through heavier than usual traffic due to some new construction zones, and just as we were about to turn home, I hear the four dreaded words.

Where. Is. My. Blankie.

I won't bore you with the details of the rest of the night. Suffice it to say, there were tears, whining, pouting, boohoo-ing. My favorite had to be the blaming. "Mommy, it was your responsibility to get my blankie." Hmmph. She went to bed with tears glistening on her cheeks, but with the promise that tomorrow we would get her blankie.

But it rained and rained and rained. Then we had her brother's after school activities. Music lessons. Library. Dinner. Bed. Another night without her blankie. Another night with her accusing eyes staring me down while these words rang in my head. "You promised."

Monday night, it was her fault for leaving the blankie. Tuesday night, it was my fault for making a promise I didn't keep.

So Wednesday morning, we drove to the gym. Didn't matter that I was going there later in the day. I could no longer take her puppy dog eyes, her sighs, her continual restating of those four words. Where. Is. My. Blankie.

This was the reunion. This is her breathing in the scent of her blankie.

Welcome home blankie. Welcome home.

You know you're a mother when...

Your child is vomiting and you place your hands under their mouth instinctively while somehow stifling your own gag reflex.

Your baby is constipated after starting solids so you use your own pinky to help loosen their stool.

You clean up stool deposits and urine puddles off of your precious floor during potty training disasters and manage not to pull out all of your hair.

You fish out floating stools during a bath incident. Enough said.

(I know you other moms have done some variation of these examples so don't go "eeewwww" at me, go "eewwww" at yourself.)

You carry kitchen scissors in your purse so you can cut up food for your kids at a moment's notice.

You find yourself at the end of the day realizing you haven't had one proper sit down meal.

You find yourself doing the baby sway while in line even when you don't have a baby on you.

You may not know every world leader, but you could name every character on nick jr and disney.

You can read the same book or sing the same song 20 times in a row and not want to hurt yourself.

You can transform into the incredible hulk when someone dare tries to hurt your child....there is no wrath greater than a mama in protect and defend mode.

And to my own mom.....

You gave up a promising career in pharmacy to touch other people's dirty clothes so that I could have the life you wanted for me.

You would spend what little free time you had to make me the food I loved, even though I happened to love very time intensive foods.

You find such joy in seeing me stay at home with my kids because you never got to be a part of my childhood.

You still make sure that I eat first even though I'm all grown.

You swallow all the hurt I caused and still cause because of our vast generational, cultural, and language differences.

So to my mom and all the moms out there who do all these things and countless more, have a great mother's day and enjoy some much deserved love and gratitude. I know I am. This definitely makes up for all the feces I have touched over the years.

Sounds of Silence

I used to hate silence. If I was alone, I would flip the tv on or play some music....anything to fill the stillness of the moment.

But then came child one, and two, and three, and four.

Now, I'm constantly surrounded by a wall of sound. Who knew that four little bodies could produce so much noise. Then there are those toys. Toys that were obviously NOT designed by anyone with kids. Let me digress here for a bit and list some of the worst toys ever invented (in my humble opinion).

Musical instrument toys-They do not in any way mimic the sound of the real instruments...they only cause migraines of unfathomable size in the listener.

Cars that beep/talk and move-Two bad ideas in one. First the obnoxious trucker voice that says things like, "back it up baby" or "I feel the need for speed." Second, they move forward or backward when you press a button which inevitably results in that vehicle banging over and over again into the wall. Bang. Bang. Bang. 

Tools-I blame Bob the Builder for this. We fell for this hook, line, and sinker. We thought it was so cute watching our boys put on their little home depot orange aprons and work goggles. We bought them the whole tool set and bench so they could imitate their daddy or Bob. They would bang, saw, screw, and twist all in the safe, contained, and appropriate space of their tool bench. But then they realized it was way more fun to use the tools elsewhere....on real furniture, on the walls, on the floor, on each other. They may be plastic but it sure does hurt when one brother clamps younger brother's earlobes. Here was a picture in happier times with those tools.

Tickle Me Elmo-It was cute the first time. It was tolerable the 20th time. But by the 50th time that I hear, "tickle Elmo again," I end up wanting to pound the living daylights out of that thing. It's like he's mocking me..."tickle Elmo again, I'm not ticklish there, hahaha." I got the last laugh though. His battery will never be replaced again. Mute Elmo is so much cuter. (I was going to link a youtube clip of Elmo in action but just hearing his voice resurrected my hostility so I couldn't do it).

Princess heels-Not so bad when we lived in our old house that had carpet. But now we live in a house with only hardwood floors. I hear click click click click click click click click as Queen Selah walks around her kingdom. Inevitably, walking leads to dancing, so I hear fast clickclickclick followed by two slow clicks. Inevitably, dancing leads to jumping, so I hear clop clop clop clop. Inevitably, that jumping leads to her slipping and falling, which leads to blood curdling screaming.  Currently, Selah is quite loudly insisting that I put a picture of her as the queen. How ironic that as I'm writing about noise she is demonstrating my point quite intensely in my ears. So there you go. Can you stop talking in my ear now.

So back to my wall of sound. I feel like I have noise pollution full throttle in my own house. I value silence now. I often crave it. There are some rare moments in my day when all four kids are contentedly reading or playing (with non noisy toys), and it's the most beautiful sound in the world. That is also why I run. There is something so therapeutic about only hearing the sound of my breath going in and out. Yes, I know one day I'll have an empty house and I'll miss all these sounds. Terribly. But today, let me treasure the lack of it.