Mama Bear Unleashed

I may be small, but when you trigger my mama bear instincts, I will attack.

At the pool today, that mama bear was unleashed. My number two had just discovered the joy of diving off the boards. I was enjoying watching him jump and run back in line over and over again. As I was watching him, I noticed that these older boys behind him in line were saying something to him. He turned away from them, but they kept tapping him on the shoulder and saying something again and laughing. Being his mother, even though he was not visibly upset, I could tell he was hurt under the surface of his tough face. After he jumped, I waved him over to where I was to ask him what was going on. Before I could finish my sentence, he burst into tears and told me that those boys were making fun of him because he had a mustache.

Now, John and I have poked fun at him from the day he was born about his seeming abundance of testosterone. When I first held him, I burst out laughing because he was so hairy. He had a mustache from the womb. Look carefully at this baby picture. That is not a shadow over his mouth. That is his magnum p.i. mustache.

But the thing is, we can laugh at him. We are his family. We love him. We know him. It's said with affection. It's part of the Lee family code that we can laugh and poke fun at each other. But it's not okay when it comes from someone who does not know him and love him. They may be the same words, and the same jokes, but not said with the same intent.

Usually, I want my kids to fight their own battles. But this situation felt different. He was outnumbered by kids clearly older and bigger than him. My mama bear got unleashed. I leapt out of my chair and went straight into the middle of that diving board crowd with Simeon. I calmly, but quite firmly told those boys that it was not cool to say those kinds of things because they were hurtful, and it better not happen again. I'm not sure what my face looked like, but it obviously was scary enough that it wiped the smirks off their faces as they nodded their heads in agreement.

Looking back, maybe I overreacted. But they hurt my baby. My cute, mustached baby. And I wanted him to know that I have his back always. As we walked back from the confrontation, I felt him squeeze my hand just a bit tighter. Being his mother, I know that meant thank you. You're welcome magnum, you're welcome.

You want my body to do what?!?!?!

So I decided to take this ballet barre inspired exercise class. Now considering that I do a lot of intense cardio classes, as well as running long distances, I went in thinking this would be a nice, relaxing change for me.

Boy was I wrong. Dead wrong.

From the get go, I knew I was in trouble. The instructor had to keep coming to me and correcting my moves or posture. During some of the stretching moves, my legs were shaking so badly it looked like I was having a seizure. Every time the instructor walked near me, she would say, "If anyone needs to take a break, do so and join us a bit later." I could only assume that "anyone" meant me since no one else was having spasms. At the end, we were supposed to sit under the ballet barre with our hands on the barre and our legs pointed forward. Then she said to pull ourselves up with our arms while holding that position, and if possible, let our legs come off the floor. I thought she was giving us a visual to help us keep our posture and position. I didn't really think she wanted us to lift our legs. But as I looked around the class, I realized I was the only one with my legs on the floor. Epic fail.

I was planning on leaving that class and never ever doing it again. But then, all the speeches I gave my kids came rushing back to me (see the previous post for an example of one). I tell them all the time that it's easy to try when you have success or it comes easy. The true test of character is when it's hard and discouraging and failure abounds, but you still try. How could I continue to preach that to them when I was so quick to disregard my own advice. And I do enjoy making speeches.

So I continue to go back. Four classes in and I'm still struggling my way through it. I want to stop. My pride is hurt. But I have four little eyes watching me.

So bring it you ballet people with your gumby legs and superhuman strength. I'm coming for you.

Done well you have, young jedi

So my number two has been playing soccer for the past three years. He got to a point where we felt like he was outgrowing the recreational league. He would look on with envy at his older brother who played in a more competitive league. So when some of his close friends decided to try out for a travel soccer team, we took the plunge and decided to let him go for it as well.



As we were driving to the tryout, this was our conversation.
"I really hope I make it."
"I really hope you make it too. I know how much you want to play with your friends. But all you have to do is try your best and we'll be proud of you no matter what."
Pause.
"If I don't make it, does it mean I'm bad?"

Something about what he said and the way he said it brought a big lump to my throat. It was a stark reminder that there would be disappointments and heartaches and failures that would come into the lives of my children. To try and protect them from such things would be futile and pointless. My job was to prepare them to be able to navigate through these inevitable potholes of life, and I tried my best in that car ride to do just that. I gave an epic speech about the value of failure, the importance of building character, the lesson of perseverance, the meaning of a true champion, and the worth we find not in what we do, but in who we are in Him. If I do say so myself, it was a darn good speech. But that lump still stayed in my throat.

Being new to the travel league tryout system, I was not quite prepared for how intense the evaluation process was. The field filled up fast with kids ready to show their stuff. I won't even mention some of the parents who scared me with their sideline intensity. Warm ups, drills, foot skills, one on one scrimmages, all while multiple coaches were furiously scribbling down notes on all the kids. There were times where I thought Simeon held his own. But then there were times where I felt like he was schooled by some of the other kids. At the end, they had all the kids line up one last time as they wrote a final note on their clipboards. Their fate was sealed. They would let us know in a few days. I didn't think it was possible, but that lump actually grew bigger in my throat. 

Funny how the speech I gave to Simeon really settled inside of him, but I, the author of that speech, was now a big mama mess. As we were driving home from the tryout, this was our conversation.
"I really hope I make it."
"I hope you make it too." (big lump in my throat prevents me from speaking further)
Pause.
"It's okay if I don't make it. I can just get better for next time. I'm glad I tried."

The student had become the teacher. My wise little jedi man.

Epilogue: I had an even more epic consolation speech prepared. It will come to use another time. He made the team.

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.