Sometimes I tell myself, this is not my beautiful house. Sometimes I tell myself, this is not my beautiful yard.But it is, in fact, my beautiful house and my beautiful yard. I feel like we are under attack by the neighbor's trees. That is a branch that is taller than I am and as big around as my forearm lying in our grass (don't know if you can see my size 10 there to try to give perspective). And, apparently, the trees can now shoot daggers down into the yard with such force that they pierce the earth and stand at attention. Perhaps Mr. Backyard Neighbor should prune away the dead parts of his trees. All I can say is that it's a good thing we decided not to play outside on this particularly windy day.
Well, that's not all I can say. I will also say that this particular Neighbor (and I use the term loosely) has the audacity to be upset that our fence sits a few inches off the ground. Hmmm. Last time I checked, that wasn't threatening the life & safety of anyone in his household.
On a completely different but also entirely random note. I think Mr. W is from Mars. Seriously. After dinner yesterday, this is what he rejected as "yuck": He cannot possibly be my child.
It all started about a month ago when Thing 1 and Thing 2 discovered the joy that (apparently) is playing underneath the fitted sheets on their beds. Personally, I have never tried this, so I wouldn't know whether or not it's fun. They, however, were in complete agreement.
Night after night, we would find their toys still underneath there long after the boys had fallen fast asleep. If a car had gone missing, it was usually under the sheet. Occasionally, we even found one (or both) of them asleep on top of the mattress but under the fitted sheet.
Cute.
This fun-with-the-beds activity has matured and advanced during the last week, however. The boys activated their wonder twin powers of naughtiness and started moving the mattresses off of the bed frames and into places that allowed for better jumping and sliding.
The hubby and I were not too thrilled with this, envisioning limbs stuck in bed slats and other grave injuries. So we quickly set to work disciplining the munchkins and convincing them that the fun that ensues is not worth suffering the consequences.
We started with sitting in the corner. They cried. They wailed. They said they wouldn't move the beds again. You know what else they did? They moved the beds.
Next we took most of their toys from their room. They screamed. They begged for the return of their toys. They understood that they could earn their toys back by not moving the beds again. Guess what? They moved the beds.
After that, we took ALL the toys from their room (including the beloved Yellow & Blue, blankets and pillows).They cried. They wailed. They pleaded for their stuff back. They said they wouldn't move the beds again. They moved the beds.
This time, Daddy gave them each a spanking. They wept. They were beside themselves with grief. They said they were sorry. They promised to be good. And then...they moved the beds.
And so this brings us to yesterday afternoon. Daddy was cleaning downstairs. Mommy had had enough.
What did they do at naptime? They moved the beds.
So what did I do? I moved the beds. Out of their room. There was much weeping and gnashing of teeth. And naps were taken on the floor of a very empty room. I then spent much of their naptime fixing the problem the only way I knew how:
I DUCK-TAPED THE MATTRESSES TO THE BED FRAME.
And, boy, was that a bigger workout than I had anticipated. I was sweaty and cranky by the time all was said and done. But you know what? Last night...they didn't move their beds. Today at naptime...they didn't move their beds.
Now, it is a little bit hard to get the sheets on and looking nice...but I am pretty sure we will live. But I can't believe it had to come to this.
i wandered off to do something with his older brothers as usual. when i came back into the room where i had left him, he was in a strange location. how did he get there?
so i turned him around &, sure enough, he started sliding across the floor in search of toys.
he is lacking a little bit in style, honestly. but it is strangely reminiscent of his big brother n's early method.
it might morph into something classier, but for the moment that's not my biggest concern.
my biggest concern is that now, i not only have 3 children under 3 years old (all still in diapers, mind you)...i have 3 MOBILE children all under 3 years old.
This is the question I had the privilege of addressing this Mother's Day (along with my amazing friend Christina) during our worship service. I thought I'd share my answer with you and I hope that you will share your own answer with me by leaving a comment.
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Before preparing what I wanted to say today, I thought I should take a look at my day-to-day life and see what I could learn. As a mom of 3 boys under 3 years old, I talk in short little bursts of two to three words at a time. I discovered that I spend a lot of my time every day saying things like:
·stop that
·calm down
·stop whining
·use your words
·just wait
·it’s alright
·you’ll be okay
·shhh
·stop
·relax
·take a deep breath
·settle down
I don’t like to shout over the commotion., I try to wait for the boys to calm down and be still so we can put on shoes, change dirty diapers, solve a conflict, or whatever it is that seems to be causing stress at that moment.
How often do I wish my children would settle down and just trust that I know what I’m doing; that I have their best interest at heart; that I am not going to hurt them. Instead they fight, they scre4am, they hit, they run away, they cry and whine, they insist on being independent and trying to do it themselves. It’s like thye don’t understand that I just want to take care of them – that it really is better to have a clean diaper than to continue to wear a nasty one, that medicine may taste bad but it will help them to feel better, that it is much safer to get in the car than to play in the parking lot, that peas really are better than cookies for dinner, that I’m not going to drop them, that when I tell them not to touch the stove it’s because it’s hot and they’re going to get burned.
Even when they don’t listen, when they touch that hot stove and burn their hands, I’m there taking care of them – comforting them in their hurt. I know which medicines to use and how to put on a Band aid just right. They just have to trust me to do it.
I find myself saying over and over, “Shhh…be still. Mommy’s here.”
That sounds very similar to what God says to us in Psalm 46:10: Be still and know that I am God.
How often do I wish that I could just be still and trust that God knows what He’s doing, that He has what is best for me, that He wants to take care of me, that even the small things are things that matter to Him, that He’s got my back, that His grace is sufficient for me, that He ahs a plan for my life that is better by far than my own plan (even though it may be different).
There are so many different places in my daily life where I struggle to be still and to trust in Him. Day in and day out I fill my mind with things other than the word of God, things that can stand in the way of developing a closer relationship to Him. I place my confidence in things other than Him – my own abilities or finances, my husband, my friends, or my plans. I allow my emotions to dictate my actions, affect my decisions, or even justify inappropriate behavior. I let daily activities like laundry or dishes keep me away from quiet time with God.
God is saying to me, Meg:
·stop that
·calm down
·stop whining
·just wait
·it’s alright
·you’ll be okay
·shhh
·stop
·relax
·take a deep breath
·settle down
We moms are really good at calming down our little ones and taking care of them. Sometimes we forget that we need to stop trying to work everything out for ourselves in our lives. We need to sit down and be still, trust Him, and know that He’ll take care of it.
Sometimes I tell myself, this is not my beautiful yard.
But it is, in fact, my beautiful house and my beautiful yard. I feel like we are under attack by the neighbor's trees. That is a branch that is taller than I am and as big around as my forearm lying in our grass (don't know if you can see my size 10 there to try to give perspective). And, apparently, the trees can now shoot daggers down into the yard with such force that they pierce the earth and stand at attention. Perhaps Mr. Backyard Neighbor should prune away the dead parts of his trees. All I can say is that it's a good thing we decided not to play outside on this particularly windy day.
He cannot possibly be my child.
