She sits strapped into her booster seat, her pudgy little fingers squeezing the handle of her spoon tightly. Applesauce oozes through them as she scoops heaping spoonfuls toward her mouth, inadvertently dipping her dimpled elbow in her bowl.
Half the contents of her spoon dribble down her front while the other half goes partly into her mouth and partly on her chin.
Applesauce is painted all over the table, all over her hair and a thick coat covers the bottom of her bowl.
"Here, Ella, Mommy help," I say, scraping another spoonful from around the sides and bottom of her bowl.
"Naaaaaa-uuuuhh!" she exclaims defiantly. Not because she doesn't want another bite but because she doesn't want me to give it to her.
------
Her big brown eyes stare up at me while she sits on the potty. "Where does the pee-pee go?" I ask, very frustrated. She was potty trained before Aaron yet for some reason, she's reverted to daily accidents.
"In a poddy," she says with a smile. She expels what is left in her bladder and smiles up at me, proudly.
"I di it Mommy! I get a chocky tip Mommy!"
I stroke her face and tell her I'm proud of her and her tiny frame swells with pride. She's more pleased with my adoration than any piece of candy.
Later, she tells me before she has an accident. I make a mental note to praise her more often, even for the trivial things.
-----
I can't blame him for being upset. All they want to play is girly things and he's the odd man out most of the time. I'm eager for Aaron to get a tad older so that they can go play boy things together. He sits with a furrowed brow, upset that they just want to play dolls and he wants to play Toy Story.
"Bubby, have you asked them if you can play with them but not be a girl doll?"
"They don't like me anymore. All they want to play is games I don't like!" He's hurt. I squat down, look him in the eye and say, "Well, maybe you could play a boy game by yourself. Want me to get the blocks so you can build a fort for your army men?"
His face softens. It's not his first choice but it will do. Soon, his sisters are playing blocks with him and the doll incident is all but forgotten. Until tomorrow.
-----
He's whining and crying. Again. It's hard because I feel like that's all he ever does. Whine and cry, whine and cry. I ache to hear real words come out of his mouth. Real 3 year old words.
"Moooooooooommmmmmmm. I anna nodder juuuuuuuuice."
"I'm sorry Bud. You've already had one already. Maybe after nap."
"Nooooooooooooooooooooooo...... Moooooooommmmmm I anna nodder juuuuuuuuuuuice!!!"
I crack my neck by leaning my head from shoulder to shoulder. Tension releases.
"Buddy, I've told you. Not now. You've already had one cup."
Wails ensue. Fits progress until he's a flailing snake on the floor.
"Please go to your room if you chose to throw a fit."
Increased crying as he trots down the hall. He cries for over 20 minutes and my patience are pushed to their limit.
-------
"Elizabeth, can you please comb your hair before we leave?"
"Mom! I already did!" she insists.
I glance at her hair which is plied on top of her head with numerous bobby pins and barrettes. On one side, a huge blob of hair hangs out, sliding down the back of her neck onto her shoulders.
"Well, I think you missed a spot. Can I help you?"
"Fine! I'll fix it again." She turns and goes back upstairs, only to return a few minutes later with and equally frazzled hairdo.
I sigh, knowing that if I correct her styling again she'll break down into a puddle of tears and say that I don't think she's pretty.
I decide to save that battle for Sunday morning, when it's important.
-----
Her red hair whips into Ella's face as she shoves her face as close as humanly possible to another person.
"Juggy, juggy, juggy! You a precious girl! Yes.you.are!"
Ella protests and flings her body away, knocking Ashlee's cup over. Water glides across the table and falls onto the floor below, soaking everything around it.
"Ashlee! I've asked you numerous times to please not play with Ella while we are eating. She cannot eat and neither can you. And now, your drink has spilled. Again."
She looks at me with blue-green eyes, full of sorrow.
We clean up her water and everyone resumes their mealtime conversations. Less than 4 minutes later....
"Ella JOY! Ella JOY! Shuggy, shuggy, shuggy! I giddy, giddy, giddy! You love sissy! Yes you do!"
Ella screams, eager for Ashlee to stop squishing her body against hers.
Forks hit the floor and food flies across the table.
"ASHLEE! Please! Stop!"
-----
I've been thinking a lot about how to react to someone who tells us that our hands are full. After writing the above scenarios (all which have happened in past 48 hours) I can't say that I disagree. And with baby number 7 on the way, I can see how our hands will only get fuller.
Yet while their comments carry truth, I'm not really sure how to respond to people's remarks. While there are certainly times when I need a break from my children, and times when my patience is so thin you could blow bubbles through it, I truly cannot say that I'd rather my life be any other way.
I love my kids. I love being their mother. I love that we're a crazy, chaotic wild mess and there's always someone needing something.
I had a sweet, well meaning lady ask/tell me the other day that if I was just going to have the doctor give me a hysterectomy after we had baby number 7.
No lie.
She's a nice lady. I respect her as an elder woman in our church. I just think the thought of 7 kids blows her out of the water. And why shouldn't it?
I mean, it's a lot of kids.
I had great plans to make this a post about my feelings about people telling us our hands are full. But after writing all that is above, I'd like your input. What do you think when people tell you,
"Man! You have your hands full?"
or
"Better you than me!"
or
"If we'd have had our 2nd child first, we'd have stopped! But never seven!"
I want to have an answer to those questions that are glorifying to God, yet also honest and not necessarily canned. I want to make people think about what they are saying and why they are saying them.
Your thoughts?
Tune in for Part 2 sometime early next week as I read your thoughts and continue forming my own.
Happy Friday!
Half the contents of her spoon dribble down her front while the other half goes partly into her mouth and partly on her chin.
Applesauce is painted all over the table, all over her hair and a thick coat covers the bottom of her bowl.
"Here, Ella, Mommy help," I say, scraping another spoonful from around the sides and bottom of her bowl.
"Naaaaaa-uuuuhh!" she exclaims defiantly. Not because she doesn't want another bite but because she doesn't want me to give it to her.
------
Her big brown eyes stare up at me while she sits on the potty. "Where does the pee-pee go?" I ask, very frustrated. She was potty trained before Aaron yet for some reason, she's reverted to daily accidents.
"In a poddy," she says with a smile. She expels what is left in her bladder and smiles up at me, proudly.
"I di it Mommy! I get a chocky tip Mommy!"
I stroke her face and tell her I'm proud of her and her tiny frame swells with pride. She's more pleased with my adoration than any piece of candy.
Later, she tells me before she has an accident. I make a mental note to praise her more often, even for the trivial things.
-----
I can't blame him for being upset. All they want to play is girly things and he's the odd man out most of the time. I'm eager for Aaron to get a tad older so that they can go play boy things together. He sits with a furrowed brow, upset that they just want to play dolls and he wants to play Toy Story.
"Bubby, have you asked them if you can play with them but not be a girl doll?"
"They don't like me anymore. All they want to play is games I don't like!" He's hurt. I squat down, look him in the eye and say, "Well, maybe you could play a boy game by yourself. Want me to get the blocks so you can build a fort for your army men?"
His face softens. It's not his first choice but it will do. Soon, his sisters are playing blocks with him and the doll incident is all but forgotten. Until tomorrow.
-----
He's whining and crying. Again. It's hard because I feel like that's all he ever does. Whine and cry, whine and cry. I ache to hear real words come out of his mouth. Real 3 year old words.
"Moooooooooommmmmmmm. I anna nodder juuuuuuuuice."
"I'm sorry Bud. You've already had one already. Maybe after nap."
"Nooooooooooooooooooooooo...... Moooooooommmmmm I anna nodder juuuuuuuuuuuice!!!"
I crack my neck by leaning my head from shoulder to shoulder. Tension releases.
"Buddy, I've told you. Not now. You've already had one cup."
Wails ensue. Fits progress until he's a flailing snake on the floor.
"Please go to your room if you chose to throw a fit."
Increased crying as he trots down the hall. He cries for over 20 minutes and my patience are pushed to their limit.
-------
"Elizabeth, can you please comb your hair before we leave?"
"Mom! I already did!" she insists.
I glance at her hair which is plied on top of her head with numerous bobby pins and barrettes. On one side, a huge blob of hair hangs out, sliding down the back of her neck onto her shoulders.
"Well, I think you missed a spot. Can I help you?"
"Fine! I'll fix it again." She turns and goes back upstairs, only to return a few minutes later with and equally frazzled hairdo.
I sigh, knowing that if I correct her styling again she'll break down into a puddle of tears and say that I don't think she's pretty.
I decide to save that battle for Sunday morning, when it's important.
-----
Her red hair whips into Ella's face as she shoves her face as close as humanly possible to another person.
"Juggy, juggy, juggy! You a precious girl! Yes.you.are!"
Ella protests and flings her body away, knocking Ashlee's cup over. Water glides across the table and falls onto the floor below, soaking everything around it.
"Ashlee! I've asked you numerous times to please not play with Ella while we are eating. She cannot eat and neither can you. And now, your drink has spilled. Again."
She looks at me with blue-green eyes, full of sorrow.
We clean up her water and everyone resumes their mealtime conversations. Less than 4 minutes later....
"Ella JOY! Ella JOY! Shuggy, shuggy, shuggy! I giddy, giddy, giddy! You love sissy! Yes you do!"
Ella screams, eager for Ashlee to stop squishing her body against hers.
Forks hit the floor and food flies across the table.
"ASHLEE! Please! Stop!"
-----
I've been thinking a lot about how to react to someone who tells us that our hands are full. After writing the above scenarios (all which have happened in past 48 hours) I can't say that I disagree. And with baby number 7 on the way, I can see how our hands will only get fuller.
Yet while their comments carry truth, I'm not really sure how to respond to people's remarks. While there are certainly times when I need a break from my children, and times when my patience is so thin you could blow bubbles through it, I truly cannot say that I'd rather my life be any other way.
I love my kids. I love being their mother. I love that we're a crazy, chaotic wild mess and there's always someone needing something.
I had a sweet, well meaning lady ask/tell me the other day that if I was just going to have the doctor give me a hysterectomy after we had baby number 7.
No lie.
She's a nice lady. I respect her as an elder woman in our church. I just think the thought of 7 kids blows her out of the water. And why shouldn't it?
I mean, it's a lot of kids.
I had great plans to make this a post about my feelings about people telling us our hands are full. But after writing all that is above, I'd like your input. What do you think when people tell you,
"Man! You have your hands full?"
or
"Better you than me!"
or
"If we'd have had our 2nd child first, we'd have stopped! But never seven!"
I want to have an answer to those questions that are glorifying to God, yet also honest and not necessarily canned. I want to make people think about what they are saying and why they are saying them.
Your thoughts?
Tune in for Part 2 sometime early next week as I read your thoughts and continue forming my own.
Happy Friday!