Showing posts with label Parenting. Show all posts

Like many families, when we put our four year olds to bed at night we sing.  Each of the "Short Louds" picks a song and Mommy and Daddy pick a song.  This is just before prayers and then we always sing "AB-Baa-Baa-Twinkle" (the three songs) after they are tucked in bed.  We have a pretty standard repertoire at bedtime.  Among the songs Julie and I sing are "A, You're Adorable," "O Susannah," "Sweet Baby James," "Stand By Me," "The Ants Go Marching," "Baby Beluga," "Sanctuary," "We Will Rock You," "Rubber Ducky," "Pass it On," "Standing on the Corner" and many more.

Abigail likes to make up her own songs quite frequently.  They tend to go on for some time and we eventually have to tell her to "wrap it up."  The topic is most often Princes and Princesses but she's been branching out as of late with songs that sort of list animals or other things.

Well, the night before last she sang for us a song about places.  It was quite stunning and had a remarkable finish.  It's been over a day since I heard it, but, if I remember it correctly, the "Cliff Notes Version" would go something like this.

Girdwood is a place.  It's where I live and where my house is.
Alaska is a place.  It's very big.
Indiana is a place.  That's where I visit my grandparents.
Hawaii is a place, too.
Mexico is another place.  It's very beautiful.
California is also a place.
(Mommy, is California a place?  I thought it was)

Anyway, we were pretty impressed by the number of places she at least knew about, having either been there or hearing her friends or her siblings talk about them.  This went on for a little while, with several repeats.  We had to tell her to "wrap it up."

That's when she got very quiet and serious in her song.

There are so many wonderful places in the world.There are so many places.

Quieter.

But my favorite place...My favorite place...But my favorite place...My favorite place in the whole wide world...My favorite place is...

Pause.

Quieter...

China.

Then loudly.

NI HAO KAI-LAN

This was HILARIOUS.  Never in a million years would we have guessed that Abigail's favorite place, after such a build-up, was going to be China.

So, what's your favorite place?

Today my older twin girls turn 14.  They came into the world a little early and after a rough month or so with pre-term labor issues.  I was down in Kenai, Alaska.  Julie was up in Anchorage to be near the hospital there.  It was a long month during which I tried to pastor the United Methodist Church of the New Covenant a few days a week and then travel with our two year-old son up to Anchorage to be with my expectant wife.   One of those Sundays I had a weary, beaten look to my face and one of our members cam up to me after worship and asked, "You're not OK, are you?"  And I responded, "No, I'm not OK."

So it was a great relief that, as the due date got closer, we could bring "mom" back down to Kenai where we were just about 20 minutes from the Soldotna hospital.

The whole "twin" birth thing was an experience at the time.  Since we've now had a second set of twins it seems like old hat.  But it was pretty intimidating at the time.

And on September 29th, 1997 Moriah Grace and Susannah McIntyre were born.  It's been a wild 14 years.

I don't think I'm a particularly "manly man."  I've never been one to shy away from buying feminine hygiene products at the supermarket or searching from store to store for the proper shampoo and conditioner.  I'm pretty approachable when it comes to issues of "liking boys" or dealing with teenage girl meanness that can come through relationships at school.  There are few issues that are "just for mom."  After all, I'm their father and not some random guy in their life.  I want to be involved.

Fathering these girls has been a blessing and a challenge...sometimes at the same time.  From the pretty dresses for Sundays to the baseball uniforms.  From their eagerness to spend time with their dad to their eye-rolling at the suggestion of a bike ride together.  From their desires to follow along with the crowd and fit in to the ways they march to the beat of their own drums.  From the fact that they've always had someone around to play with to the fact that this playmate of theirs also became someone to fight with.  From room sharing and clothes sharing and friend sharing and homework sharing to the their sense of ownership over the items that uniquely belong to them.  From their learning how to walk to their learning how to ride a bike to their, soon, learning how to drive.

Through it all, I've tried to be the best dad I've known how.  And, yes, sometimes I've recognized that there were some "girl" issues that were really best for mom to deal with.  And, yes, I have said some things that have been completely unhelpful and it must have been amusing to watch me flounder under the pressure of being a parent at times.  But, I have loved these 14 years with my two older girls.  I hope I've been a cool, fun father for them.

I'm thankful that we have a son.  As a guy there's something about having a son.

But Moriah and Susannah have shown me that I can be a father to girls as well...even twin girls.

That's a good thing since, in just 10 years we'll have another set of 14 year-old girls in the house.

The most stressful part of my day, without question, is that half-hour to an hour when I'm trying to get twin 4 year old girls out of the house in the morning.  Really, without question.  It is a difficult time filled with battles of wills over dresses and teeth brushing and hair brushing.  It is a time spent looking for matching shoes and missing coats.  It is a time filled with whining and screaming.

And, no, it's not usually both girls giving fits at the same time.  Thankfully, they usually take turns and when one's in "a mood" the other tries to be "little miss perfect", or at least "little miss not-so-bad."  Today it was Bethany's turn to be a handful.  It really comes down to the dress she wanted to wear to daycare and how I tried to get it on her in such a way that it covered all of her that needed to be covered.  And she didn't like it.  And she was mad.  And then she wouldn't let me brush her hair.  And then she dragged her feet getting to the car.  And then when we were finally in the car she was upset that Abigail made it so she couldn't button her seatbelt.  And then...  And then...  And then...

Well...

By the time I got them to daycare at 8:42 AM I felt as if I'd put in a full day of parenting.  I made my way to the coffee shop...for medicinal purposes, of course...and sat sipping a latte and enjoying a some time away from the little ones...thankful that we have a daycare option and that I would soon go home to a house with no children in it for the remainder of the day.

That said, I need to remember some things about this time in our collective lives.  And, no, I don't need to remember the whining and the battle of wills.  They might be hard to forget, but that's not what I need to remember.

I need to remember that my little girls like nothing better than dressing up, even going to daycare.  They love "spinny" dresses.  They love having their toenails painted and glitter on.  And they want to get their hair just right.  And, when it finally happens, it's adorable.  I need to remember this.

I need to remember that their desire to do things on their own is a good thing.  There are growing up. They are coming into their own.  They are getting their personalities.  They are testing the boundaries of independence.  There will come a time that I will want them to be very independent.  I need to remember this.

I need to remember the "blue doggy" that Bethany takes with her every day to Little Bears and sleeps with at night.  Also, I need to remember Abigai's "green blankie."  Both of these items have been loved and loved and loved and loved.  We live in a throwaway culture but here are two little girls who will hold on to that which is most dear to them.  I need to remember this.  Perhaps I can learn from it.

I need to remember all the opportunities for playing and games that these two girls find all the time.  Sometimes it's when we're eating dinner and we really wish they'd eat.  Sometimes it's when we're going to bed at night when we really wish they'd start getting ready.  And, it happens all the time when I'm trying to rush them out of the house but they've found something else to get their attention, a toy to play with, a doll that needs dressing up.  Too many people have lost the ability to play like little children.  I need to remember this.

And I need to remember, as I sit in the coffee shop, enjoying my latte in some peace and quiet, that there will come a day where it will be very peaceful and very quiet in our home.  And, when that day comes, I'll look back on the sound of children playing and fighting and running around and squealing and miss it.  I need to remember this.

So, today I'm trying to remember.

Perhaps it will help if I write it down here.

Sure, she looks real innocent in the picture above.  Pretty dress.  Wonderful smile.  Playful pose.  One would never guess from the above picture that Abigail is our "different" child.  By "different" I mean that she's willful.  She's different than our other four kids in that she can be defiant and manipulative in ways that the others just haven't been.  And with four other kids we think we've had some experience.

A week or so ago I took "The Short Louds" -- Abigail and her twin sister Bethany -- to a coffee shop on one of our Daddy Days.  Honestly, it was their choice.  I had offered a bicycle ride but was overruled.  So we walked on down.  We ate and drank and they played.  We checked mail.  And we walked on back.  This was a pretty long walk for the two of them but they could handle it.  Bethany complained about the walk but she bounced along beside me.  Abigail didn't bounce.  Abigail dragged behind, whining, moaning and generally being disagreeable.  There was a lot of yelling.

I could tell, as she dragged her feet and kept falling farther and farther behind, that SHE KNEW I wouldn't leave her behind.  And, SHE KNEW that by dragging her feet and fading and complaining she was getting on my nerves and she was getting her way.

Abigail's a smart four year-old.  She, already, is a master at manipulation.  She's always been the kind of kid that was very sure where the boundaries were.  And she was always very intentional about testing those boundaries...whether it's "stay in bed" or "don't hit your sister" or "no you can't have a chocolate."

Look, she's not a horrible child.  She can be so generous at times.  She can be bubbly.  She loves to snuggle with me.  She can be driven and competitive.  She's her own girl.

This comes through in the clothes she puts on (even though we've said it's too cold for shorts) to being very sure she doesn't want to eat the mashed potatoes or whatever it is on her plate.  She marches to the beat of her own drum and getting her to march to ours can be a struggle.  Even tonight as we got the young ones ready for bed and she always seemed to have one more thing to do...anything to delay the process...we were left with nothing left in our "bag of tricks."

She certainly makes life interesting.

But as I walked home from the coffee shop last week, Abigail whining and moaning behind me, I just shook my head.  Actually, I shook my head...and laughed.  I love that little girl so much but she is so good at making it difficult on Julie and me.  She's a conundrum.  And she's all ours.  We'd do anything for her.  But, boy, she makes parenting challenging.

This made me wonder if God, when faced with our willfulness, out of a mixture of love and frustration, just shakes his head.  Maybe he laughs a little as well.  He loves us so much...so much that he sent his son to die on our behalf.  He'd do anything for us.  And yet we disobey.  We test the boundaries.  We cross over them.  We drag our feet.  And we're all his.

May I live in such a way today that I don't give God any reason to shake his head at me today. And if he does...I hope he laughs a bit, too.

It was lunchtime on "Daddy Day" at our house.  Every Tuesday is "Daddy Day" for our four year old twins.  They go to the local daycare four days each week.  But Tuesday is their day to stay home with me.  It used to be Tuesdays and Thursdays when they were younger, but I found I needed more time to get work accomplished.  So, we added Thursdays to the daycare mix and Tuesdays became my day with the young girls.  Sometimes we go on bike rides.  Sometimes we go on trips.  Sometimes we watch movies.  Yesterday, the Daddy Day I'm referring to, we went on a long walk to a coffee shop (it was their decision...really!).

When we got back home, around 1:30 PM, I made them grilled cheese sandwiches for lunch.

I want to say a special word about these grilled cheese sandwiches.  I understand that it's not too difficult to put some slices of cheese between two slices of buttered bread and grill them.  I'm not making myself out to be Julia Childs here.  But, these were WONDERFUL grilled cheese sandwiches.  I mixed small pieces cojack and provolone for the insides to load them up with goodness.  And I grilled these to perfection.  They weren't burnt or uneven and the cheese was wonderfully melted inside.  These were GREAT grilled cheese sandwiches.

So, I served them up alongside some apple slices and cherry tomatoes.  Voila!  Lunch is served.

But, neither of them had more than a little nibble of those beautiful sandwiches.  They "didn't taste the same."  The girls said they "weren't hungry."  And so they just sat on their plates...rejected...

I was having something different for lunch so these awesome sandwiches were just going to go to waste, thoroughly unappreciated by the ones they were made for.  Perhaps a couple of wasted sandwiches wouldn't bother me so much (yeah, yeah, I know...starving children in other parts of the world and all) but there's a lot of food I make in this household that goes totally unappreciated by others.  I like to cook--beyond grilled cheese.  And some of the foods I like have a lot of flavor or are things I've never tried before and I'm pretty used to my kids thumbing their noses at the dinners I make.  Very rarely does Daddy try something new and exciting for dinner only to be met with a teenager's eye-roll and and a disappointed, "WHAT is THAT?"  (They don't know what they're missing.)

The grilled cheese sandwiches were just one more bit of evidence of the lack of gratitude my kids show for what I'm able to provide for them.  And, as I've said several times so far, these were AWESOME GRILLED CHEESE SANDWICHES.  They were works of art.

Well, after lunch I was able to get out for a small bike ride myself.  Along the way I was thinking about all of the AWESOME, WONDERFUL, GREAT creations God puts before us that go unnoticed and unappreciated.  Here we live in one of the most beautiful places on earth and people pass by, they go up and down roads, they camp or hunt or fish, and hardly offer any thanks, any word of gratitude for what God provides.  It made me think, while pedaling, about all the many things in my life, all of the blessings I have been given, which I take for granted, and which never move me to praise my Maker and give thanks to the Creator.   God has blessed us with grilled cheese, but he has certainly blessed us with so very much more.  And do we merely thumb our noses?

As this was all swimming around in my mind I rode along Alyeska Highway, headed back home.  I could see clouds rolling in and I wondered if it was going to rain later (it did).  My legs were tired.  I was feeling good.  And then I saw it...a brilliant rainbow in the sky.  Thank you God, for a wonderful, beautiful rainbow.  I pedaled harder, hoping to snap a picture with my old cell phone before the rainbow disappeared...and then I lost sight of it.  Oh well.  It was still a great gift to see it and be reminded of all the many gifts God has given me:  life, family, health, bike, home, a wonderful church, grilled cheese.

But, as I crossed Glacier Creek, there it was again.  I took a picture (yeah, the one at the top of the post) and thought I'd share it with all of you as a reminder to offer God some gratitude today.

What are you thankful for?

What do you take for granted even though God blesses you with it on a daily basis?

Do you thank God for your grilled cheese and rainbows?

Image by Gabriela Camerotti via FlickrI have four girls...twins who are 13 and twins who are 4.  This article by Lisa Bloom scared me as I think about the societal pressures they face to look their best in the world.  Here's the scariest part.

This week ABC news reported that nearly half of all three- to six-year-old girls worry about being fat. In my book, Think: Straight Talk for Women to Stay Smart in a Dumbed-Down World, I reveal that fifteen to eighteen percent of girls under twelve now wear mascara, eyeliner and lipstick regularly; eating disorders are up and self-esteem is down; and twenty-five percent of young American women would rather win America's Next Top Model than the Nobel Peace Prize. Even bright, successful college women say they'd rather be hot than smart. A Miami mom just died from cosmetic surgery, leaving behind two teenagers. This keeps happening, and it breaks my heart.

Teaching girls that their appearance is the first thing you notice tells them that looks are more important than anything. It sets them up for dieting at age 5 and foundation at age 11 and boob jobs at 17 and Botox at 23. As our cultural imperative for girls to be hot 24/7 has become the new normal, American women have become increasingly unhappy. What's missing? A life of meaning, a life of ideas and reading books and being valued for our thoughts and accomplishments.

So...how scared should I be?

This was her first time pitching at the "Junior" level and she was brought in when our team was already ahead 20-6.  Her role was to get folks out and save the arms of our more seasoned pitchers so they could pitch another day.  No one hit her hard.  There was an infield single.  She got a grounder and threw someone out at home.  No runs scored. 

I'm proud of my daughter for being the only girl in her league.  I was real proud that she could come in and pitch well during the playoffs...even if the game wasn't "on the line."

These pictures are from the warmups.  My wife tried to shoot some video and the battery died.  But Moriah's "real" pitches looked about the same.

She did well. 

Go Moriah.

Go Cubs.

We have another game tomorrow.

Last night was the third night of great baseball in a row.  "Great," in part, because my daughter's team won.  "Great," mostly, because they were close and were well-played.  Even if the "Cubs" had lost they would have each been "great" games.

My daughter plays on the Junior League in Anchorage.  She's the only girl playing in our league.  In the citywide tournament that's going on now, there hasn't been a girl in all of the other teams they've faced. All the other girls have dropped out of baseball altogether or are now playing softball. But, not my daughter.  She wanted to hang in there with the boys and even though she's not as strong a player as some of the guys on her team, she's held her own.  Occasionally she gets a hit.  Occasionally she scores a run.  She does pretty well in the field.  And when any of this happens I am overjoyed for her.  And I want her to enjoy it as well.  I'm her dad. I want the best for her.

But after three tight games in a row, I've determined that I'm too old to be WATCHING baseball, let alone PLAYING it.   These games are stressing me out. 

Last night our daughter started off in right field.  Every time the ball was hit her way, I could feel my nerves get the better of me.  I couldn't pray the ball into her glove hard enough.  She had a nice catch in her only chance at one.  She had a good "hustle" play where she backed up the centerfielder and made a strong throw to second (she has great arm strength).  While she didn't get a hit, she held her own against a very good pitcher.

I want her to win.  I want he to do well.  I want her to catch every ball that comes her way.   I want her to get hits every time she's up.  I want her to come home with the tying run (which she did the night before last).  I want her to do the best she can and have the time of her life doing it.  I don't think I'm living vicariously through her.  I just want her to enjoy what she's doing.

But watching these games is stressing me out.  Three close games in a row.  Every at-bat counts.  Every dropped ball is a missed opportunity.  Every questionable call from the umpire is greeted with displeasure from parents on one side or the other.

And it's not just my daughter I'm stressed out for now.  Now it's the whole team.  They're a great bunch of kids.  I wish them all the best.

I just wish they'd win an easy one.

There's another game on Monday.  That would be a good day for an easy one.

I'm getting too old for these close ones.

"Daddy look at me." 

Those words were shouted time and time again as we went down to the tennis courts to practice riding bikes again today.  Our youngest girls just got "big girl" bikes in the past couple weeks or so.  They must be just about the smallest two-wheeled bikes one can have.  They were hand-me-downs and are now complete with training wheels.

Learning to ride a bike for the first time is an adventure…one I'm ten years removed from with our older girls.  Yes, there are falls every once in a while.  Yes, there are tears.  Yes, it can be be frustrating. And, yes, it can be scary for both parent and child.

But it's NOT boring.

Within the last few days our girls have gotten comfortable enough on their bikes that they feel up to doing "tricks."  So, as they ride they take their hands off the handlebars…or they stand up on the pedals…or they put their feet off to the side. 

Each new move is met with "Daddy, look at me."  And I look.  And I smile.  Riding a bike may be old hat to me, but I need to remember that it's completely "new hat" to them.  Even with the training wheels on, it's an exciting moment for them when they take their feet off or make a sharp turn or go around in circles or go real fast.  As far as they are concerned, they are being very brave and adventurous.  They are testing the limits.  They are pushing the boundaries.  And they want me to look at them and acknowledge their wonderful accomplishments.

I confess that sometimes they have to yell at me more than once…and sometimes more than twice.  Sometimes it's hard for me to have quite the same excitement as they do…although I try.   Sometimes, I'm busy talking with someone or trying to get some work done.  And, sometimes, just because they are twins, I'm busy giving my attention to the other sister.   It can be hard to give attention to both at the same time.  I've yet to master the art of "bi-location."

And, yet, attention is what they crave.  And, it's what they need.  It lets them know that I'm invested in them.  It lets them know that I love and care for them.  It lets them know that they are important to me.  And, hey, these really are big steps for a 4 year old.

So often our kids just want us to "look" at them.  They want us to recognize their accomplishments and also their pains.  They want us to, not make them FEEL as if they are important, but to recognize that they ARE important as well.

This can be a problem in the church, where, often, children are to be seen and not heard…if they are to be seen at all.  We spend so much time an energy trying to keep them quiet or remove them from the "big people" worship that it can be easy for them to think that no one is looking at them and no one is hearing what it is that they have to say…or have to offer.

At Girdwood Chapel, I've tried to make it so kids feel like they are involved in worship.  It does come through during communion and the prominent role they can play there, with kids participating fully with the adults.  But, more, I think it comes through during our prayer time, our "Joys and Concerns."  For it's here that kids really are on the same playing field as their parents and the other adults in the congregation.  They get to offer up their joys and concerns amongst the gathered body.  This is not a special "Children's Time" set aside for them. It's not "Children's Church" or their own Sunday School.    And so we'll hear about the usual joys and concerns that adults bring each week, peppered with prayers for "sick goldfish" or "4th Birthdays" or "boo boos on fingers."  And yet, those are the real joys and concerns of some of our younger attendees.  And by lifting them up and having them recognized by the larger church body, we let them know that they are important and loved and that we recognize that their hurts and happiness are real.

What are other ways our congregation could "look at" and recognize the children we know and care about?

OK, so maybe not EXACTLY like this.  But it looks like a good option on some nights.

(HT/ SD SMITH)

Image by Yellow Snow Photography via FlickrFrom bedtime last night.  Abigail, for the first time, wanted to help sing, "The Ants Go Marching."  She doesn't quite get the whole "rhyming" part of the song.  It went something like this:

Daddy: The ants go marching one by one, hurrah, hurrah.  The ants go marching one by one, hurrah, hurrah.  The ants go marching one by one...
Abigail: The little one stopped to pick up sticks.
Daddy:  And they all went marching down, to the ground, to get out of the rain.  Boom, boom, boom.

Daddy: The ants go marching two by two, hurrah, hurrah.  The ants go marching two by two, hurrah, hurrah.  The ants go marching two by two...
Abigail:  The little one stopped to tie his shoe
Daddy:  And they all went marching down, to the ground, to get out of the rain.  Boom, boom, boom.

Daddy:  The ants go marching three by three, hurrah, hurrah.  The ants go marching three by three, hurrah, hurrah.  The ants go marching three by three...
Abigail:  The little one stopped to close the gate.
Daddy:  And they all went marching down, to the ground, to get out of the rain.  Boom, boom, boom.

Daddy:  The ants go marching four by four, hurrah, hurrah.  The ants go marching four by four, hurrah, hurrah.  The ants go marching four by four...
Abigail:  The little one stopped to pick up sticks.
Daddy:  And they all went marching down, to the ground, to get out of the rain.  Boom, boom, boom.

Daddy:  The ants go marching five by five, hurrah, hurrah.  The ants go marching five by five, hurrah, hurrah.  The ants go marching five by five...
Abigail:  The little one stopped to went to his room.
Daddy:  And they all went marching down, to the ground, to get out of the rain.  Boom, boom, boom.

Daddy:  The ants go marching six by six, hurrah, hurrah.  The ants go marching six by six, hurrah, hurrah.  The ants go marching six by six...
Abigail:  The little one stopped to....
Mommy:  Pick up sticks.  It rhymes.
Abigail:  Pick up sticks.
Daddy:  And they all went marching down, to the ground, to get out of the rain.  Boom, boom, boom.

Daddy:  The ants go marching seven by seven, hurrah, hurrah.  The ants go marching seven by seven, hurrah, hurrah.  The ants go marching seven by seven...
Abigail:  The little one stopped to close the gate.
Daddy:  And they all went marching down, to the ground, to get out of the rain.  Boom, boom, boom.

Daddy:  The ants go marching eight by eight, hurrah, hurrah.  The ants go marching eight by eight, hurrah, hurrah.  The ants go marching eight by eight...
Abigail:  The little one went up the stairs.
Daddy:  And they all went marching down, to the ground, to get out of the rain.  Boom, boom, boom.

Daddy:  The ants go marching nine by nine, hurrah, hurrah.  The ants go marching nine by nine, hurrah, hurrah.  The ants go marching nine by nine ...
Abigail:  The little one stopped to close the gate.
Daddy:  And they all went marching down, to the ground, to get out of the rain.  Boom, boom, boom.

Daddy:  The ants go marching ten by ten, hurrah, hurrah.  The ants go marching ten by ten, hurrah, hurrah.  The ants go marching ten by ten...
Abigail:  The little one went played with magnatiles.
Daddy:  And they all went marching down, to the ground, to get out of the rain.  Boom, boom, boom.

photo © 2007 Melissa Wiese | more info (via: Wylio)
Our younger girls (we have two sets of twins, ages 13 and almost-4) are very mommy-centered.  It's worse since my wife went to work full-time last year and since we've upped the number of days at preschool to 4.  Tuesday is my day home with them.  We sometimes go to the Alaska Wildlife Conservation Center.  We sometimes go out to eat or go on walks. This past Tuesday...I know it sounds fun...we went to church.

And, now that my lovely wife is taking college courses to get a teaching degree so she can have a degree to do what she's already doing--teaching--that means that she has to spend more time in online classes and studying.

What I mean to say is that I spend a whole lot of time with the younger twins.  I'm a good Daddy.  I'm the one who usually gets them dressed in the morning and gets them to Little Bears Playhouse.  I'm usually the one who makes their lunch.  I'm very much "around" and spend quality time with them.  And, as of late, Mommy's a little more occupied.

While I'm sure all of this has an effect on them, their attachment to Mommy can be...well...obnoxious.  Julie can find it hard to leave in the AM or even to run out to pick up another kid from some activity in the evening.  They always have "one more thing they need to say".  They need "one more hug."  They sit on the back of the couch looking out the window and, on occasion, cry their little hearts out as Mommy drives away. 

But, what kind of...really...in a way...sorta bothers me is bedtime.  Julie and I will be in there and we'll read and we'll sing and we'll tuck them in.  But, most nights, when all four of us are in there, the girls want just about nothing to do with me.  If Mommy already has one kid in her lap, the other doesn't want to sit on mine.   They want Mommy to read and Mommy to hold them and Mommy to scratch their backs and it's Mommy that they cry out for when they are sad.

I try not to take it personally.  I know there are some Mommy issues going on.  But sometimes I feel like a "fourth wheel" on a tricycle.  (Metaphor's not real strong, but you know what I mean).

Julie's aware.  We've talked. 

Mommy issues.

Any suggestions?

I follow Carlos Whitaker's blog. He has this wonderful video up for an award at the People's Choice Awards in the Favorite Viral Video Category. Take a look at what happens when he tells his young son, "You're not a single lady" as the music starts.

Very funny.

photo © 2008 journeys | more info (via: Wylio)
OK, it's been a few hours now and I've calmed down.  At about 8:30 AM this morning, this post was a lot "rant-ier" in my head.  It involves many more CAPITAL LETTERS and would have probably been much more entertaining.

First, let me say that I love ALL of my children...all five of them...with a special place in my heart for my dog.  They bring me joy.  I thank God for them.  They are a blessing.  They are the wind beneath my wings.  I love spending time with them.  I enjoy being a "Daddy."  Yadda...yadda...yadda...  But it's true.

That said, they can be obnoxious as all get-out and cause me undue stress.  I'm sure those of you with kids of your own will know what I'm talking about.

Today it was Miss Abigail...one of our not-quite-four-year-old twins.  Today it was Abigail.  Tomorrow it could be someone else.  In our house right now, it's often Abigail.  She is, what some may call, "willful."  That, can be a good thing.  Oftentimes it's a trying thing.  She's a girl who knows what she wants and will let you know when you've got it wrong.

This story really starts last night when Abigail wouldn't go to sleep and kept calling out for "Mommy." (It's hardly ever "Daddy!" which is called out at night in our house.)   She was keeping her older sisters up.  She was keeping her twin sister up.  She was making it hard for her parents to go to bed.  Just wouldn't calm down even though her twin sister, Bethany, was out like a light on her own bed.

Eventually she fell asleep.  But, as any parent knows, this was going to make the next morning...today... more difficult.

Which brings us to this morning.  Today, the young girls were going to get up early enough for Mommy to put their hair in buns so they could look all nice and pretty when they went off to daycare.  They had buns last night and were told they had to get them out before going to bed.  So, we tried to get them up a little early...by around 7:40 AM to make this happen before Mommy needed to go to work at the school around 8:05 or thereabouts.

I woke them up singing a wonderful, sing-songy Daddy song.  They woke up.  But they wouldn't move.  Bethany got moving...went potty...got dressed...sat reasonably still so Mommy could do her hair.  Abigail was fussy, distracted, etc.  Mommy wanted me to brush Abigail's hair to get it ready for the ponytail and bun, but Abigail would have none of it.  Time was running out for Mommy to get to work and, after some difficult brushing, very quickly Abigail got her bun.  This was probably around 8:05 AM.  Mommy had to leave...now.

But something was wrong with the bun according to Abigail.  It wasn't right.  It didn't feel right.  She started throwing a temper tantrum while my lovely wife and two older girls were trying to leave the house.  She was mad.  In the temper tantrum she pulled out the bun from her hair and kept screaming that she wanted a bun.

I don't know how to do buns.  I can do ponytails.  I can put in barrettes.  "I don't know how to do buns," I told her.  She followed me, screaming, as I tried to shower and get ready to go for the day.  "AND YOU PULLED OUT THE BUN YOU ALREADY HAD!!!!"  We'd been working on 40 minutes of general fussiness and frustration at this point.

The crying calmed down. She got to a place where she could say, with a very forced smile on her face, "Daddy, please give me another bun."  Even Bethany said, almost too pleasantly for the circumstances, "Daddy, why don't you just give her a bun?"

I don't DO buns...but how could I resist the two of them?

So, with lots of excuses for my handiwork, I gave her a bun and it looked good and we were ready to go...

...or so I thought.

Abigail wanted to wear a Sleeping Beauty Tiara to daycare.  But she couldn't put it on because of that wonderful bun I had put in her hair.  And, in a fit, she pulls out the bun again and wears the tiara.

I'm not happy.  She's at least not as unhappy as she was.  We can go.  It's 8:35 and my visions for getting out of the house early with two twins in their nice hair buns and in good moods is out the window.  But we can go.

We get downstairs to the door, coats on, boots on, tiaras on, bags in hand...and Abigail informs me that I didn't get her a bandaid that I was supposed to get her...a "Kai-lan" bandaid for those familiar with the TV show.

I know that if we don't go back upstairs to get the bandaid for her almost-invisible-to-the-naked-eye cut she will cry the whole time I'm trying to get her in her car seat and will throw a fit as we drive to the daycare.  I know it.

So, upstairs we go.  She points out the bandaids.  She tells me which one to get.  She shows me where to put it.  I put it on ever so lovingly....

And then she screams at me, "NO, THAT'S NOT RIGHT" and starts pulling the bandaid off.

!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!

I'd had enough.  You know that "tied up in knots" feeling you get inside when you're very stressed by a situation.  I had this.  And I'm sure I'll regret writing this online because she'll probably find this when she's 22.  But, I said, rather loudly and with not an ounce of humor or joy in my voice or on my face, "Look, you little ingrate.  I have nothing else for you.  We're done.  We have to go."

I know that's harsh.  She really not a "little ingrate" ALL the time.  But...for some reason, this exchange was OK.  I have no idea why.  Bethany, who had been doing her best to stay out of the way, led the way down the stairs.  We went out to the car.  We drove to daycare.  They ran in.  They hugged and kissed me.  And it was OK.  Wow.  Anticlimactic.  They were fine.  I thanked God that a four-year-old's short attention span means they move on pretty quickly from an emotional outburst.

I, however, needed to relax with a coffee at my favorite coffee shop.  I needed to sit without the stress of kids yelling at me or trying my darnedest to please them and having little to no success.

And with that first sip of my "16 ounce, skinny, sugar-free hazelnut latte with half the usual amount of hazelnut" I entered into the grown-uup world again.  Checking e-mails.  Conversations about music.  Following up with commitments.  Enjoying the feel of the coffee cup in my hand.

That is how my kids are driving me to drink (coffee).  Today it was Abigail.  Tomorrow it may be one of the other four.  And I'll be able to retreat into my coffee cup again.  This, you might guess, is not the first time I've sought out the coffee shop for de-stress.

Now, if anyone out there has actually gotten to the end of this post, I ask a couple of things from you.

1. Remember that this all started with my comment that I love my kids.  If you recount this story to Abigail when she's older, I ask that you start with that too.  And, if get to meet her when she's older I'm sure you'll love her, too.  She can, however, be a pistol.
2. If you're ever wondering what gift you can get me, a coffee card to a local coffee shop does wonders.  On some days, it seems that that's what keeps me sane.  It has healing properties that some don't truly appreciate.

This is the conversation that took place this morning, as Abigail (almost 4 years old) woke me up.  She was in the room with me and was talking with her twin sister, Bethany, who was down at the bottom of the stairs.

Bethany:  "Abigail, what are you doing?"

Abigail:  "Waking up Daddy."

Bethany:  "What daddy?"

Abigail:  "Our Daddy?"

Bethany:  "Oh."

Ummm.....  What daddy? 

It was only later that I realized they'd been playing make believe and there was "real mommy" and "pretend mommy."  So, I assume that Bethany wanted to know if Abigail was pretending or talking about the real world at that point.

On our way up to Chicago tonight one of our three year olds REALLY had to go potty and so we made an unscheduled, yet very necessary stop.  While the last 20 minutes before the stop were horrible, with lots of whining from the car seat, that is not the "horrible feeling" to which I'm referring.

We got to an exit with bathrooms, stopping at Burger King.  We rushed Junior Twin #1 to the bathroom.  I was making my way in with Junior Twin #2 when she darted in front of me and her little, three year old foot caught the front of my foot.

Here's where the horrible feeling comes in.

As soon as she hit my foot, that little body of hers dropped...fast.  She was like a tree (a little one) falling over.  And it happened so fast that she didn't have time to brace herself.  Her head, clearly, smashed into the cement sidewalk.  I dropped the garbage I had in one hand and the keys I had in the other and started to pick her up.

It all happened so hard and fast that I was sure that I would pick her up and see teeth broken or a bloody nose or a gash or...I don't know.   I just knew she hit hard and that it was MY foot that she tripped on.  It turns out that she hit her forehead and has quite a goose egg tonight.  But I was sure it was going to be much, much worse than this.

As with all head traumas, we watched her for a while and made sure she didn't fall asleep until she had behaved normally for about 4 hours. 

She'll be OK.

But it's a horrible feeling to see your kids get hurt.

We're just thankful that it wasn't as bad as feared.

Sometimes being a parent is quite the adventure.