...When a Story Calms the Storm

One day, there was a superhero who lost his powers.  He flew all the way to Noah's house to ask for help.  Rat-a-tat-tat.  He knocked on the window, but there was no answer.  Knock!  Knock!  He pounded on the door, but there was no answer.  Ding-dong.  Ding-dong.  He rang the doorbell, but there was no answer.  Nobody in the house could hear the superhero because Noah was throwing a fit.  Noah was so loud, he hurt everybody's ears, and the poor superhero couldn't get his powers back.

Moral of the story?  Don't throw temper tantrums, or you won't be able to help superheroes. 

Trip to the zoo!  After several trips to the zoo, we have definitely concluded that our kids do not like animals.  Because ants and plants and garbage are way cooler. (Oct. 2014)

Not too long ago, I read some where (perhaps in Bringing Up Bebe), that an effective tactic to distract young children when they are "hurt," is to tell them a story about a time you got hurt.  You might be surprised when their tears and screams stop at the sound of, "When Mommy was a little girl..." Though I often forget to use this method in the shrill screeches of my three-year-old daughter, I have learned to use a story-telling method to avert chaotic situations.

Noah loves superheroes, so a story like the one above silences his voice and opens his ears.  The kids eagerly ask me to tell it again... and again.  During Rounds 2 and 3, they fill in the blanks, and by Round 4, they become the story-tellers.

Right now, the exterior of our mini van looks like raw evidence of a dust storm, and the inside resembles a children's nursery.  (I hope at least some of you can relate, so I don't appear to be an entirely deficient mother).  Miriam usually sits in the back, playing with a toy.  Then she drops the toy.  Then she screams... and screams for me to pick it up.  I used to reason with her; I used to scream back at her; I used to ignore her.  Now, I retort with this tale:

The boys need their rest!

If I had very, very long arms, I would catch a helicopter as it flew by.  If I had very, very long arms, I would reach up to the moon and collect all the star dust.  If I had very, very long arms, I would reach to the bottom of the ocean and find treasure.

"Noah, what would you do if you had very, very long arms?"
"Nothing!  I don't have them."
"Miriam, what would you do if you had very, very long arms?"
"I would pick up my toy!"

Moral?  Don't drop your toys while Mommy is driving.

Earlier this week, my saint-of-a-mother was babysitting the kids while I was at the doctor.  I came back to the house as everyone except Miriam was eating lunch.  Miriam was complaining about her spoon.  So my mom told her the funny and captivating story of "Naughty Miriam."  I had to smile.  Whether I subconsciously learned the tactic from my mom (who certainly has achieved "expert status" in raising eight kids) or from the author of Bringing Up Bebe, or from my own trial and error in raising my kids, all I can say is, it works.  When I create the state of mind to tell a tale, it keeps my heart rate down and changes my mood.

Miri and Gus reading

We all have a craving for stories.  You might fulfill yours through the tales of Charles Dickens, George Lucas, or the Kardashians.  Even our Master Teacher taught through stories; so I guess I'll take my lead from Him.

...When You're Carrying Too Much Weight

It's true: the baby is nearly five months old, and I can't pull my pants up much past my knees.  If it's not yoga or doesn't have an elastic band, it ain't fitting.  I'm not sure if I can chalk it up to it to being my third baby or being thirty.  No, I haven't tried exercising.  Or dieting.  I suppose I'm not that interested in how to lose the weight; however, I would like to know: At what point do I break down and "upsize" my wardrobe?

Noah was out shooting hoops the other day.  He suddenly started yelling, "I'm frustrated!  I'm so frustrated.  I'm frustrated... like Mommy!"  Yikes.  Having my two-year-old associate me with frustration sent me through a series of flashbacks.

"Knock it off!  I'm so frustrated.  Look at the mess you've made!"
"All you guys do is fight!  I'm sick of it.  It's so frustrating."
"Do you know how much you're frustrating me?  Follow the rules!"
I can assure you all of these were relayed in loud volume and a lost temper.

Yes, my boys are naked and my daughter is wearing a Cinderella dress.  And, yes, that is the silverware compartment from the dishwasher filled with blocks.  Not to worry, they're just a group of Care Bears driving a cloud car.

For the past few months, I have been dealing with very uncomfortable and sometimes painful symptoms.  Some of these symptoms include severe light-headedness and numbness of my arms, legs, and face.  These months have been filled with doctors appointments, diagnostic tests, and anxiety of the unknown.  A spinal tap eventually ruled out multiple sclerosis.  An MRI of my brain found lesions (which Nick is hoping is a sign of telepathy), but all the other MRIs found nothing.  My most recent neurological study showed a potential dysfunction in my autonomic nervous system.  So now we will be exploring that avenue.  All other details aside, living with these symptoms and not having a diagnosis has been a real weight on my shoulder.  As a result, I'd venture to say I've been a pretty terrible mother.

Miriam wearing the Care Bears night gown I wore as a little girl.  Also, my childhood pencil collection is sprawled all over the floor.

When you muster up the courage (or exhaustion) to finally tell God, "I quit!  You do it," He does.  He even will do it in very tangible ways.  I have had many people help me shed my pounds of anxiety.  My mom has watched the kids for all of my appointments and was my caretaker and nanny after being debilitated by the spinal tap.  My in-laws have flooded me with support, giving me medical guidance and encouragement.  Family and friends (and MOPS) alike have come alongside me to uplift me in prayer and visited to entertain the kids.  I've even been graced by the input and support of some east coast relatives, with whom I don't get the chance to talk to all that often.  Just this week I have been blessed with meals provided by the Holy Angels community. I am so thankful to each person who has helped me and prayed for me and am so grateful to God for His faithfulness.

He asks for a Pop Tart every day, for all three meals.  In reality, he gets to enjoy one once a week... in his super cape!

Noah was frustrated because he couldn't make a basket.  He remedied the situation by dragging a chair over to the basketball hoop.  Usually, though, when my kids are frustrated, they cry.

I am frustrated because I have ten pounds I can't lose, and none of my clothes fit.  I'm frustrated because half of my body is numb, and I am carrying kids around all day.  I'm frustrated because I'm so light-headed, I can barely think straight sometimes.  I'm frustrated that my time and money is being spent on doctors.  Slowly, I am learning how to drag little chairs to prop myself up, but I'm also learning how to cry for help.  At the end of the day, when the wave of anxiety comes in the darkness, I take comfort in knowing that someone much bigger than me is in control.  He always is... and He'll take the weight off my shoulders if I let Him.

Gus at about four months