Fighting the Bullies, My Sons

  After a hectic day full of mommy frustrations, I experienced one of my darkest parenting moments to date. All day I had fought with the boys, particularly Henry (4), about every single basic routine that is in our day. Time to get dressed, time to go, time to clean, you name it, the boys refused to do it. We met Keith for a rushed dinner and I actually cried in the restaurant telling him about it. How am I supposed to raise these boys if they don't listen to me? 

  I will give you some background information for the story I am about to tell. Recently, Gavin and Henry have been playing with a new friend. This boy is closer to Gavin's age (5) and enjoys doing everything he can to exclude and put Henry down. Henry often comes to me crying about what is happening but he still wants to play. Henry has experienced the hurt feelings resulting from being treated this way and Gavin has experienced the social high of being associated with the "top dog."

  I do not blame this other boy for the behavior of my sons. Every time my boys try to give me a "but he..." excuse, I say, "You are in charge of you." I do think that this recent history is a part of the bigger story. Gavin and Henry have experienced new social behavior and were acting out this behavior in order to experiment socially, and to better understand new experiences and emotions. Or maybe they were just being bullies because they are mean boys.

  As parents, I think we always try to figure out where the negative behavior  our children display comes from. We don't want to believe that our children are really capable of being or doing [fill in the blank] on their own. We blame things like TV or too much sugar, or not enough sleep, or absent fathers, or friends who are bad influences. We hate to admit that our children are solely responsible for their misbehavior, especially if such misbehavior points to a perceived character flaw, or our own failures as parents. 

  Following the tear-filled spilling of frustrations over dinner, Keith went to fix a plumbing problem at our rent house while I took the boys to a park with a splash-pad. During our time there, Henry sat in time out twice. Once for spitting mouthfuls of water at another boy, and once for wandering out of the play area and ignoring my calls for him to come back. I decided that we would leave if he did anything else. I have a "Three strikes and you're out" policy. It's very reasonable. I would love to have a one strike policy but that would make me a tyrant.

  I quickly assessed a new family that had arrived. The adult was an older man who gave me the creeps, too much smiling. I wondered if he was there by himself but he appeared to be with a boy who was about 3. I watched Everly closely but glanced up at the rest of the splash pad frequently. At one point I heard crying and quickly looked at my boys. They were behind a water shooter and both looked happy. I went back to watching Everly until I heard more crying. When I looked again my boys were just as they had been, both aiming the water shooter and both happy. The boy who was crying was darting back and forth while my boys followed him with the stream of water. I wondered if he was actually laughing but then he just crouched on the ground and covered his head. All the while my two boys were together gleefully harassing him with the stream of water. The boy was trying to runaway but never ran far enough to get away from the water. After trying several different directions he was panicking. I frantically called for them to stop as the boy's grandpa (or whoever he was) laughingly went to pick him up.

   I called my boys to me. I couldn't believe what I had just seen. That little boy was in pure distress. I hoped that Gavin and Henry didn't realize what they were doing. I hoped that they had thought that the boy was playing with them. I hoped that they had not known that he was upset and continued to spray him. They walked over. Gavin was working up a serious face, Henry was working up an innocent face. I quizzed them about what happened.

"Were you spraying that boy?" 

"Yes." 

"Was he trying to run away?" 

"Yes." 

"Did he want you to stop?" 

"Yes." 

"Did you know he was crying?"

"Yes."

"And you sprayed him anyway?"

"Yes."

  

They knew exactly what they were doing. There was no mistake. "Get your things. We are leaving." I said through my teeth. "Get. Your. Things." Henry dawdled the whole way and I was fuming. I thought I was going to explode. I was saying to myself things like "Just you wait until we get to the car." And "I'm going to light their asses on fire." Light their asses on fire? Really? What was I saying? I wanted to spank them so hard that their little bottoms stung and burned. I have never said that before. I don't even know anyone who talks like that. Why was I thinking like that? I wanted them to cower and cry like they had made the little boy at the park cower and cry. I wanted to yell some sense into them and make them sorry because they didn't seem to be sorry.

  I buckled everyone in. I had to work really hard to control myself and not spank them. I knew that if I did it would be too harsh. I also knew that spanking them was the exact wrong way to teach them not to bully and hurt others. If I spanked them until they cried I would be doing to them what they had done to the poor boy. I knew that punishing them with a spanking would probably encourage more bullying in the future, because the next time they had an opportunity to be bigger and more powerful than another that they would try to use that power to hurt as they had been hurt. I said some stern words, got in the car, and turned on worship music. Really loud. I said "Lord, help me." Over and over again.

  How will I punish them? What can I do that will be serious enough? A time-out won't be severe enough and a spanking will do more harm than good. I looked back at them. They were serious. I said "Boys, that was very wrong to spray that boy even though he was crying and trying to get away. We need to have a serious consequence. When we get home, even though it's too early for bed, you are going to bed. You cannot play or do anything else when we get home. You will go straight to bed." "And get up after our time-out is over?" Gavin asked. "No. We will put jommies on and brush teeth and go to bed. It's an early bed time, you won't get up until morning." I replied. "Oh. Because we were so naughty?" He asked, and looked out the window. "Yes. That was very wrong to treat that boy the way you did."

  I texted Keith to let him know what was happening. I didn't want him to come back home and get them out of bed. When we pulled in the driveway, I noticed that the toys were still in the yard from earlier. Normally, I would have asked the boys to clean up, but I decided to keep this solemn and follow through to get them down quickly. I put them in the shower and was all business. I didn't let them play at all just soap and rinse and done. They were serious by now, the gravity of the situation was sinking in. After they got in bed they said they were hungry. I told them they had had a good dinner and needed to just go to bed now. I questioned myself about that but told myself that they had eaten well at dinner and would survive until morning.

  Everly and I played downstairs and Keith came home just as I was starting her bedtime. He had read my text. He was serious and didn't try to go in to see the boys. I was so relieved. In our house Daddy is Mr. Fun so he would have ruined things if he had gone in their room. He couldn't believe the story and was respectful of the way I had handled it. 

  I couldn't stop questioning myself. Had I done enough? Did the boys really understand? Was sending then to bed early an effective way to teach them not to bully others in the future? I was ashamed of myself too. I had raged against my boys. I cried myself to sleep as I wondered how to follow up on this in the morning. I had to talk with them about it some more. I had to make sure that they really understood.

  In the morning, I was still so sad. I wanted us to have a good day but first we had to take care of business. The idea of journaling came to me. I decided to have them journal by drawing pictures about what had happened. I made scrambled eggs and toast. After breakfast, I sent them out to jump on the trampoline. They already had energy to burn and I knew that the journaling would be more successful if they got their wiggles out first. When they were done, I called them to the table and told them what we were going to do. Neither one complained. Both were appropriately solemn and attended to the task.

  I took a piece of paper and folded it in half making two sections on each side. I wrote the journal prompts in each of the four sections and instructed them to draw the following pictures.

The first one was "What happened?" I gave no extra instructions. These pictures are Gavin's. Henry did well too but his work is not as clear as Gavin's so I am not showing it here. The words in black ink are Gavin's dictated captions.

"I was spraying a little boy and he was crying." Notice that he drew himself much larger that the other boy.

  The little boy felt sad.

"When I hurt others, I feel sad."

"I could make it better by hugging."

I left the lesson at that. I think they got it.

I will definitly be using this type of journaling in the future. I don't have to wonder if they understand because they represented each part perfectly through their drawings. If necessary, we can bring these out and look at them again. Unlike the night before, I felt closure after each boy drew their pictures and we were able to move on. I thanked God for giving me patience and wisdom.

  We went through our morning school routine and packed a lunch for the park and splash pad, a different one. "What's with the splash pads?" You ask? Well, they close after this week and I want to squeeze every last drop out of this summer that we possibly can. In a few weeks (or one week), when summer is fading and splash pads and pools are closed, I don't want to regret not taking full advantage of the summer and the fun of cool water.

Everly's Birth Story (The whole story, may be too graphic for some readers)

Baby girl is turning 1!!!

It's amazing what a year can do for a baby. A year ago, she was a squishy little ball who rarely opened her eyes and nursed constantly. Now she is a bright eyed girl who walks around the house with her hands behind her back, enjoys being a part of family activities, says around 10 words, gives hugs and kisses to her brothers and her mommy and daddy, loves dress up, asserts herself, bosses the boys with a pointing finger, and helps herself to snacks from the pantry.

  A year ago I thought she might never come. I had false labor every 3rd night for a full month before she was born. I had pages and pages of contraction times recorded in an an iPhone app. My husband was pressuring me to just go into labor (like there was anything I could do about it) and reminding me that if I hadn't changed doctors at 28 weeks I could have been induced a week early.

  

  Natural birth was very important to me. I had planned to avoid taking an epidural for both of my boys, and both times was pressured by nurses to take one. Both times I regretted it and I knew that I would regret a third delivery going the way the first two had so I decided to make a change. I changed doctors and hospitals. I was less concerned about my old doctor than I was the nurses I had encountered. They were mean, and ridiculed natural birth. Because the nurses are in and out throughout the time spent in labor and delivery and the doctor is only there for 15 minutes, I knew that I had to change hospitals and if that meant changing doctors, so be it.

  I thought of all of my friends. Most were like me and had prepared for a natural birth but ended up taking an epidural or needing other interventions. I could think of only one that had actually had a natural birth. I asked her who her doctor was and she gave me a great recommendation saying that the nurses at the hospital know that this doctor's patients usually want a natural birth and don't even mention epidurals. That was exactly what I wanted! So, at 28 weeks I made the switch. It felt like breaking up with my old doctor's office. The woman at the front desk who was usually chatty, was cold and said nothing when she handed over my medical records. I felt like saying "It's not you, it's me!"

  So after a month of thinking that every day was the day she would be born, I woke up with contractions that hadn't subsided while I slept. Most nights the contractions lasted hours but whenever I finally fell asleep, I would wake up to find they had stopped. It was the day before my due date. I decided to be as active as possible in order to keep things going. I made cupcakes to take to the hospital to celebrate her arrival, I cleaned and vacuumed and swept and mopped. My sister stopped by and we chatted for awhile. I told her I thought this might be it. 

  I called my doctor to see if she could see me that day, she had an appointment that afternoon. I told her about my contractions. She checked me and found that I had made some progress but not much. She thought I might be in labor but wasn't sure. I went home and did some more organizing and cleaning. 

  By the late afternoon I had to lay down. I couldn't make dinner. I told the boys to get their backpacks out and pack clothes and pajamas so they could spend the night with grandma. Keith got home from work and started talking about problems he was having and a meeting he was going to have the next day. I tried to listen but was getting really irritated because I knew he wouldn't be going to work for the next few days so whatever he was talking about didn't matter. I had been texting him all day with updates about how I was doing but I guess he didn't understand that this really was "it."

  The boys were running around yelling so finally I said "I need them gone!" Keith was all offended that I would say that about our children. I don't know what I said but I finally made him understand that I was, in fact, in labor and I needed the boys out of the house. He got the message and we got the kids in the car with their overnight stuff and dropped them off at grandma's house. I drove, ha!

  After that we went to Chilli's for dinner. I barely fit in the booth. It felt like everyone was staring at my tummy. I ordered pasta thinking that it might be good to carb load like I would before a long run. I had to breathe through contractions and decided to let Keith drive home. I don't know what we did at home, maybe pack for the hospital. After dark we went on a huge walk around the neighborhood. I was determined that this time the contractions would not stop. By the end of the walk, I had to stop and lean on Keith during contractions.

  We decided to try to get some sleep so we went to bed. I actually got several hours of sleep before a contraction woke me up. It was really strong and it hurt. I sort of panicked and told Keith we needed to go to the hospital immediately. We got there at about 3:00 am and went through all of the ridiculous questions to be admitted. When they checked me, I was at 3 cm. I was so disappointed! The nurse said "We'll probably keep you, it is your due date." I thought, "Of course you're keeping me, this is it." But I was very discouraged by the slow progression.

  Nurses were in and out. They started an IV in my hand but I requested a hep lock so that I could move around and get in the shower if I felt like it. They hooked me up to monitors which I tolerated for about an hour. It was nice to hear the baby's heartbeat and see my contractions on the monitor. Then I got restless and decided to try the shower. It was a really great way to cope with the pain. One contraction made me collapse to my hands and knees. It must have lasted 5 or 10 minutes. I was in this position when Keith came to try to get me out of the shower. He said the doctor was there to break my water. I could hear the excitement in his voice, he loves to get things going and breaking my water was surely going to speed things up. I couldn't speak. I thought the doctor could wait. She had to wait, I could not move. Keith tried to coax me out of the shower like I was a little child. I tried so hard to ignore him. Then he said he was going to turn the water off and I managed to moan "no, no, no." That water was the only thing getting me through that contraction. Thankfully, he left me alone. The contraction finally ended, I thought it never would. I took several minutes to pull myself together after that. I managed to get up and out of the shower and move over to the bed. The room was quiet. The doctor had left. When she did come back she checked me and I was at 6 or 7. I was so discouraged. Contractions were awful and I was afraid I had hours to go. 

  The doctor broke my water and discovered miconium. This changed things. Had I been at another hospital, the baby would have been taken immediately to the NICU. Since my hospital didn't have a NICU or a baby nursery, the nurses were prepared to care for the baby in the room. The plan had been to let the baby stay with me and nurse for awhile but now she was going to have to go immediately to the warming bed where the nurses would be waiting to clean her up. I understood all of this and didn't get upset. It was just confirmation to me that she had been ready to be born for awhile. After she broke my water and explained the meconium procedure, the doctor left the room. 

  My mom arrived and said I had "the look." Meaning she thought I was really close. I was so miserable! Each contraction was searing pain that took over my whole body, though it was concentrated in my lower abdomin. The only thing that helped was to bury my head in Keith's chest and hang on to him. It didn't make the pain less but breathing him in helped me cope. My mom decided to wait in the waiting room until it was time. I didn't think I could take anymore. I asked the nurse if there was anything she could do for me. She said no that I would probably have the baby in the next 20 minutes. That was hopeful! I thought I had longer to go. 

  After she left, it was just Keith and me. The lights were off and I was on my side just clinging to the rails on the side of the bed. After only a minute or two, I felt myself curling down and pushing involuntarily. Then it happened again! I said "I'm pushing! I'm pushing!" Keith ran to get the doctor. Everyone came rushing in. They wanted me to move and I couldn't move, I almost cried I was in the middle of a contraction and everyone was trying to make me roll over. I asked to sit up higher and the doctor said no. I couldn't believe it. I had thought she would let me be however I wanted. I knew that if I could just sit up I could get her out. I was unable to communicate I just whimpered. She practically yelled at me, "Bethany, get control!" As she said that the contraction subsided. I knew I had better get control and I was able to rest for a moment. I breathed deeply and gathered my strength. At the first sign of the next contraction, I pushed with everything I had. She was crowning, the doctor said she could see that the baby had lots of hair. I just kept pushing, so ready for it to be over. The doctor coached me to slow down and just do little pushes. I did for as long as I could stand it but it felt like fire to have her in the birth canal so I decided it was time to get her out. I roared and pushed with all of my might. She slid right out. The doctor said "Reach down and touch your baby!" I realized my hands were gripping the edge of the bed so tight that I couldn't let go. She said it again and I had to concentrate to make my hands let go of the bed so I could touch the baby. They put her on my stomach and she was so strong she kicked her feet against me and scooted up a few inches. My arms weren't really working to hold her properly but she felt so heavy and squishy on me (she was 8' 6"). I said "Thank you, Jesus." And the room was quiet. I held Everly and looked at her for the first time. She was real and she was here and my pain was gone. She was perfect.

  She was also completely brown and smelled pretty bad from the miconium. As soon as the cord was cut they apologized that they had to take her to get cleaned up. I said that's fine she needed it she was really stinky. I was getting cleaned up and the doctor yanked the placenta out just a few minutes after she was born. In no time she was out of there. I was so emotional, I couldn't stop crying. I wanted to hold my baby and my husband to hold me. They were on the other side of the room with their backs to me. I felt vulnerable and alone. The labor and delivery nurse said I had done a really good job. Before long, I had my baby back in my arms.  I was told to wait an hour to nurse just to be sure her airways were cleared out. She was so awake and so eager to nurse. She could hold her head up already. 

  Around the time I started to nurse my dad and Kelley stopped by. I didn't make the baby stop and she didn't stop nursing on her own so they did't get much of a look at her. After they left, the nursery nurses came to check on her and give her a real bath. I decided to take a shower and change clothes myself. I noticed I was gushing blood but my doctor had told me not to worry about blood. 

  In an office visit, I had told my doctor about my previous delivery. Immediately after my second son was born, the doctor didn't say anything to me but had looked concerned and had the nurse turn my pitocin drip back on. I had been researching natural birth in preparation for Everly's birth and knew that pitocin was used, even in home births, not only to induce labor but to stop a post-partum hemorrhage by making the uterus contract. When I told my doctor that she may want to have some pitocin handy, she dismissed my fears and said "Red is our favorite color." She made me feel like a silly girl. I know bleeding is normal after birth but I also know that women used to bleed to death after giving birth.

  I told myself that my bleeding was normal and that the nurses would be checking me frequently, as they had after my previous two deliveries. The nurses would notice if there was a problem, I reasoned. While I was finishing up in the shower, I was told it was time to move to a post-partum room. I was ready to go to the next room and relax with the baby. I rode in a wheelchair and moved easily to the next bed. At this point I changed nurses for the third time in two hours. Everly was born at 6:56 am. Right before shift change. It was around 9:00 when I moved to the post-partum wing.

  I was starting to feel weak and tired, and was too sore to sit up so I laid on my side to nurse the baby. It was so cozy! She seemed to love this position. My sister came for a visit so I let her hold the baby. She brought me coffee, which I don't think I actually got to drink. As we were talking, I was aware that I had really been bleeding a lot. I was embarrassed to be checked while she was there so I waited until after she left to call the nurse. I really couldn't believe that they hadn't come in on their own yet. 

  After she left, I had a little argument with myself. I reasoned that it couldn't hurt to just ask them to check, that was their job after all. I got up the courage to push the button and say the words I dreaded to say, "I need someone to come check my bleeding." A nurse practitioner that I had known from my former doctor's office came in to check me. She pulled back the sheets and gasped the biggest most horrified gasp that I had ever heard. I just nodded my head. I knew it was bad. I said I should have called sooner but I kept thinking that it would stop while I nursed. She danced her fingertips on my tummy and immediately I passed a huge clot. I didn't look, but Keith said it was the size of a basketball.

  In a moment my room was full of nurses. They were speaking their lingo but I gathered that they all knew what I needed but were afraid to make any calls without the doctor. I was given something to make me contract to stop the bleeding. They also talked me into taking a narcotic pain reliever which I really didn't want. They changed the sheets while I was still in the bed. My husband said that I was white as a sheet. I knew that the nurses wanted to check my hemoglobin levels to see if I needed a transfusion but they were waiting for the doctor to order it.

  I was weak and felt so strange. My in laws were bringing the boys to see their sister. I told Keith to call them because I didn't feel well enough to see them. They were already on their way so I didn't want to disappoint them. We decided to let them come in anyway. My boys were so cute when they saw their sister! They crawled up on the bed with me and I let them take turns holding her. I was crying again. It was such a beautiful moment. 

  After a short time I thought I might pass out. I waved for them to leave the room and shouted to Keith "I'm about to pass out!" He whisked everyone out of the room as I slumped over to the side. I felt like I had fallen asleep. I was dreaming about my precious boys. In my dream I was floating along the ceiling following them down the hall just smiling at how adorable they were walking together. 

  I woke up to my nurse patting my cheek and calling my name. I felt dreamy and slowly pieced everything together. I wondered why I had taken a nap while everyone was around, then I remembered that I had passed out. I panicked because I knew I had been holding the baby but I didn't have her now. I looked at Keith he was holding her and had the most haunting expression on his face. He was looking at me but it wasn't like normal making eye contact. His expression was distant and horrified. I knew it must have been bad and I just stayed still and quite. Every nurse on the floor was in my room. Everyone was whispering "Seizure, seizure, does she have seizures?" Keith shook his head "no." Once again I got the vibe that the nurses were afraid of my doctor. 

  The baby started crying and that snapped Keith in to action. He asked several times for a bottle before a nurse paid attention to him. I watched him feed the baby while there was still a flurry of activity going on around me. I don't know what they were doing. I started bossing Keith about how to feed the baby and everyone laughed that I must be ok. I didn't want to do anything to mess up breast feeding. 

  After most of the nurses left and everything seemed to calm down. I continued to feel really strange. I was weak and a little loopy. I was falling asleep but I also couldn't relax. I had to concentrate to breath. Each time I inhaled was a concious effort. I was afraid that if I fell asleep that I would stop breathing. I told the nurse this and she said in a motherly tone that that was what she was there for. She offered me oxygen. Perfect, I thought, and said yes. The tubing was uncfomfortable in my nose and the oxygen was cold as I inhaled, but it was a relief. I was able to relax and finally felt a little safer. If I fell asleep or if I passed out again, at least I would have oxygen. The baby cried again and I didn't want her to have anymore formula so I asked Keith to give her to me to nurse. I grabbed her and turned over to my other side to nurse. It was the first time I had moved. Keith said I had "Mommy superpowers."

  Keith ordered lunch for me. I hadn't eaten since the night before. I had the bed position me up but I couldn't lift my arms to take a bite. Keith had to spoon feed me. I wondered if this was what it would be like when we are old. What a strange feeling not to be able to feed myself.

  After all of that happened, my doctor didn't come back until almost 5:00. Her face was terrified when she entered the room. She said I didn't have a seizure I had just passed out. It was too late that day to get blood work done so she was going to have that checked in the morning to see how much blood I had lost and if I needed a transfusion. After she left, Keith looked at me very seriously and said. "You didn't just pass out. That was a seizure, your back was arched and you were snorting." He said when he called the nurses he said "I'm losing her, I'm losing her." He really thought I was dying. I had seen it in his face. This had been serious and the doctor knew it but was downplaying it.

  I was hungry for dinner and got back to nursing the baby. I started to feel normal again and was happy to have family visit that evening. I held Everly next to me all night long.

  Early the next morning someone came to draw blood. I got up and tried to take a shower. It was my first time to try to walk and I couldn't believe the effort it took. Thankfully, the shower had a bench to sit on. When I got back to bed I was too worn out to blow dry my hair or put on make-up as I had planned to do. The doctor came by in the late morning to let me know about my blood work. She said my hemoglobin levels were down to 7.1 and 13 was normal. I had about half of the blood a healthy person should have. She said I had come in to the hospital already very anemic with a blood count of 10 something. The doctor said that with the low starting point I hadn't really lost enough blood to need a transfusion. I asked to go home and she really hesitated but said I could if I waited until evening and proved that I could walk the halls before I left. 

  I never walked the halls but I did sit in a chair for part of the afternoon. My wonderful nurse, who had helped me the day before couldn't believe that I wanted to go home. It helped her to see me in the chair. The bed had been giving me a terrible back ache so I really just wanted to be home. Keith did too. Those little couches that dads have to sleep on are pretty awful. I felt like we were escaping because they were so cautious about letting us go. The doctor told Keith that he was going to have to do everything at home that I was going to be moving from the bed to the couch only for at least a week. Keith was surprised but understood. 

  At home, I really did just go back and forth from the bed to the couch. I leaned against the wall when I walked down the hall because I was so weak. I couldn't believe how pale I was. I had been tan from summer but now I was pale and my lips were white. Keith brought me the baby to nurse and kept the boys entertained. He cleaned the house, went to the grocery store and made meals to make me strong again. I took two iron supplements a day and drank tons of water. Keith was so attentive to my needs. One night he made spaghetti with meat sauce because red meat is a good source of iron. It was so sweet he had set the table and paid attention to the presentation of the meal, making everything look really nice. I felt like he was still trying to save my life and I fell more in love with him. I watched him with dreamy eyes, feeling so loved and protected.

  After a week I started to feel a little stronger and after two to three weeks I felt like I was getting back to my old self. Keith went back to work and the kids started school. I handled taking them to school and picking them up and snuggled with my baby while they were gone.

  Even after everything I went through, I would do it all over again for Everly. We weren't complete without her and didn't know it until she joined our family. She has been such a joy and I know that she always will be. I am so in love with my baby girl! I'll stop gushing before I go too far, but she's just perfect. Her presence is like a bright light in an otherwise dark room. I absolutely can not imagine life without her. She is the best impulsive decision we have ever made.

  

  

Why We Are Blowing Off Our Third Week of School

  One of the many beauties of homeschool is that when real life happens, school can wait. Especially when the darling pupils are 5 and 4. We started our week on Monday and had a fun time wrapping up our unit about the sun. For a music and movement activity, we listened to Tchaikovsky and the boys danced around waving a ribbony sun craft that we made last week.

Boys can dance with streamers too.

But alas, all things become weapons. Even streamers.

  Then we got busy. My husband's grandpa passed away last Saturday. The funeral was Wednesday. On Monday afternoon I found out that my poor mother-in-law was trying to organize the lunch following the funeral. I thought it was unfair for her to have to make those arrangements so I volunteered for the job. I had to have my husband call her and insist that she let me do it. Seriously. The bereaved should not be responsible for feeding funeral guests. It was absurd. 

  So, Tuesday morning we were off to check on some catering options and I eventually decided to just make the sandwiches myself. We went to 2 grocery stores that morning and I spent the afternoon making 65 sandwiches and 2 batches of brownies, and locating all of my serving platters since we moved. No school that day.

  Wednesday morning was the funeral. I had my sister watch the kids because there was no way we could take them with us. Once again, no school. What an exhausting day! My husband is heartbroken, but he is not missing a beat. Once again, the responsibility of making a dinner plan for out of town relatives had fallen on my mother-in-law's shoulders. What is wrong with everyone?! So we had everyone over to our house that night. Ok, I'll be totally honest. My motivation was selfish because they were going to order some dinner and have it at the grandpa's house, where some of the family was staying. How depressing! also, my kids act terrible over there because there aren't any toys. Everything is just so much better when we are on our own turf. After the funeral we just wanted to rest but we cleaned up the house and got ready for the dinner. It was good for everyone and I know we did the right thing.

  Now it's Thursday and I can't get back in the swing of school. We are having perfect weather (I had goosebumps on my legs when I went outside this morning! It was 68! This time last year I was 39 weeks pregnant and it was 112) so I decided to let the kids play outside all morning and skip school.  This weather is just too unusual and too perfect to stay inside. We have a little boy spending the night tonight so I know we won't be doing any lessons tomorrow either. It is really ok. I am not worried one bit. We started too soon anyway. And besides, they are learning and their creativity is flourishing when they play outside. This is how Henry dressed for the park this morning.

  My goal for the weekend is to get the school room in better shape. I barely have it in working order. We basically moved and immediately started school. I thought I could organize as I go but it is just not happening. There is an Ikea desk to put together, I am planning on several hours for that! I also need to put the cards and things we use often on the wall along with the calendar so that morning opener can always be ready to go. I can't be filing through my notes to find the poem or song for the day, or showing the boys my little handwritten calendar, etc. We also need to make a display for the boys' artwork and I need to make a baby center where I keep several interesting toys that I change frequently to keep Everly busy while I work with the boys. I would love to paint that room but it's really not a priority. My kitchen is a worse color (it looks like a poopy diaper) so it will be the first painting project. Unless it gets bumped by the new baby's room. Hopefully, all this will be done so we can start next week in better order. In the meantime, I am going to enjoy taking the day off, and wash 4 loads of laundry and my kids will, undoubtedly, play outside.

A Routine is Slowly Taking Form

  I never liked schedules. They are so restricting! Some people can't function without a schedule. I can't function within one. I remember one very common question when I had my first baby, not the most common and extremely stupid "Is he sleeping through the night?" But the other one "So, is he on a schedule yet?" Or "Have YOU gotten him on a schedule yet?" Say it this way and the insinuation is that the newborn should be on a schedule and it is you, the mother's, failure if a schedule has not been achieved. Ugh. I hate people sometimes. Do me a favor and don't ask me stupid questions after I have this baby. It's number 4 and I'm older now so I might not be very nice. 

  Needless to say, I never had my babies on a "schedule." I would drop them off at the church nursery and not be able to answer basic questions like, when will they need to eat again? Uhh, I don't know, when he's hungry or when my boobs start to hurt whichever comes first. I didn't know my babies' schedules for at least 4 months because they were always changing. They sleep the first six weeks then they hit growth spurts and nurse all day and all night and then they start sleeping better at night and then they stop sleeping at night. It's just whatever. I am not cut out to put babies on schedules. I'd rather go with the flow, nurse on demand, co-sleep, stay out late if we feel like it, etc. 

  What I do like is a nice routine. While a schedule stresses me out, a routine is calming and comforting. Babies and children need routines as well. Research suggests that the absence of a routine can be detrimental to the development of a young child. I can still hear one of my college professors say, "The basic routine is the curriculum for infants and toddlers." Children need to know what to expect and so do adults. When we don't know what to expect we waste energy and anxiety trying to anticipate what will happen next.

  Last week, I started to write out a schedule for our homeschool day. Not because I wanted to but because I thought I had to. I got out some paper and stared at it. It was blank and white and so it remained. Ideas of time and structure swirled in and out of my head until I couldn't think straight. I decided to wait a week and revisit the schedule. I didn't even know what we were doing yet. 

  I am so glad I didn't make a schedule because I would have been frustrated and surely broken it immediately and it would have been another failure to add to the pile. What has emerged over the last few weeks is a routine. We wake up, eat breakfast, get dressed, then go to the "School Room." We start with what a classroom teacher would call "Circle Time" or "Morning Meeting." Followed by a couple of learning activities and books to read. It takes about an hour. Then, it's free time for them while I give Everly some much needed attention. She is such a good baby! The boys usually play outside at this time and we may do reading lessons when Everly goes down for her nap or wait and do them in the afternoon. I still haven't found the best time for art but I've tried several different things and I am sure something will stick soon.

  In the afternoon, after school and between naps, we usually do something out of the house. It is still summer so we are going to the pool or splash pads. Once a week we go to the library and another day each week we go to the grocery store, not my favorite thing but a necessary evil. The kids have been really good about letting me make dinner and then we play outside until dark or go to the pool if we haven't already been.

  This is a routine that I can live with. The kids all seem happy and comfortable with it too. My greatest triumph this week has been beating the afternoon blues. Usually 3:00-5:00 is a really bad time for me. I am tired from the day and we still have several hours until Keith comes home. The kids are often really cranky at this time and I am out of tricks to keep them happy. I'm not exactly sure how it happened or if it will stick but we have all been happier in the afternoons than ever before.

  Our routine will gradually change as we move  into fall. The pool and splash pads  will close, we will gradually start playing inside more as the weather gets cooler and my tummy gets bigger. I still need to work some things into our routine but I don't expect it to be perfect. We will constantly be tweaking and changing as our family's needs grow and change. A routine is a schedule without the restriction of time. It allows for flexibility, which is a sanity saver and a relief for me.

  I love that homeschooling gives us the freedom to do what works best for us. We know what we need and if we are observant enough we can make changes as needed. We can customize every detail of our day. What freedom!  

First Week Recap: There Were Highs and Ridiculously Low Lows

  Homeschooling is this whole big thing for me. I have wanted to homeschool my kids ever since I was in college studying Early Childhood Education (before I had any children). I have also been afraid to homeschool ever since the idea entered mind. I remember having an argument about it with Keith in some cafe in Stillwater before we were married. So it's safe to say that I have been mentally battling the idea for 8 years. Also, I was homeschooled until ninth grade, which gave me definite pros and cons from real experience. 

  When I think of homeschooling I ask myself, "Do I really want to do that to my kids?" When I think of sending them to public school for 6+ hours a day 5 days a week I ask myself, "Do I really want to do that to my kids?" Now this week, after starting to actually educate my children at home, I ask myself, "Do I really want to do this to MYSELF?" 

  You see, I wasn't meant to be a housewife. I find staying home to take care of my house to be the opposite of fulfilling. I find it mind-numbing. I feel that washing things that are just going to get dirty again and making food that is just going to be complained about actually sucks the very soul out of me. 

  I know homeschooling has very little to do with housework but it does mean many more hours spent at home. I had a melt down this week thinking about it. I am terrified of being caught in a mind-numbing cycle of mornings and afternoons and evenings filled with mundane work that feels like it doesn't matter to anyone at all. I like having things to do outside of my home. I liked my job. I really like seeing people everyday. I liked having work to do that would stay done once I did it, unlike cleaning house.

  The precursor to this melt down wasn't a bad day. It had actually been a great morning. The boys were happy and cooperative and eager to learn through our morning routine. I had managed to actually make breakfast, not just throw out granola bars, and wash several loads of laundry in between school work with the boys. Everly toddled around the school room happily playing with a few plastic cups and lids. At noon I congratulated myself on the success of the morning as if to say "See? This isn't going to be so bad." Then I was bombarded by fears and worry and thinking this couldn't possibly work. 

  I would like to blame this meltdown on my pregnancy hormones because if it was just me then I probably need to be medicated. I was in hysterics by the time my husband got home from work. I am sure he wished he had stayed at work once he saw me. It was a miserable evening and I went to bed feeling like a crazy person. After that, I resolved to keep trying. To release myself from some of the pressure I was putting on myself. To decide what is reasonable and important to get done in a day and forget about the rest. 

  The next day, we finished school early so I took the kids to the zoo. We couldn't do that if they were in public school! I also didn't do any housework and chose not to beat myself up over it. We had gone to the zoo and that had been the right choice. I stopped thinking about enrolling them in our neighborhood school and resolved to own this homeschooling decision. I know it won't be what we do forever. I am not homeschooling through high school! But this is the right thing for each child, for different reasons, for this season. Oh, and this morning I put on make up and fought the urge to put my hair in a ponytail, even though I'm not going anywhere, it just makes me feel better.

  I know that there will continue to be hard days. I have fought this inner battle about the value of housework long enough to know that it will come back and it will be ugly. My breakthrough this week was realizing that the kids are happy. My husband just wants me happy. I am the only one who hears that miserable inner voice that points out all of the negatives and pressures me to do more and says that nothing I do is good enough or important enough. Good enough compared to what? It's time for me to put that voice in its place and empower myself with a positive voice that is confident in the job that I am doing and the choice that I have made. This is my heart's desire. I can't give up before I even get started. My boys have been happy about school everyday so far. Those are the real voices. The ones I should be listening to.