painting tips

Preschoolers love paint. Moms don't. It's messy and, well, it's messy.

I'm afraid I can't offer you much advice for making it less messy, but I DID repurpose an item destined for the garbage can into a cool paint holder.

Introducing, the camping egg carrier.


I bought this eons ago when it was just me and my husband darting off for a weekend of camping in California. Six eggs was plenty. Pancakes one morning, scrambled eggs the next...no problem. Enter three hungry boys. Now, six eggs don't get us through one morning. Last time I packed for a camping trip, I laughed at my tiny egg holder as I was putting an 18-count package of eggs into the cooler.

It's amazing how life changes.

Anyway, since our last camping trip, the egg holder has been floating around. The preschooler likes to carry things in it, so I let him play with it for awhile. I was just thinking it was time to toss it when the preschooler asked, "Can I paint today?"

Aha!

Introducing: our new paint tray. Perfect for a morning of messy painting!

time

There’s never enough of it. Like most of you reading this blog, I’m busy. Juggling three kids, a part-time job, a work-from-home editing gig, and finishing a novel has proven to be a bit much. And before you get too impressed, keep in mind that by “finishing a novel” I mean “spending a few hours editing and writing at some point every week.”

Since there’s never enough of it, I’m learning to make time for what’s really important to me. I try to carve out time each day for each of my kids. Sometimes it’s just ten minutes of one-on-one conversation at the end of the day, or a game of yahtzee or chess (I’m learning! And believe it or not, the kids are teaching me).

Last week, I was story mom in Twin B’s class, and I decided to surprise him and take him out for lunch before my volunteer shift. I dropped the preschooler off to play at a neighbor’s house and caught B. as he was waiting in line to go into the cafeteria. I hope I never forget the look on his face when I called his name and invited him out to lunch. His entire face lit up, and he just grinned as he followed me out to the van. We chatted over burgers at Wendy’s and he kept saying, “I just can’t stop saying thank you!”

It wasn’t just the burger he was thanking me for. It was the time. He knows I’m busy and have a million things I could be doing with an hour of free time. The fact that I was choosing to spend time with him—not because I have to, but because I want to—made a huge statement to him. You’re special. I enjoy you. You’re worth my time.

We all get 24 hours a day. How will you spend yours?

Where are my chickens?

Every day is an adventure with a preschooler in the house. Honestly, I’d forgotten how cute a three-year old can be. He loves going to school like his brothers (two mornings a week), and helping me with jobs around the house. Amazingly, his favorite “job” right now is cleaning the toilets. And everywhere we go, he checks the bathroom and often announces, “That potty looks dirty. They should clean it.”

Hilarious.

But by far my favorite part of this age is watching his imagination explode. Some days, he’s a cat, crawling around and meowing and telling me “the kitty likes to be petted.” Other days, he’s a “good guy,” keeping all the bad guys away with his assortment of pretend guns. (Don’t lecture me. I lost the battle against non-violent toys long ago.)

Even as I type, the preschooler is managing a small farm of chickens in a laundry basket. Invisible chickens, of course, which makes it tricky to play along. He just yelled out, “Mom! My chicken got away!” I tried to grab the invisible chicken, but when I gave it to him, alas, that was not it. He was looking for the OTHER chicken.

So he grabbed two plastic sandwich bags and put them over his hands for “glubs” and is off to recapture the escaped chicken.

All this fun and it’s only 6:08 in the morning.

The farmer has just invited me into the chicken fort and assured me that he’ll keep me safe. Because, according to the farmer, "the chickens really like you."

Which is why I love having a preschooler.

overwhelmed

This past few weeks have been difficult. Not in a crisis rush-to-the-ER kind of way, but in a nagging, worrying kind of way. Llama Papa and I have been talking through family decisions,** and in the midst of it all, I became just a tad bit overwhelmed. Or maybe a lot overwhelmed.

Somewhere in all of my worry, I cried out to God. It was one of those really articulate prayers that went something like this, “God? HELP!” And while there were no magic answers emailed from heaven (I’ve always thought God should get email), I did begin to loosen my grip on all of the what-ifs. Breathe. Trust.

If you’re at a crossroads today, give it a try. Ask.

If any of you lacks wisdom, he should ask God, who gives generously to all without finding fault, and it will be given to him. (James 1:5)

** edited to add: We're not moving or planning any kind of radical change in our family. It's more day-to-day decisions with the kids that feel big and overwhelming sometimes.

mock chicken casserole

I was eating Mrs. Mike’s potato chips last night, and noticed a recipe on the back of the bag. I am not making this up.

Mock chicken casserole

Prepare cream sauce with the following ingredients: 1 T butter, 4 T flour, 2 ¼ C milk, ¼ tsp pepper, salt to taste. Simmer until smooth.

To this add the following: 1 can flaked tuna fish, ½ C sliced mushrooms, 4 oz always fresh potato chip crushed. Season to taste.
Pour in buttered casserole, sprinkle top with crushed potato chips. Bake in moderate oven (350 degrees) for 30 minutes.

I almost hate to ask, but, well, why not just call this tuna casserole? I see no possible way this concoction could taste even the slightest bit like chicken.

I’m just sayin.’

friends

Walking back from the school drop off, I’m struck by the strength of the women in my company. Each day we walk back and forth, chatting about homework and diapers and soccer practice and carpools. Most days we laugh, but occasionally we cry.

When I think about each woman and what’s on her plate, I marvel: how on earth does she do it? How do any of us do it?

Up before light, we pack lunches and fold clothes and unload the dishwasher. We check homework tucked into backpacks. We get the kids up and fed and off to school. Then we return to tend other kids, chores, and sometimes work. Pick-up in the afternoon is a bright spot. A chance to laugh at the things that didn’t go quite the way we’d planned. Playdates planned and favors freely given, we’ve formed a community for which I’m grateful.

And then we’re home for snacks and playdates and homework. We make dinner, clean it up, and make sure reading is done. We work some more.

And at the end of the day, we collapse and wonder why we’re so tired.

Today, women, I’m struck by our strength. Too often we complain of our weaknesses: too much chocolate, not enough exercise, our houses aren’t clean enough and on and on we list all the ways we don’t measure up.

But look at all the ways we do measure up. Take a good, long, honest look. And today, my friends, let’s celebrate who we are and what we do. Because it’s awesome.

Us and Them

I don’t like to think of myself as a person with prejudices. I don’t think many of us do, and yet lately I’ve been struck by how often I put people in “boxes” and label them without even knowing them.

Boxes like:
unChristian
Homeschooler
Working mom
Uneducated

The list goes on. Your list may look different than mine, but we all have them. Maybe you classify people based on race or gender or socioeconomic status. And as much as we know that these labels are not helpful, and certainly not the way Jesus rolls, we do it—many times unconsciously. Becoming aware of it is often the first stop toward changing. (And now I’ll stop being all Dr. Philish. I promise.)

I’ve recently jumped categories. From stay-at-home mom to part-time working mom. I took a part-time job at a Music and Art Academy working a few evenings a week and the occasional Saturday. And I love it.

I’ve been working from home for awhile now, but I love actually GOING to work. Leaving my house and looking nice and talking to real live people. Not to mention starting a project and finishing it from beginning to end with very little interruption. It’s a beautiful thing.

And with the boys back in school, I’m aware of the other big label—especially in the Christian community: public school mom versus homeschool mom.

How many times have I sat in a circle of well-intentioned women and heard someone make an off-hand comment, “Well, it’s a sacrifice, but I just love Johnny so much, I COULDN’T send him to public school!” And as a public school mom, I’m sitting there thinking about how much I LOVE my kids and am doing what I believe is best for them. Did that homeschooling mom intend to slam me? Probably not. But in our judgment of the “other” we unintentionally hurt one another.

So, Moms. Can we try to lose the labels? Can we all work together and trust that we’re all doing what we feel is best for our kids? After all, we all have the same goal: to raise healthy, happy kids who are productive members of society.