sticker charts and cheeseburgers

Our household is in full-on potty training mode. It's been ugly. Week 1 can basically be summarized using two words: urine and crying. Taking the advice of W's future preschool teacher (who I must admit, intimidates me a little bit. I know she won't be happy if he's not using the potty in the fall) we've ditched the pull-ups. She told me to sit him on the potty every 10 minutes and warned me that it was going to "wear me out" (said with a heavy southern accent).

For days, nothing. The only thing I did was wash load after load of wet underwear. Then I introduced a sticker chart with incentives. 5 stickers = a Mickey D's cheeseburger with fries and chocolate milk. 10 stickers = a trip to the store (in this case Fred's, the low price leader) to pick out a treat. Eureka! Stickers have been flying: 2 cheeseburgers have been eaten, and we're one sticker away from another trip to Fred's.

We still have a long way to go, but its wonderful to see some progress. Potty training and parenting in general have taught me some yucky truths about myself. I am not patient. I am baffled by a child who is teaching himself to read, but doesn't realize he's sitting in wet underwear. I am selfish. I'm tired of having my life run by a kitchen timer. However, this too shall pass. When I spent month after month exclusively pumping for both my children, I thought it would never end. It did, though, and so will this. W will not go to college wearing pull-ups (or at least that's what a mother of 4 boys from church told me) and I can look at this milestone as character building. W can gain the skill of not wetting his pants, and I can learn to be a little more patient.

I'm thinking about implementing a sticker chart for everyday life. Clean the bathroom. Sticker! Make dinner. Sticker! Washing a load of laundry and folding it. Two stickers! The possibilities are endless. Stickers for running. Stickers for being patient with my adorable 4-year old while he learns to use the potty. The incentives need to be good for that last one.

       

PR's and being shushed

My illness conundrum has been solved. Apparently I'm allergic to the state of Georgia. After three weeks of sore throats, coughs, and headaches, I started taking an allergy pill, and the healing has begun. Right in time for me to PR at a local race this past weekend. Yes, you read that right, this slow moving woman had a personal 5k best of 28:23.

The race itself was a fundraiser for a sport missions team that is planning on going to Costa Rica. It was a small race, about 50 people or so, of all varying levels of athleticism. There were a few college cross country runners (who of course lapped me on the three loop course), a few runner moms like me, and (my personal favorites) the Clydesdales. During races, especially marathons, I'm often surrounded by these men who look like they got off the couch a week before the race and decided to run. Do not let that big size fool you. These men can run and if you're not careful, they will outrun you; often with a smile on their face as they're doing it. I usually get outrun by the 70-year old man in the short running shorts too, but that's a story for another time.       

I feel like my running has reached a new level. I'm consistently running faster than I've run in years. It's satisfying to see my hard work pay off. I'm excited to see how well I can do in the races I have coming up, including the Richmond marathon in November. For me, long distance running has always been about endurance, not about speed. To date, my best marathon performance was in the 2009 Charlotte Thunder Road Marathon. I finished in 4:49, without keeping track of pace or my overall time. So I'm wondering: how well could I do if I actually tried? 4:45? 4:40? It's exciting to have these new goals. It keeps my feet moving in the right direction.

After my son shushed me, (Yes, you read that right. My soon to be 4 year old son shushed me. I almost had a heart attack. I thought I was losing my hearing, and then he did it again. I was standing at the kitchen counter cutting sweet potatoes, and I had to put the knife down. Then I took a deep breath and screamed for his father because obviously the child had lost his mind and clearly needed someone to find it for him. Then as his father gave him a stern talking to, I continued cutting my sweet potatoes, muttering to myself  [with a strong NY accent] "he shushed me! I can't believe he shushed me!".) running has become more and more of a necessity. I don't know what I would do if I didn't run. Shop? Eat? Nothing good, I can tell you that much, and I think my husband's wallet - and my waist line - can agree.  

not my post - I had to share

http://powerofmoms.com/2012/04/your-children-want-you/

Your Children Want YOU!

by APRIL PERRY on Apr 10, 2012 • 6:55 am649 Comments

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There’s this crazy phenomenon going on right now. Good, devoted mothers get on Pinterest . . . and blogs . . . and Facebook . . . and Twitter . . . and then they flip through parenting magazines and TV channels (full of advertisements and media hype) . . . and they’re convinced they’re not enough.

They’re convinced that everyone else has magnetic, alphabetized spice containers,

Photo source: Pinterest (http://pinterest.com/pin/274086327292186801/)

and unless their garden parties are thematically accessorized with butterfly lanterns,

Photo source: Pinterest, http://tinyurl.com/6lsuurc

and they’re wearing the latest fashions (in a size two, of course), there’s no point in even showing up for the day.

Last Saturday, this happened to me.

I came home from a lovely day out with my extended family and had serious intentions to spend the evening dyeing Easter eggs and making bunny buns.

By the time I got everyone settled and fed, however, I was so tired that I just laid on the couch and dozed while my children played and got themselves to bed.

Around 8:30, when I finally had the energy to sit up, I decided to try out Pinterest for a few minutes until my husband got home. There it was–1,000 reasons why I’m failing at all things domestic.

I don’t make grilled cheese sandwiches look like ice cream.

Photo source: Pinterest, http://kitchenfunwithmy3sons.blogspot.com

I don’t even have seasonal throw pillows on my couches or live plants anywhere in the house.

Is it really so hard? Can’t I pull myself together and wrap some candles in green foliage and bring happiness to our decor with bright fabrics and hand-crafted photo frames?

As I was trying to calm my frenzied state of mind, my husband came home and held me tight. We talked about our day, and he told me how much he loves me and that he wants our boys to marry someone like me. I fell asleep snuggled under his arm.

The following morning, our children enthusiastically bounded into our bedroom and tucked themselves into our covers. My four-year-old gave me an arm massage, and we all sat there together–joking, laughing, planning the day ahead, and enjoying that special feeling of family. Reflecting on the discouragement I’d felt the night before, I realized that my family doesn’t care about what I see on Pinterest. They care about me.

My daughter Grace loves me to sing “Baby Mine” to her each night before bed. When I go to ourPower of Moms Retreats, she misses that special ritual. We have recordings of Michael Crawford and Allison Krauss singing their versions, but Grace doesn’t want those. She wants me. So I recorded myself singing “Baby Mine” and emailed the audio file to her and to my husband so Grace can hear “her song” before she sleeps. As far as she’s concerned, my untrained voice belongs at the top of the charts.

My daughter Grace is my “snuggliest” child.  Back tickles and “Baby Mine” each night are how I show that I love her.

A few months ago, I was practicing sideways dutch braids on my two daughters. They had found these great “how-to” videos online, and we set up our comb, brush, and hair bands in front of the computer so I could become an expert.

Photo source: www.cutegirlshairstyles.com 

Half-way through the braid, my fingers got all tangled up, the hair was too loose, and one of my daughters had been sitting with her head to the side for several minutes.

Feeling extremely frustrated, I said, “That little girl in the video is so lucky to have a mom who knows how to do hair.”

My daughter stopped me in my tracks when she responded, “But I have a mom who is trying.”

These are my two girls with the braids that took me FOREVER to do.  (But I’m getting faster now, and they appreciate the fact that I’m trying.)

My mom is in her 70s, and her memory is starting to go. Her sweetness and love are as strong as ever, but when we talk on the phone, she can’t remember the last time we spoke or the last time we saw each other.

At the end of one phone call a few weeks ago, I whispered, “I miss you, Mom.”

She said, “Oh, I miss you, too! But we’ll get together soon. You can come down to the park, and we’ll get an ice cream cone at McDonald’s.”

I replied, “Yes, that will be fun.” But then the tears started, and I had to use every ounce of control to keep my voice even so she wouldn’t know I was crying.

What I really meant was, “I miss being able to talk to you, Mom. I miss laying on the grass while my children make a hopscotch and savoring our long phone conversations. I miss you remembering all those secrets I used to tell you. I miss you asking me if I’m okay. I miss seeing you read books and hearing you sing while you do the dishes and having you drive out to my house without getting lost. I miss you remembering how much I need you.”

My mother didn’t specialize in home decor or gourmet cooking, and she didn’t lift weights or run marathons. But she makes me feel like I am the most important, wonderful person ever born. If I could pick any mother in the whole world, it would be my mom.

There’s something deeper going on in family life than can ever be expressed on a social network. Whatever it is we feel we are lacking, can we collectively decide–as deliberate mothers–that we are not going to sit around feeling discouraged about all the things we’re not?

Can we remind each other that it is our uniqueness and love that our children long for? It is our voices. Our smiles. Our jiggly tummies. Of course we want to learn, improve, exercise, cook better, make our homes lovelier, and provide beautiful experiences for our children, but at the end of the day, our children don’t want a discouraged, stressed-out mom who is wishing she were someone else.

If you ever find yourself looking in the mirror at a woman who feels badly that she hasn’t yet made flower-shaped soap,

Photo source: Pinterest, http://tinyurl.com/82k5vow

please offer her this helpful reminder: “Your children want you!”

QUESTION: How do you keep the right perspective on your importance to your family–in the midst of so many ideas and temptations to compare yourself with others?

CHALLENGE: Recognize any tendencies you might have to get wrapped up in discouragement, and set up a regular way to remind yourself that your children want you

one foot in front of the other

When my kids are sick, I take them to the doctor. When I'm sick, I overdose on OTC medicine and hope for the best. I've had a sore throat, runny nose, and swollen glands for about two weeks now. Everyday I get up and do what I have to do, including running, because when you're a Mom, there are no sick days.

I slogged through last week's runs without my Garmin telling myself it was an "easy" week. This week was supposed to be my "prepare for a local 5k next weekend so you don't look like a fool in front of your husband's colleagues" week. On Tuesday, my 4 mile run felt like 8 miles. I spent the rest of the day laying on the couch, wishing I could take a nap. This morning, my alarm went off at 5:45. I hit snooze. 7 minutes later it went off again, I debated for about a minute, shut the alarm off, and went back to sleep. In my defense, I was up during the night because it hurt to swallow and I haven't been sleeping well recently. Eventually, the kids and I got up and I realized it wasn't that hot outside. (These days "not that hot" means 75 degrees and under). I asked W if he wanted to go running in the stroller, thinking I could redeem myself and get a few - in this case 3 - miles in. He was agreeable (E doesn't get a vote yet), so off we went.

3 miles turned into 4 and then 4 miles turned into 5 with a stop at the park so the kids could play on the playground. It was one of those days where running just felt right. The sun was out, but not too hot; there was a cool breeze, and for some insane reason I wasn't tired. I should have been tired. Pushing the kids in the stroller is a workout in and of itself. Sometime in that first mile or so I came upon that mythical place: the place where your mind and body separate, you just run and actually enjoy it. It doesn't happen enough, but when it does, it sustains me.

like mother, like son

My son will be 4 next month, and one of us isn't going to make it. W seems to have inherited all the aggravating aspects of my personality. He's stubborn, moody, dramatic, and slightly selfish. In a 4 year old, those qualities can sometimes be tolerable, but not so much when faced with them day in and day out. His new saying is 'I can't". I'll say "W, please eat your sandwich" and his immediate response is "I can't". When I ask him why he can't he looks at me like I'm slow-witted and says "because... I can't". Yesterday, before we went to get pictures taken, I made him a deal. Two cookies in exchange for no whining, crying, or screaming, and cooperation while taking pictures. I even pinkie promised. He reneged. There was zero cooperation and endless whining resulting in loss of the cookies. I asked him to take 1 picture with his sister, and all I got was "I can't". I gave him my death glare and said "Well, I can't give you a cookie." I don't think he understood my sarcasm.

Motherhood is never boring. We recently took a family trip to Washington D.C. W is notorious for sleeping poorly in hotel rooms. This trip was no exception. He cried through most of our first night there. At about 3 o'clock, I finally decided that I would give him some Tylenol, so I go into the hotel bathroom and locate the medicine. Of course I couldn't get the child proof cap off. I'm holding down and turning, pushing and turning - nothing. Finally, I get the freaking thing open and immediately drop the bottle. It goes everywhere, on my pajama pants (the only ones I brought with me; they smelled like cherry cotton candy for the rest of the trip), on the floor. I lost almost the entire bottle, except for one dose. So there am I, standing in the bathroom in the middle of the night, covered in cherry Tylenol with one crying child and just enough medicine. Thank goodness for small mercies.

To be fair to my first born, he's been sick. His usual laid back personality has been overrun by a nasty cough and a runny nose. I've been reminding him that whining is not attractive. My words came back to bite me when I was on the phone with my mother whining about how I didn't feel good. The apple does not fall far from the tree. 

         
                   

                          W - 3 1/2 years old 

W - 1 month old