Every Other Minute

The other night I was at an event with Chad, and I was talking with a lady who has grown children. She said to me, "Oh it's so nice when they're grown up."

I can't even begin to tell you how relieved I was to hear this. After hearing person after person tell me to enjoy every minute of my children while they're young, it was so refreshing to hear someone who is happy with grown children. It's almost like people are saying that once children grow up they can't be enjoyed anymore. I really hope that's not the case! I'd like to think that with every age, from birth through adulthood, there are good things and bad things, moments to enjoy and challenges to overcome.

Last night I had a long battle with Alec, which was the result of him losing his bedtime book after he procrastinated way too long. During this battle, he cried and screamed at me. He yelled threats at me, warning that, "If you don't read me this book I'm going to follow you out of my room and be noisy instead of going to sleep!"

Once he had finally calmed down, I lay with him as he fell asleep. I normally don't do this because if I'm in the room with him at bedtime he usually doesn't stop talking, telling stories, playing games, etc. But based on the book battle and his behavior, I knew how tired he was. So I stayed in bed with him and watched him fall asleep. And after he was asleep I lay there for a few more minutes just watching him.

During the minutes when I was snuggling with Alec and watching him fall asleep, I can guarantee you that I was enjoying every second. I was completely focused on the precious 4-year-old boy snuggled right next to me.

And there are plenty of other times when I fully enjoy every second of my boys. When Chase climbs into my lap and curls up with me, sucking his thumb and twirling his hair. When the boys and I are playing an exciting game of tag and all giggling, squealing and smiling with pure joy. When I watch Alec trying to help Chase with something.

But during the ten minutes of screaming and yelling last night, I can't say I was enjoying every minute. And honestly I really can't say that I enjoy every minute of parenting at all. I mean, I do enjoy being a mother, and I love my boys unconditionally. But do I always enjoy them? Absolutely not. In fact, too much of any good thing can become unenjoyable very quickly.

Take pizza, for instance. Pizza is a great food, and most people love it. But imagine if you had to eat pizza (or a different favorite food if pizza's not your thing) for every meal of every day for the rest of your life. Sure some days you could have pepperoni, some days you could have plain cheese, and other days you could go wild and have supreme. But no matter how much you love pizza, if you were on your 400th slice and someone was telling you to "enjoy every bite," I'm pretty sure you'd want to shove the pizza in that person's face. I know I would!

So when someone tells me to "enjoy every minute" with my young children, I have to resist the urge to tell them where they can shove their pizza. Because for every minute of snuggling, there is a minute of yelling. For every minute of thumb-sucking, there is a minute of crying. For every minute of playing there is a minute of fighting. For every minute of one boy helping his brother, there is a minute (ok - ten minutes) of that same boy beating his brother up.

A moment that I am enjoying watching Chase sleep

Another Chase moment that is not as enjoyable

I'd say I enjoy about every other minute of my kids at this young age. And I'm ok with that. Because the moments I don't enjoy just make me enjoy the other moments even more. I never would have enjoyed that snuggle with Alec as much as I did if it weren't a fight to get there. Sure I would have enjoyed it. I mean, what's not to love about a sleeping 4-year-old?! But the battle to get there made me appreciate it so much more.

A moment where I am enjoying Alec lick his first beater (when he was about 2)

A moment later (when I took the beater away from him) I wasn't enjoying him quite as much

Who knows... Maybe twenty years from now I'll look back at this post and want to kick some sense into my younger self. Maybe I'll wish that I had enjoyed the yelling, the crying, the arguing and the fighting. Or maybe I'll look at my grown children and enjoy every minute of them as adults...well, maybe every other minute.

The Interesting Situation

Last week I had an evening meeting to attend, so Chad stayed home with the boys. When I got home and asked Chad how things went, he replied that everything was fine, but that there was one interesting situation.

Before I go into the details of the interesting situation, there are three bits of background you should know.

First, you should know that Chad and I have been very lucky with our kids in the bathtub. We know plenty of people who have dealt with the "poop in the tub" incident, but fortunately we have somehow managed to avoid that situation.

Second, you should know that I am one of "those" parents who has chosen not to potty train my boys at the age of six months. Yes, Chase is two. Yes, he shows signs that he's ready to potty train. No, I have not started potty training him yet. I waited until Alec was three, and it was one of the easiest parenting experiences I have ever had, so I plan to do the same with Chase. Judge all you want.

Finally, you should know a little bit more about Alec's personality. He is a very serious boy, who takes things very literally. He is the first to let me know if someone isn't following the rules in a game, and he makes sure to let me know whenever Chase is doing something he shouldn't be doing.

So back to the interesting situation... (Can you see where this is going yet?)

Chad was giving the boys a bath together, and he had stepped out of the bathroom for just a minute to get their pajamas. Apparently, the 30 seconds that Chad chose to leave the bathroom were the same 30 seconds that Chase felt the need to do his business. Since this had never happened while in the tub before, Chase was not sure what to do. On some level he must have realized that he shouldn't poop in the tub or on his brother. But he didn't quite know enough to sit on the big potty to do it. So what did he do? He got out of the tub and did his business right smack dab on the bathroom rug.

Alec, being the meticulous child he is, proceeded to frantically yell, "Daddy, Chase pooped on the floor!" at the top of his lungs.

Oh, but it gets better. You see, since Chad and I have been married for over 10 years now, and since we're now parents, we have graduated to the level of talking about our kids' poop like we talk about the weather. So in an effort to better understand how bad the situation was, I asked Chad if it was easy to clean up. His response? "Well, it was until Chase stepped in it."

By the time Chad got done telling the story, I had tears coming down my face. And do you know what the best part of this whole story was? I wasn't even there when the whole "interesting situation" happened! I love that something like this actually happened with someone other than me. I'm not sure Chad feels the same way, but even he was laughing a little bit while telling me the story. Though I bet next time he'll make sure the pajamas are ready to go before bath time...

Let the Germ Spreading Begin

Alec starts his second year of preschool this week, which means that for the next eight months I will have at least one sick family member in the house. Having a sick child means no one is happy. Obviously the sick child is not happy because he's sick; I'm not happy because one of my kids isn't happy; the other kid isn't happy because he's not getting all the attention; and Chad isn't happy because no one else is happy!

For me, one of the absolute most stressful parts of being a mother is having a sick child. When one of my kids gets sick, it starts a minimum week-long process of constant worrying and second guessing. Will the other child get sick? Will I get sick? Should I give him medicine? Should we cancel our plans? Do I need to take him to the doctor?

In an effort to reduce my stress levels this year, I have devised a simple 3-question "Sick Child Guide" to help me decide whether or not to worry when one of my boys is sick:

1) Is it green? I don't care what part of the body it's coming from, but if it's green it can't be good. (Thanks to the pool snack bar this summer, I did, however, learn that a 3-year-old eating a blue freeze pop results in a 3-year-old producing blue freeze poop.)

2) Is the child being good? If the child is behaving, surely there must be something to worry about. If one of the boys is not picking on his brother, I know it's time to call the doctor.

3) Will the child eat M&Ms and drink soda? If yes, then he can't be that sick. This also applies to cake, cookies, lollipops, ice cream and basically any other food that a child typically begs for. But if the child refuses the junk, then I know I need to prepare myself.

While having a sick child stresses me out, I've never really considered myself a "germophobe." But I have to admit that I do a bit more hand washing during the school year in an attempt to keep germs away. I'm still not convinced of how much it really helps though. With Chase being a thumb-sucker, washing his hands is basically pointless. I mean, why wash his hands when we get home from the mall when all he did at the mall was alternate between touching things and sticking his thumb in his mouth? I could spend hours of my day wiping his hands if I did it every time he touched something in public. What else can you expect from a 17-month old? Alec is pretty good about washing his hands, but it still seems impossible to keep them clean all the time.

Hopefully my kids are busy building up their immune systems right now so that in a few years it won't seem like I spend three quarters of my life wiping noses and taking temperatures. But for now all I can do is realize that being sick is a part of life. Wait, was that a sneeze I just heard?