what boys are made of

Warn your daughters. Boys are just gross. Especially pre-adolescent boys.

I recently spent a full day with four boys - ages 6, 7, 9 and 10. (I should add that this was not by choice, but at hubby’s request that Mom spend some “quality” time with her sons. And it was a birthday celebration for my two.) The experience (for me) was not celebratory in the least, but it was eye-opening.

I grew up with five brothers, so much of what I saw, heard and smelled should not have surprised me. But I suppose now I’m seeing these smelly creatures from a Mom’s perspective instead of a child’s. Apparently I’m getting less tolerant as I age.

I would be seriously scared if I had four daughters - especially once they get past the point of thinking boys have cooties. Who knew they were dead-on with that assessment.

And don’t think for a minute that I’m not mortified that my children are kind of disgusting, as most boys are. I’m still pondering that cooties bit - maybe a good de-lousing wouldn’t be a bad idea. I could herd them up like cattle, sprinkle on the powder, watch them scratch a bit and presto-chango, no more cooties. The cooties probably come from the snips, snails and puppy dog tails, so says Mother Goose. And they’d just pick them right up again after splashing in some muckhole, or petting a frog or squishing a worm.

So, here I am with two of my boys and two of their friends, who happen to also be brothers, spending a day at the Nickelodeon Park at the Mall of America - a place I normally would avoid, even without kids. Add children to the mix and it’s the making of a disaster.

One child kept chewing on his sweatshirt like a puppy dog. One was too scared to go on any ride higher than six inches off the ground. One smelled. And one was wearing pants two sizes too big. (I won’t divulge which kids were mine.)

I about had a nervous breakdown with the crowds at the Park, the lines at Subway and the fact that I was now carrying my purse, my knitting bag (which didn’t even get cracked open), two sweatshirts, a cup of pop and a bag of half-eaten snacks and water bottles. Add to that trying to keep track of four boys, none of whom wanted to ride the same rides at the same time and one who wouldn’t go on anything and I was frazzeled beyond belief by the time 4 pm rolled around.

On the hour-long drive home, I went from shaking my head at the things these kids said to nearly gagging from the things they did. I’m guessing that anyone eavesdropping on conversations between boys would hear something similar, which got me to thinking - what would they talk about if they were girls?

These males could discuss any bodily function at length and the grosser the better, the louder the better and the smelliest one wins. And of course, being male, each one tried to outgross the others. The hands-down winner thankfully wasn’t my child. This six-year-old nearly made me throw up (and just from hearing what was going on - I didn’t have the nerve to look in the reaview mirror.)

He started blowing snot out of his nose and onto his pretzel sticks, then grossing out the others by eating the pretzel, booger and all.

Lock your daughters up. Honestly, that’s what I thought.

Perhaps I should clarify my first statement - boys are gross - by amending it to: little boys are gross. I’m not sure at what point boys lose their cooties, but I’m grateful that God does eventually cleanse the germs out of them - I believe he does that right about the time puberty hits. In about 10 years my boys will be miraculously cootie-free, better looking and less gross - then you can unlock your daughters.

I will not, however, guarantee that they won’t find the stinkier side of life amusing - that humor’s in them forever. Along with a love of noise, speed and mud. That’s what boys are made of.

pee pee

Our two-year-old is something of a comedian. At least in his own mind.

He finds humor in very interesting places. For instance, a few weeks ago I got out of the shower and was trying to get a few moments of privacy to actually get some clothes on. He barged into the bedroom, took one look at me, pointed at my chest and asked, "You butt?" I tried to explain that no, those were Mommy's boobies. (If only they were as big as my behind - I'd have one happy hubby). He seemed fine with the answer, but I wasn't really sure he "got it" because when he tried to say "boobies" it sort of sounded like "poopy."

This morning, I was trying to change out of PJs into real clothes when he again invaded the bedroom. This time, he pointed at me and said, "You naked!" Good grief.

He also finds it incredibly funny to parade around the house after removing his diaper and announcing: "Big pee-pee!" Reminds me of the email about men vs. women, which describes men showing off by saying, "woo - woo!"

Every boy I've had has wondered at some point if I have two butts or if I pee from my butt. They can't quite comprehend that mommies don't have pee-pees. It will be real interesting when we finally have to start explaining the birds and the bees. (Putting that off as long as possible.)

I'm still not sure why God decided to play this little testosterone joke on me, but I have to admit the prank is more fun with this last child. He just makes everything more fun and more funny (usually.)

So, now he has decided that he wants to go potty. (At two!) He's doing pretty well, but it's getting a bit irritating to have him pee and then insist that I wipe his butt too. (Where does he get this from? I'm beginning to think the child is a parrot combined with some sort of gelatinous force that absorbs information by osmosis.)

But, my complaining stops there, because 1) I'm saving money on diapers, 2) he's actually tried to wipe his own butt, and 3) being able to pee on demand will be great come garage sale season, when you can sometimes find my van pulled to the side of the road with at least two pee-pees peeing in the wind. This year it might be three.

running away

Number Two was having a bad day. He decided that Dad was the meanest Dad ever and he was going to run away.

Within seconds, he was packing his lunch box with clothes. Hubby casually mentioned that he might want to take some socks and underwear too. A few minutes later our little runaway came down the stairs with all his cargo pant's pockets bulging.

He was ready to go, but then decided that he'd wait until after lunch since he didn't want to get hungry. After filling up, there was some discussion about where he was going to live, and he decided the woods would be a good place. Hubby asked him how he was going to manage there since he was afraid of the dark. "I'll just cover my head in my blankets," he retorted.

He grabbed two blankets and then started adding all his school books to the pile. Older Brother asked, "Why would you take your workbooks?"

"Well, DUH, I don't want to go to jail!" was his reply.

Then after talking about this whole trip some more, he decided he was going to wait until I came home so he could at least say goodbye to Mom. Funny thing is, when I got home I heard not one word about it. He did seem pretty relieved to go to bed though.

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I've thought it would be nice to just pack up and leave it all behind - well, not for the cold, snowy woods behind our house, but maybe for someplace warm, sunny and less stressful. However, I think I might actually be in danger of going to jail if I left too quickly without packing up the right things (or at least dropping them off somewhere safe.)

Running away sounds like too much work.

in the wash today...

three red legos
a seam ripper (yes, this was me - oh the irony.)

spring fever

Most people, after catching spring fever, daydream of warmer weather, planting a garden, seeing the first robin pecking out worms, wearing t-shirts outside. Not me. I dream of garage sales.

I know this MN winter is getting long when I literally wake up from a random garage sale dream. Last night, I dreamt I found the sale to beat all sales - a little bit of everything packed into two garages and run by four women. I couldn't stack wool sweaters (to felt), men's dress shirts (to repurpose), fabric (to make totes and bags) and other miscellaneous goodies quick enough.

I was salivating over things I don't even like - salt shakers, belts, knick knacks and even a crocheted doily. Yuck.

When I finally had shopped myself silly and couldn't balance my stack anymore, I panicked because I couldn't find my purse. It was lost amidst the junk somewhere. Credit cards, check book, cash and wallet all gone. I had six ladies digging through stuff while I backtracked my path, all of us searching for the missing bag.

At that point, minus even purchasing all my newfound treasures, I woke up in a cold sweat. But that might have been hormones too.

Either way, the lost purse nightmare was over, leaving me only to await the true harbinger of spring in Minnesota - garage sale signs.

up front

There is a danger in getting to church late, even by a couple minutes.

When you need some serious pew space for four squirmy boys, arriving late leaves you with few seating options. Sunday, we had two: the front pew or the second-to-the-front pew. When you're already a bit uncomfortable because you're a visitor and you know that you forgot the two-year-old's pacifier, neither spot seemed like a very good choice.

You know that all eyes will be on you and the five males as you traipse to the front of the church to take your place in the second pew. And, you also know that everyone has already noticed you standing in the entry, so it's too late to bolt. Deep breath and make the march up front.

Thankfully, someone at the Kingston ALC was wise enough (or had enough kids) that they printed up children's bulletins full of cool little biblical puzzles. That kept 2.5 kids busy during much of the sermon. Dad was in charge of four-year-old, which is a full-time job for six people. That left me with the baby - and luckily I had a notepad and licorice in my purse. Candy trumps a pacifier every time.

I had to keep my eye on boy #2's feet for fear that he would bump the front pew, on which the power point projector was precariously placed atop a box and a seat cushion. Any time the feet would go up on the pew, I'd break out in a cold sweat imagining the whole thing crashing to the floor right as the pastor was in the middle of explaining Romans 8. Then I'd swat his legs down.

It was not a good Sunday for a long sermon, but we survived. In fact, after the final hymn the old lady behind us asked if she could give the boys Cremesavers since they "were such good boys during church." I cringed and said, "Of course! And thank you so much!"

It seems because of the church newsletter columns I write, the boys are now somewhat famous. One lady walked to the front of the church, took in all the boys and declared, "Well, they look normal to me!" Perhaps I'm telling too many family secrets.

Another man took me aside and pointing at the kids, asked, "Are these the ones you're trying to farm out to your family and friends?" I smiled sweetly and replied, "Yes and which one would you like?"

Might as well be up front while I'm up front.

in the wash today...

a miniature John Deere tractor
a teeny red Lego
bits and pieces of cardboard most of which was stuck to the clothes

winter in Minnesota

Sometimes a picture really is worth a thousand words.

what to do...

My husband always tells me not to gripe about a problem unless I have a solution. While I think my previous post WAS a solution (mainly because I got to vent), I was able to come up with positive things to do for someone who's recently had a miscarriage.

What you can do for some who's just lost a baby:

1) Reach out.
Don't assume someone else is reaching out to a person in need. God might want you to do it. If you've experienced a similar loss, you can be more of a comfort because you've already endured what someone like me is feeling. You can give some hope in what might be a very hopeless-feeling situation. I remember a few months after our first miscarriage learning that a cousin had also lost a baby. I battled for awhile about calling her because it was so difficult to bring up all the feelings and emotions. But, I listened to the voice telling me to dial and am glad I did. I don't know if the phone call made a difference or not, but it did show me what God would require of me because of what I had experienced. You may not realize you have a ministry to share based on your loss, but often that is exactly how God wants you to use your past pain. You don't have to have all the answers, just a sympathetic ear and a willingness to share.

However, even if you've never personally experienced the same situation, there are many things you can do.
• Pray. You may never know how powerful your prayer can be, but it's probably the most important thing you can do. If you can, find out a specific prayer request to guide you. If you are the one in pain, it can be extremely helpful if you can provide your family, friends, pastor, prayer chain and whomever asks for any specific prayer needs.
• Call. You might think you're being a bother, but often, you might be reaching out to a person right when he or she needs it most. Sometimes, just the sound of concern in a person's voice is enough to take you over a difficult place. There were times, initially, when I did not want to talk to anyone on the telephone because I wasn't ready. Then, I just didn't answer the phone. If you don't reach the person, please leave a message - they'll know you cared enough to take the time to call, and will still appreciate it, even if they aren't able to talk right then.
• Write. One of the things that touched me most after my second miscarriage were two unexpected cards I received in the mail. One was from a cousin of mine. She had simply written that she and her husband were thinking and praying for us through this, but it was worth more than she ever would have imagined. (She also included a $20 bill and told us to go out and buy supper some night, which was an added, but not necessary bonus that would come in handy later when I felt too exhausted to cook.) The other was a handmade card from another homeschool mom who I didn't even know extremely well. She wrote that we were faithfully in their prayers at this time, and offered to take the boys if I needed any rest. Both letters were very comforting and special.
• Ask God to reveal to you what that person may need and then provide it if you can. It might be a babysitter for a couple of hours one afternoon, it might be help cleaning the house, it might be a meal, a book, a card, prayer, a box of chocolates, some special music, or even a simple hug. You might have to get creative because if the person is anything like me, they may have a hard time asking for help or admitting they need it. Some of the best gifts I've received have been a plant, tickets to take the boys to the park at the Mall of America, money to purchase a tree or plant in honor of the lost baby, taking all my boys for an entire day so I could rest, money to purchase a new article of clothing and one friend even gave me some wonderful lavender salt scrub that was very helpful for itchy winter skin.
• Don't think that you have to do something right away. Sometimes, the most thoughtful gifts I've received after a miscarriage have come two or three weeks later, when I'm still feeling sad and need a lift.

2) Keep it simple.
If you aren't sure what to say to someone, simply say, "I'm thinking about you. I'm praying for you." That is a huge comfort and quite easy to do. Hugs are okay if the person doesn't mind their space being violated. Some like hugs, others don't. Know the difference.

3) Be sensitive.
See all the things in the previous post on what not to do. Use some common sense and check nonverbal cues if you think you might be doing something irritating or insensitive.

4) Offer to help.
Don't assume that someone dealing with a loss will call and ask for help. It might be an issue of not knowing whom to call, not wanting to bother anyone or simply being unable to ask for help. That responsibility might lie more on you to find out a need and fill it.

5) Be available.
If you do have a close friend who is experiencing a loss, be available for a phone call, no matter the time of day. Check in on him or her periodically. It will not be a bother if you call every few days, just to see what's going on or if they need anything. That was often how I knew people cared the most was when they continued to care for me, even if through a five-minute phone call. Email is another great way to check up on me. Shoot me off a message and let me know you're there. And please respond to my emails if I send one to you.

To all the wonderful people in my life who have done the things I've described above - you have blessed me more than you could possibly know during a time when I needed it more than you could possibly know. Thank you so much for the healing you offered through your caring and love. God bless you.

what not to do

Sometimes, it's just difficult to understand people. I don't think people intentionally hurt others, but often their lack of common sense and sensitivity can really hurt. Because I've been on the receiving end of unintentionally-caused pain lately, I thought I'd help out those of you who might not realize how much hurt you can cause.

What not to do (or say) to someone who's just lost a baby:

1) Do not email pictures of your recent ultrasound to a woman who just miscarried.
I would think this would be a no-brainer, but apparently it's not. I know you are excited that you found out the sex of your baby, but please consider that someone like me just had hopes and dreams ripped out of her womb and it will be extremely difficult for her to share in your joy right now. She will probably even cry a little and then question your sensitivity.

2) Do not email a request for prayers for your upcoming delivery of a live baby.
Again, I'm sure this wasn't an intentional jab, but it still causes pain. It isn't that I don't want to pray for you or that I'm not happy you're having a baby, it's just that your request comes along with an inevitable comparison to the fact that I just delivered a dead baby. TIming is really key with this - two weeks after a miscarriage might not be the best idea, two months later is probably okay.

3) Do not offer platitudes like - "God needs some babies in heaven."
Not only does this not comfort someone in my situation, it isn't biblically accurate. God's desire is for life. Period. He doesn't give us the ability to procreate and then somehow arbitrarily take it away. That happens because of original sin, because we live in a fallen world and because we now live under a curse. God doesn't desire that life cease to exist simply for heaven. Heaven is a perfect place and has no need for my baby. Is my baby in a better place? Sure. Will I see him someday. Absolutely. But right now, that doesn't make me feel much better that he's not here. I still lost a baby, for whatever reason, but I did not lose that baby because God choose to take back a life.

4) Do not tell me - "You can always try again."
There are several reasons not to say this. First because the last thing I'm thinking about right now is sex or getting pregnant. In fact, sex is impossible right now. Second, because you don't know what I might be facing as far as infertility or questions about getting pregnant at my age (I've hit the magic number of 35). And third, because simply saying that diminishes the importance of the child I lost and the dreams that went along with that baby. The joy of having another child will never replace the tragedy of losing one. I can't imagine you would ever tell someone whose 10-year-old child just died that they could "try again." Same goes here.

5) Don't say - "Time will heal you."
While I may know that time will ease the pain, it does little for me in this moment, unless somehow you can fast-forward a year or two. I may know that God is in control and has a purpose for everything, but I might be so overwhelmed in grief that I can't even imagine how good could come out of a death, nor do I want to imagine good at this point.

6) Don't act like nothing happened.
Sometimes, a person will want to talk about their situation, other times they won't. It's usually best not to act like nothing happened. One of the things that hurt me the worst was the lack of sympathy from the radiologist during an ultrasound with my second miscarriage. He questioned why I was having an ultrasound and when I told him I was spotting, he asked whether the doctor had done one already. I said yes, but he couldn't find a heartbeat. He squinted at the screen and said, "I don't see one either" and walked out of the room. In another place or another time, I probably would have thrown my shoe at him, but as it was I meekly got dressed and walked out of the hospital stunned at his insensitivity.

People who have experienced a loss do not automatically forget a child, spouse or a pregnancy. They don't erase memories, plans for the future or feelings about their loved one. And sometimes, they want to talk about it. If this makes you uncomfortable, suck it up and participate in the conversation. There will probably be nothing more required of you than 10 minutes and a listening ear. It might just be exactly what that person needed at the time - someone to listen.

7) Don't be surprised if you get a negative response when you ask - "How are you doing?"
If you're the tenth person that day who's asked that question, and someone is trying with every ounce of their strength to keep it together, you might receive a outburst of tears that you didn't expect. Let's just say I warned you. If you're not comfortable with emotion, a hand on the shoulder and a quick hug might be better.

A friend told me that when she's faced with that question, she'd often ask people "Do you want the truth or do you want me to lie to spare your feelings?" A question like "How are you doing?" often puts people in a bit of a pickle because they feel as if they can't really be honest and say, "I'm doing horrible. I've been crying all day. I’m mad at God. I can't find my stash of chocolate. I have a hangnail and I'm out of Dr. Pepper. I woke up looking like a character from Sesame Street and I haven't showered in three days!" Is that really what you want to hear? If it is, then you're just the person to ask and probably just the person someone in pain needs to talk to.

Usually, all a person feels comfortable saying is "I'm hanging in there," which doesn't even begin to describe the real torture they're enduring but may not even be able to explain. How do you tell someone that you can't sleep, that you're starving but nothing appeals to your taste buds, you can't believe you're going through this right now or ever or again, that you feel like God is punishing you, even though you know it isn't true, that you're angry with Him for allowing this, that you look at people differently now - everyone "seems" to be happy and have a perfect little family, that you had the urge to go up to every pregnant woman you see and tell her all about how you've just lost a baby, or that sometimes you just wish you could die. Tough stuff to explain.

This isn't an exhaustive list, although it did exhaust me to compile it. I hope it helps someone else from having to endure some of the insensitive things I did.

Also, a note following feedback I received from the people who did #1 and #2 above: Know the person you are sending/saying things to well enough to know whether or not they will be hurt. In both instances, I was incredibly hurt by what I perceived as insensitivity, when it turns out that both people felt that more hurt would be caused by not keeping me "in the loop." While I understand their reasons (and apologize for hurting their feelings), I still would rather have not received either email at that time. Another person might be an entirely different story and might be hurt by not receiving an email update.

buckled up

I should preface this update with a little sidenote: I recently told hubby that I thought the hallway floor in the addition seemed to dive downward in one spot. I figured perhaps the floor trusses were sagging. Apparently he did not believe me.

Yesterday we had one more thing go wrong with the addition. The HVAC guy was getting ready to start installing, when he went into the basement, only to find that the ground beneath the concrete had frozen, causing a whole lot of heaving and buckling, forcing the stairwell footings up four inches, and of course cracking the concrete.

He immediately told hubby about it, who had to call me and tell me I was right about the floor moving. (When's the next time I'll hear that phrase?) I had thought the floor was sagging, but instead it had risen in one spot.

It was fine when HVAC guy was here in January, so apparently the warming and then deep freeze in February found its way to the basement, doing a number on the addition. Now, we have a nearly useless concrete floor that will have to be removed and hauled out bucket by bucket and the 2x4's in the stairwell look like bananas.

Hubby tried to thaw things down there with a propane heater and some electric milkhouse heaters, but after doing some quick mathematics, realized that it would take us nearly a month to thaw and cost nearly $1K. So, instead he ran to Mpls. and bought some sort of concrete thawing blanket (that also cost nearly $1K) and we've got that plugged in now. It is supposed to thaw 12 inches overnight. We'll see how well it'll work since he'll have to move it around spot by spot to get the entire concrete floor covered.

Minnesota winters are getting harder to tolerate. The good news is that we're learning all sorts of things as we try to build this addition ourselves - some of it is knowledge we'd rather not know.

Too late to unbuckle and get off this ride.

inheritance

Hubby was driving the boys home the other day when Number Two blurted out: "Dad, when you die, I get the truck."

No sympathy, no sadness - just a simple inheritance request. Here's what I want when you die. Think my parents would be a little offended if I approached them like that.

Number One was also in the vehicle and he retorted with: "Well actually, it says in the Bible that the firstborn gets all the property and stuff, so I'd get the truck!"

Hubby didn't quite know what to do with either comment, except laugh.

It got me thinking about what we often want as our own inheritance. We sometimes even expect that we'll get it. We want or demand good health, wealth, love from family and friends, an easy life and no personality conflicts. When we don't get what we think we're entitled to, we sometimes get a bit cranky.

"I'm a good person! I deserve this! Why should I have to suffer? Why is my life harder than Joe Blow and he's a much worse person than I am?"

Life is hard. Life isn't fair. We can ask for things all we want, but it doesn't necessarily mean we'll get them. And, if we do, it doesn't mean at all that we deserve them.

I don't deserve a respite from tragedy any more than my son deserves to inherit a used Toyota Tundra. It may happen; it may not. The point is whether or not we're grateful for what we have and grateful for what we have to endure.

I'd still take the truck over some parts of my life though.