Date Your Mate

Confession:  there are times that I miss dating. I’m not saying I miss the singles scene and want to go out with other guys again, but I definitely miss dating my husband before we were married with children. Back in the day, he tried hard to impress me, he was interested in my day, and he kissed me sweetly when he walked me to my door. I would walk in happy, blushing, and looking forward to seeing him again soon.

Fast forward to the present. This is what our typical date night looks like now: we get ready in the same bathroom, where my man is on the toilet and I'm applying deodorant while my toothbrush hangs out of my mouth. It’s not sexy! And do NOT get me started on sharing a closet. We are in each other's way, and before we can even leave the house, we're mad because his shoes were on my side, and he didn't appreciate me telling him to MOVE when he was blocking my exit.

At the restaurant we try to avoid talking about the kids, which means I have almost nothing to say since my life revolves around them. We run by Wal-mart because we remember we are out of milk and are home by 9:30. It would have been 9:00 if we hadn't driven around for half an hour to make sure they were asleep before we got there. (I mean really, if I have to go re-tuck them in bed and go through the entire bedtime ritual after paying a babysitter to do it, then I feel like I haven’t gotten my money’s worth) Finally, the hubs is sound asleep before I even get the sitter paid and out the door. So much for my good night kiss.

In marriage, we often lack the excitement and romance we had when the relationship was new, but we infuse tender moments into the rhythm of our daily lives. Pastor Chris Galanos says that it’s important to marry your best friend. Only a bestie can tolerate us when we’re at our worst and love us when we’re no longer trying to make a good impression. 

Currently my husband has a broken wrist, and I have to help him get ready in the mornings. Who but a BFF could you trust to tuck in your shirt tail and tie your shoes? Unless you're under 4 or over 90. Then you probably don't care who does it. We get frustrated with one another and laugh at the absurdity of me trying to fasten his belt and tie his tie. I don’t want to wish a broken bone or illness on myself, but it would be awesome if he gets to be my caregiver someday and help me put on my bras and straighten my hair. If that’s not love, then I don’t know what is! 

If you’re not married to your best friend, pray for God to move in your relationship. Find ways to play together, go on dates to increase your intimacy, and interact so that your love will deepen and last long after the kids are out of the house.  

My Super Chaotic Clan

One day I told my bored daughter that I was thinking my blog needed a new picture of our family. Preferably as super heroes. I gave her blank paper and said "make it happen."  

Here's what did happen. Not only did all five of us get capes with our initials on them, we also got indispensable powers bestowed upon us. And an intro like the deep-voiced narrator on cartoons. So you don't strain your eyes, I'll translate it here, but you'll have to insert your own voice over. 

"As we (the King family) [get ready for] school every morning, it's a rush. [but] not for Speedy Super Dad! (That'd be the hubs) Springy Shoe Mom (me!) bounces through the day (sometimes, but a good bra and Focus Factor keep the bouncing to a minimum). Super Carter (#3) flies through the school week. Stretchy Collin stretches his clothes out. (So true! He grows about an inch a week) Super Kailyn's laser eyes help them have nice grass!"

Can we just all agree this is awesome? I mean, tending the grass may be a slight waste of laser eyes, but as a super family, we rock! And I think my cape makes me look skinnier, so I'm ordering that exact one to wear every day. 

It Needed To Be Said

Social media has become a hotbed for adult cyber-bullying. Except we politely call it "mom-shaming" instead. There are militants in every camp pushing their way of doing things on everyone else as if it is the only way, and definitely the right way. The rest of us who don't conform to the right way are called out. You know what I'm talking about because you've done it, you've "liked" it, and you've been victim of it:

     If you don't breastfeed, you're robbing your kids. If you flop your breastfeeding tools out in public, you're a menace. If you don't send your children to a Christian school, you're setting them up for disaster. If you do send them to a Christian school, you are narrow-minded and snooty. If you don't home school, you must not care to spend time with your kids. If you do home school, you're keeping your kids in a bubble and not letting them thrive. Don't even get me started on the child abuse of NOT eating organic!
I could keep going, but you get it-there is an infinite list of things that we are all doing wrong, and our friends are the ones pointing it out to us.

If you're thinking I'm on my high horse telling all-a-y'all what you're doing wrong, please understand, I'm the worst offender of all. I've done it, and someone called me on it. My response was, "well it needed to be said." The truth is, no, it didn't need to be said. Neither do any of our commentaries about why workout clothes are offensive outside of the gym or why the way we choose to educate our kids is the best way. God didn't make us all to be his hands or his feet, and He sure enough didn't make us all to be the eyes and mouths!

Before you go all First Amendment on me and claim you have the right to say whatever you want, let me add that just because you can, doesn't mean you should, and if you wouldn't say it to someone's face, why do you (and I) think it's okay to say it online in front of everyone?

When did we start deciding we have the right to shame each other? Maybe we've always had the thoughts, and now thanks to the Internet, we feel emboldened to put them out there for everyone. No longer do we adults hold to the adage "if you wouldn't say it to their face, don't say it behind their back."  Now we just think it's our job to share it with the world.  And yet we are uber-quick to defend our kids from online attacks.

James 3:8 says "no man can tame the tongue. It is a restless evil, full of poison." Verse 10 says, "Out of the same mouth come blessing and cursing." Well, friends, whatever poison has inflicted our mouths has traveled to our hands and possessed the fingers as well. Again I ask you, if you wouldn't dare say it to someone's face, what right do you have to post it to the masses?

Just shut up and eat your aphids

I saw an Internet article that listed my hometown among the 10 most boring cities in America. The researcher certainly never contacted me for comment because I haven't had a boring day here since 2003. I'm sure it has something to do with the people I live with, so if you're bored, I'm willing to loan them out!

Today is day three of the new school year, and already we've fallen off the wagon. Well that's not right, but give me another day! Maybe the right phrase is that our train of success has derailed. This morning the hubs had a very early meeting. "We" were up by 5:15. I say we because I grumbled something like, "it's way too early for me to even like you right now" and curled up on the living room sofa while he got ready. Not being morning people, events that transpire before the sun comes up tend to be bad omens.

So the king King was out the door before the princes and princess fully emerged from their rooms, and they concluded the rules went to work with him. As they were eating breakfast, the girl screams "he's trying to kill me!" With her that could mean a range of things from a brother is poised to whack her with a bat, to there's a bird on the window sill with an angry look on his face. This time it meant little brother had tossed a rose petal from the bouquet I plucked from the garden last night into her drink.

I assured her that roses aren't poisonous, fished it out, and handed her the glass. She continued screaming "aphids! The aphids are in my drink. Now I'll starve!" Because that makes sense. I guess a hunger strike is the imminent response to insect contamination of your milk glass. I was unaware. I said that aphids aren't poisonous or ladybugs wouldn't eat them, and even if they were, I didn't bring roses inside that had aphids on them, and even then, if one was in her drink, one wouldn't hurt her. The drama didn't end. In fact, I expect to get an email from her teacher inquiring if I really force my kids to eat bugs for breakfast.

While this conversation was going nowhere, the boys went to brush their teeth and fix their hair. And by that, I mean the oldest used his dad's beard trimmer to remove his brother's sideburns. What 7 year old has sideburns?! We also have an explicit rule that you're never allowed to cut your own hair or your siblings' hair. History (and sitcom television) has prompted us to leave no gray area on this subject. But like I said, the rules must have gone to work with Dad.

This pic was taken seconds before I used tiny safety scissors (that's all I could find at that moment) to clip the remaining strands over his ears, said a quick prayer that no one would look too closely at both sides of his head and realize how odd his hair looks, and loaded everyone in the car.

Maybe tomorrow I will get to be bored, but it seems highly unlikely.

So this just happened...

School started today, and we made it out the door, dressed, fed, and with all the necessary items with time to spare. That's one day out of the next 179 days that I can reflect on as a good mom day! I'm going to need it to carry me through all the rest that are more like yesterday.

Two days ago my seven year old was really adorable and sweet. He told me I was the most beautiful woman in the world (and hey, who am I to argue with his genius? Never mind that he refuses to wear his glasses, but whatever!). He also told me chocolate was sweet like me.  It's been years since I've been talked to like that. Thirty-@# to be exact, which is coincidentally how old I am. So I ate it up! I thought about buying him a pony. I'm glad I held off because then this happened...

Yesterday the oldest third of the King babies was aggravating the crud out of the other two. The doorbell rang. I kind of figured it was the big kid trying to pull something, but I played along. I don't know why. Sometimes I lack the necessary with-it-ness that moms must have at all times. I opened the door to an empty porch, so I shut it and waited. I knew he'd ring the bell again, so I planned to throw open the door and startle him before he could hide again. He did, and I did. Sort of. I flung open the door to my kid wearing a sheet and a stupid-scary Halloween mask. I screamed, slammed the door, and locked the monster outside.

That sweet little boy who loved his mama yesterday came up behind me with a plastic sword saying, "you're a wimp, mom. Scardy cat."  Yeah, he's been demoted from the sweet one to the grounded from technology one. He opened the door and whacked is brother square in the rubber face. A good mom would have stopped that right away, but this mom just had the pee scared out of her.

Kid 1 chased kid 3 up the stairs. Kid 3 hid in his closet (who's the scardy cat now?!) and climbed onto the clothes bar. I didn't even ask why. The end result is that the little end piece that holds the bar in place broke, and The entire wardrobe crashed in a heap. The kid is fine, but when you see him in his first day of school pics looking like he pulled a wadded shirt out of the dirty clothes, it's because there was a monster at the door, and the clean hanging clothes became a casualty of war.

Happy fall semester, y'all!

I'm Insulted. Again

  I have a serious heart problem. Don't freak out; my ticker is fine. I mean my soul, the part of me that loves and wants to make connections. That heart has a malfunction. You see, I really really don't like being wrong. Not that anyone does I suppose, but when my wrongness is pointed out to me, I quickly get offended.  It's so bad, I got worked up over a product review that claimed something I have bought and loved was junk. What difference did that review make in my life? Did one stranger's viewpoint (which I just have to say was totally off base) really make me look flawed?

Recently someone corrected my homophone use. (You know, words that sound the same but have different meanings-there, their, they're) I was highly insulted that this person wasted both our time to point out such a minor slight. The next day as I was reading my Bible no less, I happened upon a similar usage of that same word. I had used the right one! I really wanted to highlight the verse, snap a photo, and send it to the offender clarifying that I was right. That's not unlike what I see happening every day in social media-people use all kinds of scripture to prove their political view or to condemn any number of perceived injustices. I wonder how many times a day God just wants to high five our smug, self-righteous faces.
Let me tell you what REALLY offended me. I was cooking dinner, and one of the people in my house POURED seasoning into the pot! Seriously??? This person did not taste it first, and it was a dish this person couldn't even eat for dietary reasons. How would he or she even know what it needed?! I was furious that he would deliberately try to make me look like I didn't know what I was doing. (Ok, it was my husband) How DARE he? I was so mad in fact, I refused to eat the dish, that is, until he left to run an errand later on. It was good, just the right amount of seasoning. Dear merciful God, please don't let him read this. 

 Why was I so angry over such a small thing? Why did it even matter? It mattered in that moment because I felt like I was being accused of being wrong. And I must always be right. It's a flaw in myself that I hate. Actually, I rarely recognize it as a flaw. More like a gift. It's hard to be right all the time! :) It's also hard, if not impossible, to be humble and put others before myself when I have to be right. I spend so much time and energy being offended and trying to prove my accuracy (thank you, Google for speeding up that process) that I miss opportunities to feel joy and model appropriate responses for my kids.  "Fools show their annoyance at once, but the prudent overlook an insult." Proverbs 12:16

 I should probably get that tattooed on my hand so I will see it every time I start to angry text, Google, check IMDB to prove I'm right about that movie/actor. History has shown me to be a fool, and that definitely offends me. 

Patience, Peace, Sick Kids, and Water Leaks

This was a Monday straight out of The Carpenters song: Rainy Days and Mondays. Ok, not entirely because if you google the lyrics, there's a lot of walking around with nuthin to do and feeling like a clown. On the contrary, I had more than my fair share to do, and I don't know how clowns feel because they scare me, so I prefer not to think about them at all. Here's how my rainy Monday went down: We discovered a roof leak in the closet, above my side and all my stuff. Then, as I'm stepping out of the shower, my husband ushers the 130 pound dog who had an accident in her crate into the shower with me. Have you bathed a Great Dane in the shower? Oh, you don't own a gigantic house horse? Picture the hairiest adult you know wreaking of urine on all fours in your shower. It's your job to soap him up and make sure the underside is thoroughly rinsed even though you do not have a hand held sprayer to do that job. Super fun, right?!
Next, I cleaned out the potty crate, which took an entire roll of paper towels and involved me getting stuck (not because of my size, but I have a bad knee still healing from surgery). Feel free to replace my vivid shower imagery with a grown woman wriggling out of a dog crate with drippy wads of paper towels. You know what, we should move on. Don't picture any of that. The girl child had a screaming meltdown at breakfast because her big brother hid her shoes. One was in the freezer and the other in the mop bucket. She was still bawling in the car about her cold foot and her smelly mop water foot. So I drove three fighting children to school, took myself to the doctor where I got x-rayed and sentenced to six more weeks in my fabulous knee brace that seems to provoke strangers to make the oddest comments to me about my condition. That's a whole blog of its own for another day. As I left the doctor's office, the school called me to pick up a sick kid. I had just enough time to discover water seeping out of a wall at home before the boy and I proceeded to wait in another doctor's office for 2 hours. In the meantime, my husband was texting me pictures of the dry wall he had to cut to expose a leaking pipe. My stress level maxed out when my kid started leaping off the exam table using our umbrella as his parachute. I had checked the hallway multiple times to be see if they remembered we were still there, and upon finding no one at all to help me, I finally walked out, told the receptionist it was unfair to make a sick kid wait that long, and asked for my copay to be refunded. I did not storm out. I calmly informed her that we wouldn't be waiting any longer.

Thankfully, the plumber came quickly to fix the pipe and turn the water back on, but my bad day didn't let up even a hair until my husband came home with dinner in hand. At one point in the midst of disaster, I read my Bible app verse of the day: "But the Holy Spirit produces fruit in our lives: love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control. There is no law against these things!" (Galatians 5:22-23, NLT)
Oh great. I had failed to show fruits of the spirit as I dealt with a crummy day. Then I realized, in some ways, I had shown extreme patience. Walking away from the doctor's office when I was about to lose that patience, was a show of self control. I spared an unsuspecting health care worker an unpleasant unleashing of frustration by leaving before it erupted. Two out of nine fruits! Perhaps a godlier woman wouldn't erupt in the first place, but I'm betting that woman didn't start her day with a Great Dane in her shower and her head in a crate full of pee. Sometimes we all need to walk away before we have to apologize for losing our cool. Today I will try again to show love, joy, gentleness, patience, faithfulness, peace, kindness, goodness, and self-control. But I have to preface physical therapy, which I dread, with a trip to the hardware store so we can patch a giant hole in the wall, so there's a good chance I will be met with opportunities to drop the ball again. In that case, I can hold onto 2 Corinthians 12:8 where God says, "My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness." I certainly give The Father plenty of room for perfection because I have SOOO much weakness, but we survived a rainy Monday together, and He will make up for my shortcomings many more times before the sun pokes its face out again. 

Will the Real Joy Thief Please Stand Up

Someone tried to steal my joy this week and make me feel like a bad person. I stewed over it for 24 hours and fumed and thought "how dare she?!" I even thought how nice it would be if Throat Punch Thurday was a real thing. (I wrote this on a Thursday btw). I was so enraged by the event that I felt like a bad person. In my bitterness God said to me, "you're the one robbing yourself of joy, and you are letting a minor blip eat you alive. Throat Punch Thursday? Do you really want to punch yourself?" And I thought, no, I already limp severely; I don't need a black eye to draw even more unwanted attention to myself. For the record, I didn't audibly hear all that dialogue from the Heavens, but nonetheless, God convicted me in my spirit.

How often do we steal our own joy? How many times a day do we blame others for how we feel? Why can't we all Taylor Swift it and just shake it off when we feel wronged? Or pull an Elsa and let it go? It's because we like our own drama. We are like dogs who come back to smell their own business. Gross? So is the filth we wallow in just so we can play the role of martyr. And worse, we bring our friends and family to see our dirty business so they can turn up their noses too. And once we have a contingency behind us agreeing with us about how awful we've been wronged, our small predicament becomes a full blown catastrophe. Here's an example. 

Last weekend the 5 Kings were in a hotel room, and I jokingly told my oldest his sister's dolls were going to watch him sleep. Well that just provoked him to move the dolls, which provoked the girl to explode into hysterics. She sounded like she was having a limb removed from her body all because her dolls face planted at the hand of her diabolical brother. This lasted over an hour and resulted in a hyperventilating kid who is now grounded from playing with said dolls because of her dramatic display. If you think I'm exaggerating her reaction, we can check the hotel surveillance footage. She was wronged in her mind, and her anger extended itself to the entire building. CPS is still investigating! That part might  be an actual exaggeration, but her outcry was absurdly loud, ugly, and eternal. The whole family, if not the entire 4th floor, got to be disrupted right along with her because she made sure we all beheld the dirty deed she'd been dealt. Yet here I am, just a few days after this nonsense, failing to see the ridiculousness of my own display. I stole my joy, and I let someone else take the blame for it. Shame on me. John C. Boger said, "Anger and bitterness are two noticeable signs of being focused on self and not trusting God’s sovereignty in your life. When you believe that God causes all things to work together for good to those who belong to Him and love Him, you can respond to trials with joy instead of anger or bitterness.” Responding to trials with joy is a virtue I have yet to master. However, I am still moldable clay in the Potter's hands, and I am willing to be reshaped by His patient mercy and grace rather than becoming hardened by my circumstances.
So if you hear me rant about a righteous indignation, please hum a little pop princess tune to me, and I'll know it's time to shake it off, let it go, and move on.

Mom's Last Nerve is More Sensitive Than the Others

 Tonight I blew it...that's it. The story of my life summed up in four painful words. Once again in this crazy parenting side show, I lost my cool and screamed at my kids. When my angels are driving me mad, I say "you're getting on my nerves!" And some smarty pants always wants to know which nerve they're on because as long as it's not the last one, they're safe. Well this was one of those all too frequent times when they had no warning; they'd just stepped on all the nerves at once.
Here's the thing, my husband has a great job that has him home at a decent hour almost every night. Occasionally though, this week being one of those occasions, he has to travel out of town, leaving me home with the spawn of his loins all by my unprotected lonesome self. The kids see Daddy being away as a free-for-all because he's the parent who prepares healthy meals and sticks to the schedule. I get distracted (usually by laundry) and forget to put them to bed, after I've fed them take-out and sniffed their pits to see if bath time can fall by the wayside. Side-note to the hubs: There you have it, honey, all my dirty little secrets. You can never leave us because we would fall apart.
 So tonight's merriment included eating takeout on the patio while throwing the dog's ball (totally unsanitary while eating with one's hands, but if you don't throw the ball, the dog will lick your food. Either way you're eating dog slobber, but hey! Dad's not here to stop us and mom won't catch on for another five minutes because she's still helping with homework and trying to get the toothpaste stain out of a karate gi), spraying a sister with the water hose, and sneaking ice cream bites right out of the freezer while mom sorts 9,000 notes in three backpacks that all need to be signed and have checks attached.
I hit my breaking point when 2/3 of them thought me saying "go brush your teeth" was merely a suggestion and chose to ignore me.
At first yelling felt good. Not gonna lie, it released a bit of the tension I built up over the course of the aforementioned activities. Then I just felt like a bad mom. I hurt my babies' hearts and put them to bed feeling lousy. I hate getting into this cycle, but sometimes I feel powerless to overcome it. I am a Proverbs 14:29 What Not To Do. "People with understanding control their anger; a hot temper shows great foolishness. (NLT) Now what? I did the only thing I could do after blowing it in my parenting. I backtracked. I apologized to my kids and kissed and hugged them again. I also reminded them that it's still important that they obey me even when Dad's not home. Then I came downstairs and read James chapter 3. His wise words speak truth about how difficult it is to tame our tongues and yet how valuable doing so is. Verse 18 renews my spirit that I can try again tomorrow  to be a "peacemaker [who] will plant seeds of peace and reap a harvest of righteousness."
Lord, thank you for your mercy that covers my multitude of mistakes. Please help my kids turn out great in spite of them, and please oh PLEASE protect their father so that I never have to raise them on my own!

Where are all the mom bloggers of big kids?

I just read a blog post on www.homesanctuary.com that asked this question. It's a great read as Rachel Anne Ridge talks about how we become more isolated online as we morph into being a mom of an middle schooler.  Silent now are postings about the cute chaos of toddlerhood, sleepless nights, and pic comments like "OMG so PRESH." She's so right! It's not totes adorbs to post about mood swings, braces, acne, and homework meltdowns. Many of the circles that sustain and refresh preschool moms (MOPS, play groups, etc) are visibly missing for moms of 5th graders about to send their firstborns to the dog-eat-dog world of middle school. But we are still very present and very much in need of support from one another. On top of the drowning in the lost world of adolescent hormones and hurt feelings, (SO MANY FEELINGS!) many of us are also embarking into deep waters with ailing parents, career changes,  and even our own less than perfect health. Getting older is painful and scary, and I swear if I see one more skinny girl selfie with the post "I finally lost all my baby weight; it's about time!" while holding a 6 month old infant on her hip, I'm going off the social media grid with a box of cupcakes and a bottle of fine wine like I never could have afforded when my kids were in diapers. Sorry, that was random. I meant to say, even though we have braved the teething and potty training fronts and emerged victorious, we older moms still need one another. Who else will help me now that my daughter is whispering about cute boys for the first time or hold my hand in reassurance after I drive my oldest to the ER to get stitches for attempting ridiculous acrobatic feats with items salvaged from a dumpster? (true story. You can't make up that kind of crazy, folks) And neither can you warn a new mom that her angel face will be the one who pulls the fire alarm at church one day (not a King shenanigan, but true nonetheless)? There's no way to prepare someone for the stuff our older kids will do, but we can continue to be there for one another and share our adventures. Be a voice for your friend who needs to hear it. We shouldn't be lonely as we weed through this ugly phase of parenting, and we should still find humor and preciousness in our growing offspring, even when their shoes size and attitudes far exceed our own. Solidarity, sisters!