Sibling Shenanigans

I'm not quite sure how my large blue yoga ball became involved with cleaning up from dinner that night. While clumps of mashed potatoes and random forks still lay strewn about our kitchen table, the yoga ball, followed by all five of my children, tore through the house with deafening speed.

How would it end? Tears? Probably. Something broken? Maybe. With five kids I've certainly patched my share of drywall.

Thwump. Thwump.

Two hefty winter squash slid off the counter and onto the floor, barely missing someone's toes. Hmmmmmm... NOT cool. But neither squash nor toes were broken so after shrugging off some minor irritation from their mother, they resumed their mirthful brawl.

Our high ceilings and mostly bare walls echoed with recklessness and high-pitched squeals.

Then, tears. In the kufuffle I couldn't see how Halle ended up flat on her back, but with her knack for drama it looked bad...for about 30 seconds.

Back to the chase.

It wasn't long before there were more tears and I was peeling away the outer layers of four older siblings from the yoga ball. Lyla was smushed between all of them and the baseboard. From the safety of my arms she narrowed her eyes, shook her finger, and gave her siblings a severe tongue-lashing.

(Some days my number one goal is for the youngest two to survive the oldest three.)

My tolerance for sibling shenanigans has gradually enjoyed a little more wiggle room over thirteen years of parenting.

As I see my children building strong, resilient sibling relationships- ones they can depend on, the occasional drywall repair seems less important.

A sense of humor...and some good spackle help, too.

Piles of Fun- Part 1 (Leaves)

It was one beautiful fall day with two great big piles of fun.

First, the leaves...

It's Time to Sell the Children

On Sunday one of our church leaders counseled us to do all we can to minimize contention in our homes. Not one to delay acting on inspired counsel, I thought about auctioning off my youngest two children to the highest bidder Monday morning. You know, because auctions on the Sabbath day would be totally inappropriate.

That night as the fighting between Halle and Lyla escalated to hitting and biting, I reached into my mental grab bag of disciplinary strategies. Ah, yes. The front porch- perfect for a time when I needed a break from the noise to think more clearly. 

Picking my six-year-old up with one arm and opening the front door with the other, I explained with as little emotion as possible that hitting is NOT allowed in our house, so she'll have to wait outside.

"You can try again in five minutes," I told her. 

As I locked the door, Halle defiantly crossed her arms and screamed. Both she and I knew how this would end.

And sure enough, five minutes later I found her sitting quietly on the doorstep, ready for a good conversation and an even better hug.

Great. Situation successfully reset.

Ready to enjoy a peaceful evening, I tucked both little girls into bed and sat down in the hallway just outside their door.

Arggghhhh! Not ten minutes later those two were at it again!

"It's my book!"

"That's my space!"

"Stop singing!"

"Mom! Lyla's out of bed!"

"I don't like you!"

My mind honed in on the irony of the soft primary music coming from their CD player. A lot of good that was doing!

I recommitted to selling both of them just after breakfast the next morning.

Beau and Sophia, the oldest two, hardly ever fight. In fact, they are black belts at communication- watching them have a rare disagreement is even amusing. Beau will quietly, but firmly, state his concern with a classic "When you...I feel..." statement. Then Sophia will take a long, slow breath before restating his concern. Though perhaps a bit dramatic, it's impressive. I don't think I learned those skills until I was well into adulthood. To see these short people with squeaky voices managing their tones and saying things like, "So if I understand what you are saying..." is almost comical. 

My middle child, Tyjah, is getting there, too. He's still pretty good at pressing buttons and minding everyone else's business, but we've seen lots of progress even in the last few months.

(Sigh...)

Recognizing the progress of my other children softened my resolve. Maybe I wouldn't auction off the two little girls. Maybe what we're already doing to minimize contention is sufficient. Maybe I need to recognize the process and not just look for success in the ideal.

Doing all we can do to minimize contention doesn't mean our childrens' bickering won't occasionally drown out the peaceful music coming from their CD player at bedtime. Okay, right now it's more than occasionally. But it's a learning process. Teaching our children to be better communicators, encouraging them to be peacemakers, and loving individuals all takes time and patience. And their little minds need to develop, too. Piaget wasn't making all that stuff up.

Before long I realized the two little girls were quiet- not asleep yet, but peacefully reading books, humming along here and there to the music. I noticed Halle reaching over to gently stroke Lyla's head. "Go to sleep. Close your eyes, " she softly crooned. A moment to melt this mother's heart. 

I'll be keeping these two.

An Afternoon at Safeco Field

If you don't already have your own recipe for whining, here's a new one we tried out just the other day-

Combine:

2 small children

1 part thirst

2 parts fatigue

Stir well and add:

1 Mariners game ending in extra innings

This recipe is especially helpful to bring to Safeco Field where outside drinks are prohibited and a bottle of water costs $4.50.

We chose to add some cotton candy to our batch, but it's totally optional. It mellows the whine just a touch.

Of course, an entire course of whine by itself is a little overwhelming. Be sure to pair it with just a few smiles.

And maybe a little clapping.

One thing I would definitely recommend leaving out- a whole row of exceptionally loud Red Sox fans.

Wednesday

I woke up on Wednesday with a cannonball over my left eye.  At least that's what it felt like.  My eyes itched, burned, and generally complained about the whole situation by watering.  The pile of wadded-up tissues beside my bed told the rest of my family how well I DIDN'T sleep.  Allergies.  Maybe I need to switch medication.

I went through the next couple of hours at a crawl.  My littlest ones, of course, didn't understand and still expected Mom to be...well....Mom.  Mom, who makes breakfast and snacks.  Mom, who reads stories. Mom, who does art projects with them every Wednesday morning.

Part of me longed to ignore our "no TV during the week" rule, find something on Netflix for the girls, and wallow on the couch with one eye open.  The other part of me really wanted to see my girls have a special morning.  After all, it was Wednesday morning and Wednesday mornings are for art with my little girls.  

Not coincidentally, they are also for baths.

That afternoon I listened to Lyla sing herself to sleep in her crib, giving me permission to close my own watery eyes for just a bit.  I fell asleep gratefully, not only for the much-needed nap, but that I had pushed through just enough to have a special morning with my little girls.  

Morning Tea

Sometimes, breakfast with the little girls calls for just a little.....embellishing.

Cartoons in Mom's Bed

A day off from school brings a welcome break in routine-I get to stay nestled in my layers of blankets and pillows until, one-by-one, incoming children crowd me out of bed.

First, my youngest child comes in wanting to snuggle.  She leans close to my face and declares, "I wake up, Mommy!"  Her breath is warm and smells.......less than sweet.  But she wakes up so happy to be alive and ready to be loved that I can only smile and breath in all of her.

Somewhere between the first "I'm hungry" and the final resolution to get up and change that diaper, she finds my phone.  Cartoons.

Someone else comes in....interested in cartoons.

And because cartoons trump breakfast, we all enjoy a little more time to snuggle together.