Wednesday, July 24, 2013

What SAHMs do


Ok. Yes there is housework, and dishes, and meal prep, and oh so many butts to wipe, and laundry, and general housewiferymothery things... But the reason you'll never hear me play the stay at home martyr card is because of this: 


So much of this :) This was our whole day: party in the park with a dear friend and her toddler while Gracie slept on my chest. Thank You, Lord, for the gift of motherhood. 

Somewhat related, I actually asked my husband if I could go back to work super part time, just one or two nights a week to help pay for Korb's preschool this fall. The very unexpected answer: no. A resounding no. After a year off the books, and a year of routine and dinner (mostly) ready when he gets home, and housework (sometimes) getting done, and my stress level (almost always) at an blissfully small level (which happens to affect the entire household)...he said no, thank you. 

Well. 

Don't gotta tell me twice :)

Love,
The thankful homemaker. 

Sunday, July 21, 2013

Eureka, It's Urea!


After weeks of cajoling, threats of consequenes, nagging, and otherwise momfailing literally by the books (don't bribe, don't use consequences, don't force them, don't get upset, DONT BE A HUMAN BEING PLEASE BE A ROBOT MOM), Korb went PEEPEE ON THE POTTY last week. Once. It was a miracle. A real one, in our house. We'd had a long day, and I thought I'd ask God for a little help. I prayed that He'd help Korb use the potty. Then he did. It was a miracle.

Fast forward to this week. There were days of battling of the wills. One step forward, fourteen leaps back. I pictured my son graduating from university still in depends. Visions of cowpies plopped across my living room floor danced in my head. I was resigned to letting him just work it out with his kindergarten teacher. And then I remembered! Last week, I asked Jesus for help for the most mundane, ridiculous thing in the world. Couldn't hurt to try again. I asked Korb to use the potty. He used all his decibels to politely decline.

I asked the Lord for help.

Korb nicely informed us he had to go potty.

And he went.

Fluke? ME THINKS NOT. He went like, eight times! Then had an accident. Then I prayed again. Then he went potty again. Scoff all ye will, scoffers of the interwebs, this potty train is choochooing right outta the station, with Help from on high at the helm. I am now that girl that says "God helped me potty train my kid."


And dang proud of it.
Hallelujah.

Love,
The Church Lady


Thursday, July 18, 2013

7 Quick Takes

Because I can.

Actually, I hope I can. Are there rules to linking up? I'm doing it anyway. Linking up with the lovely Conversion Diary. (Posting early because I'm tired and breastfeeding and never free during the day and I CAN)



1. Doctor Who. I cannot believe it took me so long to give into my husband's nagging (encouraging?) to watch this dang show (NuWho, not the "classics"). I am and always will be a Trekkie, just like Spock will always be Jim's friend...but I'm pretty sure once you meet The Doctor, sick bay just doesn't cut it, if you're picking up what I'm putting down. I. am. hooked.



2. We just got central air after three weeks without it. In July. With a newborn. Gracie is seven weeks tomorrow (and just slept six hours, thank You Jesus!), and if you had to guess on a scale from one to NEVER how much she's loved nursing off a 98 degree mom in a 98 degree house for what seems like 98 billion days, if you guessed NEVER you'd be right. Thankfully, this girl is so blessed sweet, she didn't fuss much about it. So, thank You Lord.

3. Speaking of temperaments in children. Let me preface this with the obvious fact that I am head over heels in love with my child(ren, but we're sticking to the older one here). I still like to smell his sweet baby breath when I get a bedtime snuggle with him (TMI? TMtoughcookies). I try to kiss and hug him so much that he feels entirely comfortable refusing 99% of them because he knows there's no affection shortage in the 5 or 10 day upcoming forecast. Hopefully, this kid is very secure in his parent's love. All that to say, either I was waaaay off about not having a strong willed first child, or maybe he just has a sore bottom from being knocked off the only-child throne, or maybe it's because he's two and a half years old and the "terrible two's" are, in fact, a thing....but these last few weeks have had me in legit tears, multiple times a day, and I do not have PPD. I have feeling-like-a-failmom-eritis. It sucks. My sweet and sensitive boy has become way too comfortable screaming "NO" to my husband and I, ignoring and blatantly defying instruction, shrieking all the live long day, and generally not listening to us. Because I love him, (and because, honestly, it infuriates me), we have to discipline him (warning -> timeout -> spanking, rinse, repeat till you're ready to put your head through the flipping patio door) and this makes for a very unhappy toddler. Which leads to more defiance. Which leads to more consequences. And then it's tears alllllllll around. At the end of the day, I JUST want my kid to listen, so that it will go well with him. To love and obey God, to love and obey his parents, and honestly, it would be nice to get a snuggle or smile or any semblance that he isn't mad at me forever. I think that right there is my problem, wanting my kid to like me and not be mad at me, but this is becoming a not quick take.

4. Crockpots. I have been trying to get BBQ pulled chicken on the table for two weeks now because my entire day is spent with a baby in arms or babe in sling which means my cooking skills have disintegrated to something very sad, which is sad enough without Trader Joe's selling me stinky chicken. For real. If I spend eight to thirteen dollars on one more pack of organic chicken breasts that look fine but knock me out with a rotten egg smell upon opening, I'm going to flip. Do they have any idea how near impossible it is to get a newborn and toddler through a shopping trip? Both times I've done it, I've sworn it was my last. AINT NOBODY GOT TIME FOR REFUNDS, JOE.

5. On the aforementioned trip to Trader Joe's, my sweet boy kept tearing all the price tags and laminate signs off the produce and shelves and cheese. He loves the cheese. I love my kid. And yet...After numerous directives and warnings that another removal of a sign would result in a handslap or spank in the bathroom, he waddled up to the canteloupes, grabbed the sign, and ripped it off.

See what I did there? Replaced The Captain with The Doctor? For reals, I am hooked.
I calmly grabbed his hand, and led (dragged) him to the bathroom, where I intended to explain to him why he needed a swat, why his actions had consequences, blah blah. Before I could get there, he managed to pinch his finger between the cart and the wall and howled so loud I swear people in the parking lot heard. Needless to say, he did not get a spanking, but I did get the benefit of the entire store thinking I was a horrid mom for supposedly beating her child.

6. Because I can't have all bad stories about my favorite stomping ground, the Joe, if you haven't had their Tuscan Melon, you should hop, skip, and jump your way to your local TJ's and buy four of them. Buy four, stick three in your fridge, and one in your pie hole, because these things are THE epitome of summer. Best melon you'll ever have, pinky promise. 

7. I miss church. By the time Grace gets her vax's at the end of this month and we return asap, it'll have been two and a half months that I've been gone. That's almost a quarter of the year. I miss church. I need it, just like the Bible says I do. I miss the gathering of the brethren. The sweet refreshment in my Spirit that comes form hearing the Gospel - that God loves us, sent His Son to die for our sin while we were still His enemies, that we could be forgiven and reconciled to Him now, and in the life beyond - that before I get up and fail for the first or fiftieth time that day, that it's been bought and paid for at the Cross and His mercies are new every morning, and I can boldly approach His throne of Grace - I need to hear the Gospel preached. Every day. I need to worship the Creator of heaven and earth, my Creator, the same One who made toddlers and homes and the hearts of men and moms alike. I need communion with Him, I need fellowship with my brothers and sisters, I need the laughs, the sincere division of soul and spirit, heart and flesh, bone and marrow that hearing the Word incurs. All of it. I miss church, and am I the only person that follows the 8-week-no-enclosed-crowds rule to the letter? If so, I'll be pissed and I'm bringing my next one to church a lot sooner. Probably. We all know I get a little hermity after a new babe. My most recent of which is currently scooching awake for a boob. Which means it's back to number 1 - catching up with another episode of Doctor Who :)

If you've stuck along for all of these, good for you, Glenn Coco!


Lots and lots of love, and hugs, and a bleary eyed stare,
Chels


The enemy of good.

An old friend (shoutout, Pastor Mike!) used to tell my husband all the time "Don't let perfect become the enemy of good." I don't know why it took so many years to click, but I do this all the time; I don't write a post because it's not prepared perfectly. I don't sell anything on my etsy shop because it's not made, or shot, or lit, or priced, or described perfectly. I haven't finished the kids' scrapbooks because they're not laid out perfectly, or I have two thousand photos to pick from, and I want to pick the perfect one. I don't start cleaning the house if I can't finish the whole thing. I don't like to start projects unless I can sew them in one sitting. I bite off more than I can chew, then quit when it gets tough. It's annoying and I don't wanna do it anymore.

So, get ready for less than stellar posts, half finished thoughts, and sometimes mundane observations about the everyday (this post, for starters!). It's my blog and I can write what I want, and I'm not getting graded for it. I'm just going to do it. I'm going to try to stock my Etsy with one thing, and do that as well as I can with two kids two and under. On that note, Gracie is up and snorting, so it's milk truck time!

Love,
Me