I have spent a fair amount of time here opening up about the difficulties of motherhood.

I mean, kids are work.

Not just physical, but who knew how much of an EMOTIONAL toll motherhood would take.

I don’t just worry about the here and now, but I spend a lot of time worrying about the days to come.

WHO KNEW that in nearly every discipline decision I would not only weigh the present, but also THE ENTIRETY OF THEIR FUTURE.

Dramatic much?

Perhaps.

But here’s the thing… with all the messes, and reasonable level of disobedience (who doesn’t disobey, right?), the inconvenience of when potty trips have to be made, the misplacing of shoes and coats, and did I mention the messes???…

I really like my kids.

And as soon as I hit publish I am sure there will be reason for me to log back in and just line-through this entire post.

Thus is the nature of children and their mothers.

But I wanted to share a sweet story that I not only want to remember, but also offer as hope to those moms who are in the thick of life with a 2-3 year old boy.

Because, Mamas, I know you need some hope.

My boy never stopped. He was utterly physically exhausting to keep up with, and there was the one time he bit a kid on the face. And countless other times he hit/kicked/screamed his way into unwanted infamy. My dear friend gave him his first haircut when he was two. He kicked her in her stomach.

Never before or since has a client kicked her in the stomach. And she is still my friend. Bless you, Sara…

But the hope.

My son is 12. I am in no way claiming he is good at choosing an inside voice (EVER), nor always listens in class, nor never ever rolls his eyes when given a chore to do…

However. He doesn’t kick the barber anymore. He hasn’t bitten another kid on the face. Nor does he kick, scream, spit and hit when we try to leave the toy store.

*cue GLORY music here*

Recently, one evening, we, just him and me, hit the mall for some holiday-related errand running. He had the option to invite a friend over instead. Or stay home for a couple hours while I took care-o-business. But he wanted to hang with me. His Mama.

*passes tissue*

We hit the mall, looked at shoes, shopped for gifts for his dad and sisters. We laughed, talked, ate fast food, got turned away by a closing-too-early-5-days-before-Christmas-Starbucks, then came home. He turned on jazzy Christmas music (the boy loves him some Bing Crosby) and we got our present wrapping on.

Just my boy and me.

If anyone had suggested such a scene between my boy and me 10 years ago, I would have laughed my way into the “happy home”. Our first 4-5 years were TOUGH. I have no idea what mothering a teen will hold.

*begs for prayer*

Recently, I have been working hard to be more intentional with my kids. Even just taking the time stop and watch. As I have been taking this time, I have realized… oh my gosh – I LIKE MY KIDS.

I think you know what I’m talking about. I LOVE my kids, but the biggest surprise in motherhood has been learning this lesson: just because I love my kids, it doesn’t mean I like them all the time.

The same may or may not be said for husbands.

But lately, despite the aggravations… I am finding such sweetness in my children. I am finding such joy in being THEIR mom. Which sounds so wrong, how could a mom not find joy in their children? To that I reply, “When your 3 year old bites somebody’s face… Um… FIND JOY IN THAT.”

All that to say, I know not what the future holds (remember: teens years ahead!), but I am so thankful for where we are now and who I see my children becoming. I am proud to be their Mama and I like them. A lot.

Let’s see how I feel the day after Christmas…

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Confession: I like my kids is a post from: Jenny On the Spot * This is what I do...

I guess I just did.

I left my older 2 home while I took Young Lucy to a birthday party… to the home of adults I had not met. I had to go. This is what mothers do. We do not drop our kids off at the homes of strangers.

Except I did. It had been A DAY. A “no time for red lights” kind-of day. I dropped off Lucy at the party, then took the the older 2 home… then went back.

You can feel the earth tremble, no?

Aaaaaanywho…

I made sure “the olders” had the home phone (we haven’t launched into giving the cell phones yet)… and I had them lock the door behind me. I also reminded the kids to not go outside while I was gone.

We were good. We were golden. I was 8 minutes from home.

About 45 minutes into the party, I decided to check in. But reception was bad.

Oh snap.

I stood on my head.

I created an antenna out of a wire hanger and made an headband out of it and stood on one leg.

I stood in the middle of the driveway and FINALLY got through… to the little message that basically told me – HOME PHONE NOT WORKING.

D*mn it.

I called the husband. He had tried to call me moments before… to tell me… the kids discovered the phone wasn’t working and I needed to get home.

“Jenny, did you panic?”, you ask?

YES.

*An aside: my son is 12. He is fine being at home for a couple hours… even more. He’s 12, for cryin’ out loud. And the boy is uber-psycho-crazy responsible  ESPECIALLY when he knows he has the be The Man. He’s done it a few times before, but…

And he is as hilarious as he is handsome.

When he discovered the phone was not working (say, 20 minutes before I even called), he freaked out because he knew I’d freak out if I found out I wouldn’t be able to get through.

So, being The Man that my boy is, he got on my computer and tried to email me (on account of the fact I have email on my phone) but couldn’t figure out how to do that… because I haven’t let him have email yet.

I am terrible. But I don’t have the email headache that some parents of tweens have, so I don’t feel like we are missing out. We will have to do it very soon, and that is soon enough for me.

So. When email didn’t work, he thought.

And thought.

And thought.

And got on the xBox. He messaged his cousin to tell his aunt to call me to tell me to come home.

It was about this time I had reached my husband on the phone and he told me Joel had messaged his aunt on xBox, yadda, yadda, yadda… and I needed to get home right away.

I left Lucy.

I mean… by then there were party games, and… I had deemed the mother to be non-psychotic.

After 30 8 minutes I got home, to a locked door. Of course! When I walked in I found 2 kids worried their mom was panicked. They were never worried about them.

OK, maybe a pinch.

But mostly, they were freaked out because they were worried I was freaking out.

AND I WAS.

We had a good, long “bring it in” moment.

Here’s where it gets good — Despite their “emergency” they managed to clean the basement and match socks… just as I had asked before I left.

Bless my kids.

They decided it’d be cool to crash the kindergarten birthday party.

The party people were very sweet and let my party-crashers load-up on sweets. Nothing like positive reinforcement, no?

And if I was ever concerned about my boy not being able to handle an emergency. I have no doubt now. He is a smart and capable kid. He truly is… The Man.

And the next day, when I had a coffee meeting to discuss the magic of local social media… he decided to come with me and the girls. Which was fine because the dad I was meeting with brought his 3 kids too.

And then today… I lost track of my son at Kohl’s… he had them page me. Thinking he might be becoming a better mother than me.

A few question for yas…

• At what age is it O.K. to leave kids home alone?
• Don’t you think my son is The Man?
• When your child is invited to the party of a kid whose family you don’t really know… do you stay or do you go?

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Dare I Tell You I Left My Kid(s) Home Alone? is a post from: Jenny On the Spot * This is what I do...

I had to go run an errand.

We needed more milk. It was 6:45. At night. And I had pancakes to make for dinner.

They don’t call me Jenny On the Spot for nothin’…

*dead silence*

Aaanywho… The kids stayed home. Dad was home. Don’t judge.

Then I came back.

With milk. But not fabric softener.

I needed fabric softener more than I needed milk.

*kicks self*

When I drove up, my son (12) was standing on a rock doing this:

Let me explain what is going on here:

• I don’t know.

But now I do, because I rolled down the car window and I was all, “JOEL. !!!! JOEL. !!!!”

He rubbed his bulging, lumpy belly and half-moaned-half-giggled, “I ate too many corn dogs!”

My son has taken quite a fancy to the art of practical joking. So, in my errand-running absence my son stuffed his t-shirt with his sister’s Pillow Pet, put ketchup on the corners of his mouth, and filled his mouth with milk…

The REST of our milk. Good thing I forgot the fabric softener and not the milk afterall…

My son waited patiently for my return.

And as I drive up (literally, UP – we have a bit of a peak at the top of our country-like-drive) I see my son standing on a rock… spewing.

I drove the van onto the concrete pad. I opened the door and set my feet on the concrete.

And then my son “vomited” the rest of his milk at my feet as I stood up.

I gagged, though I knew it wasn’t vomit.

Then I yell-laughed at him to hose it off.

Because it was actually quite funny.

Horrible. Gross. And funny.

This little family I am nurturing. Oh people…

While some moms might be appalled and such… I will admit I felt a little gaggy, but I also felt a sense of pride. Math can be mastered — because there are rules. However… a good sense of humor – that’s a gift.

Also a gift? Hosing the fake vomit off the driveway. A gift to mom.

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Do you like feeling pretty? Mary Kay is letting me give a $100 gift basket, but you have to go here to enter!

And also $100 Visa gift card. I have one of those too! But here… go here!

And this:

You can fool some of the people some of the time, but ya can’t fool MY KIDS — here.

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Boys. is a post from: Jenny On the Spot * This is what I do...

My “baby”… this kid:

Turned 12 today.

Punk kid.

I need to take a moment.

I don’t know which is harder, realizing I am old enough to have a 12 year old or realizing I am old enough to have a 12 year old the fact that my “baby” is not a baby.

Punk kid.

Heaven help me. I love that kid almost more than I can bear. I am so proud and so freaked-out and all kinds other emotions. Those baby books never described this.

Babies are only babies for mere months. Then they turn 12.

*sigh*

Punk kid.

Awesome kid.

Love you, Punk.

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Taking a moment… is a post from: Jenny On the Spot * This is what I do...

Alternately titled: The Hill I Chose to NOT Die On: Gun Control

Alternatelyly titled: I have a boy, and sticks and stones may break my bones, and other creative uses…

Alternativelylyly titled: Give a kid a fish duct tape, a toilet paper tube and freedom to collect sticks in the yard with his buddies, he might make a gun…

I have a boy.

All the hasty generalizations one might make about boys… that’s my boy.

Aaaaand he’s my firstborn…

When I was a freshman new mom, I was committed. NO GUNS.

Ever.

No finger guns, no stick guns, no race car guns, no Mr. Potato Head arms-guns… and certainly no dinosaur tail guns!

Do you see where I am going with this?

One fateful day… when my son was, oh… say TWO… he sat at the kitchen table. The noises he made — artillery. Blasts. And some dino growls.

“Joel. Let’s not play guns. Eat your lunch.”

And then I looked. Had I an iPhone back in early 2001… not only would I have a picture to share, but I’d also have Instagrammed the heck out of it. BUT.

My son…

From his peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

I repeat: HIS PEANUT BUTTER AND JELLY SANDWICH

He had eaten around the crusts.

He was meticulous.

Precise.

He had eaten that sandwich into the shape of a gun.

On that day… in that moment… I threw up my hands and said “I give up.”

And when I say I’m gonna do something, you better believe I do.

Oh did I ever give up!

And now I ask… How about you? What has made you throw up your hands and “give up”? Before I was a parent, I was the BEST parent. How were you a better parent before you became one?

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Choose Your Battles: The one about how I said guns are O.K. Ish. is a post from: Jenny On the Spot * This is what I do...

This is my boy. He’s the kid with the black sweatshirt. Have mercy on my soul, my boy…

O.K. So, I’m pretty proud too.

I love having a boy… He freaks me out, grosses me out and amazes me everyday.

Yesterday was his friend’s birthday. He brought his buddy a gift. His broken DS.

Why?

So they could smash it to pieces.

This stuff reminds me of the time when my son was a little guy in preschool. All the little girls were ooh-ing and ahh-ing over a caterpillar. They gathered grass and water to care for the fuzzy creature. But the boys became curious… headed over and shouted, “LET’S KILL IT!!

Stomped the poor thing to death… Those poor, upset little girls!

Boys.

My boy.

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• Win a necklace from Robyn Rhodes here, just in time for Mother’s Day
• Pizza and storage to win here…
• Woogie anyone? Go here to find out what it is and how to win one!

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Make Me Laugh Monday: My Boy is a post from: Jenny On the Spot * This is what I do...

There is a certain substitute at my kids’ school that… shall we say… has not found favor in the eyes of my children.

{photo cred}

On the way home from school today the oldest (11) said, “I don’t think I’ll survive if I have Ms. So-and-So again.”

His 8 year old sister offered him comfort, “You’ll be O.K… I had her last week for FOUR days. I didn’t die.”

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Overheard: Surviving the Substitute is a post from: Jenny On the Spot * This is what I do...

Field trips.

Good times, no?

Last week I got to drive a group of five 5th grade boys to a field trip.

Before my son agreed I could chaperon, he had a few rules:

• I wasn’t allowed to say, “WHAT UP MAH PEEEEEPS?!” as a greeting to my new 5th grade besties.
• I wasn’t allowed to bust my typical “I’m drivin’ mah car” moves, either…
• And I was strictly forbidden from playing Start Wearing Purple by Gogol Bordello.

Sheesh. He might as well have grounded me from coffee too.

The boys wanted me to play music loud, but somehow I managed to help them not notice as I turned the music nearly all the way down… You see, I wanted to listen to them laugh and talk. I’m so sneaky. And those are some good, funny boys.

*wipes tear*

And we had a wonderful time. I think my son described it as, “epic”.

It didn’t hurt that on our way back I kind-of broke the rules. Except it wasn’t a rule, but you know when you wonder if a rule exists, but it is just unspoken.

Basically, I took those boys through The Burger King and got them each a milkshake. It added 4 minutes to our return trip home and I was worried they boys’ mothers would be mad at me. But a lifetime of remembering the time Mom drove through the Burger Kind drive-thru and got milkshakes for all his buddies was worth the risk.

SO worth the risk.

As I passed the milkshakes back to the boys, the cautious boy of the bunch said, “But I don’t even know your name?!”

Could you just DIE!

Without skipping a beat I said, “Just call me Awesome.”

And they did… ALL the way back to school, at school, and little greetings since. Oh, and when my boy came up to me after school that day, his first words were, “Mom. You were awesome.”

If only for one day… I will take it. And when he goes to counseling for all the NOT awesome I have inflicted upon him, we will always have that one field trip and Burger King milkshakes.

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Just Call Me Awesome is a post from: Jenny On the Spot * This is what I do...

The process of motherhood is exactly that – a process.

Sure, one pops a baby out of one’s nethers and…. voila! A mommy is born! Well, that’s one way, at least…

BUT.

Process.

My poor son. My first born. He has grown with me as much as I have grown with him. My guinea pig.

I can relate to his role as “guinea pig”, for I am the oldest sibling too. It’s not easy. Especially when one has our personality type – a judger… a heightened awareness of what is fair and what is not… sensitive, particular and passionate.

As my children have grown out of diapers and can now butter their own bagels… I have struggled. I miss the babies. But I so much do not miss the babies.

I have caught me worrying – now that my kids are not babies and toddlers… will I have anything to feel all motherly/gushy/coo-ey about? Not to mention blow-outs and baby faces can make for some good blog content! And I miss those baby snuggles. Baby cheeks. Milk breath… Should the huz have made that visit to Dr. Snip? I am not kidding, the doctor’s name was Dr. Snip.

But I tell me this – Have No Fear.

Enter: my son.

We have had the most wonderful, yet the most complex of relationships. When I think of how I have blown it – as I have misunderstood his personality, over-reacted, reacted to his behavior out of pleasing/fearing others… I stand in awe of my boy.

I stand in awe of his heart. His mind. His conviction. His awesome sense of humor. His heart of forgiveness… but maybe not forget-ness.

My worries about my kids getting older is not that I will not have stories to tell. I think I am just afraid of losing my role in their life as “Mom”. I think I worry that as they become adults themselves my heart-right to adore them beyond all reason will get buried under the years.

I am learning this is not true. I am as delighted by the tween and pre-teen personality as I was the baby and toddler. And am just as exhausted. I can’t coo at them anymore. Well, I can… it’s just the ticket to cracking a smile on an 11 year-old grumpy pants. We both know it is absolutely ridiculous.

Several mornings back, my son came into my room. And woke me up. Some things never change…

He asked, “Can we adopt a baby?”

I asked why. His answer, “Because I feel really sad for kids that don’t have families.”

We talked for awhile about adoption and paperwork and friends who have adopted and how old he’d like a new sibling to be, and what gender… and money.

To which he shared, “Well. Can we get an xBox first?” and added, “I’d like a baby, but I think I’d really like a brother… my age.”

His wheels are turning. As are mine. I think about adoption. Often-ish. I told him, “Honey. You never know. I definitely think about it too. I’d say maybe you should start talking to God about this.”

I don’t tell him to go to God lightly or as a snarky flip of my tongue… I know mountains can move. Who knows what the years hold, and who knows if that is the path for the family he will one day have. I would not be surprised one bit.

He has the most amazing heart.

My soft-hearted boy also has a wicked-awesome sense of humor. The morning after I returned from the BlissDom conference he walked into my room… wrapped warmly in my bathrobe and “coffee” in hand.

“Sllllllrrrrrrrp. Sllllllllrrrrrrpppp.”

My eyes cracked/twitched open. (I just realized, that boy is ALWAYS waking me up! He has always been an early riser. Stinker.) I saw he had my robe on. I was all, “Morning! And Dude. Why you wearin’ mah robe, yo?”

“Ssssssllllllrrrrrrp. I let myself go.”

Where does he come up with this stuff?!

I’ll end with this — If we can make it through the teen years… oh my gosh… that boy. I find myself daydreaming of the day he is, say… 25. I imagine us at the kitchen table. Laughing. Talking. Laughing. I am convinced he is becoming the most fun and the most wonderful young man ever.

Now. If he would just be nice to his sister.

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The First Born and Motherhood is a post from: Jenny On the Spot * This is what I do...

My 11 year-old son doesn’t believe in Santa anymore.

He figured it out about a year ago two years ago… more, probably. I don’t really want to know… *maternal weeping*

The same with the Tooth Fairy… Now when he looses a tooth he hands it over and says, “You owe me.”

We laaaaaaaauuuuuuugh…..

Recently Joel and I whispered a conversation about his Santa present. He is always careful not to “blow it” for his little sisters. He elbowed me and spoke out of the corner of his mouth, ‘And when I say ‘Santa’, I mean YOU.”

Then comes the guilt.

For the lie.

The LIES.

The YEARS of LIES!!!

Would he ever forgive our parental deception? Our LIES about a non-existent chubby man – with which he was made sit on the lap of AND take pictures with?

!!!

The horrors!!!

I had to ask. “Joel… How do you feel about the fact that we pretty much lied about Santa? Do you feel like we deceived you?”

Of all mercy on the earth… my boy. His eyes twinkled as they met mine. The corners of his mouth formed a smile that melts a mama’s heart, and I swear his mind went back to Christmas morning when he was 4. He spoke… his 11 year-old smile warmed his voice,

Not at all, Mom. It was fun believing…

Merry Christmas all… here’s to believing… and to hope…

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• Don’t miss my daughter’s post about Christmas – on her blog – Bubble Gum Rocks! She got her fist taste of Picnik too!
  

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"It was fun believing." is a post from: Jenny On the Spot * This is what I do...