The other day I was thinking deep thoughts while I was vacuuming.
Hey, I take what I can get here!
I've realized since we are probably done having children (who knows what we will decide later when it comes to foster parenting or adopting, but for now our family is complete) it is only going to get easier in the work load sense.
Since Benjamin potty trained we're only changing one kid's diapers during the day, which means that we only have to wash diapers every other day.
Nathaniel and Aaron are becoming more and more independent and are contributing members of the household now. For example: Monday night is chore night (big chores, not the every day ones). Aaron emptied little trash cans and cleared and wiped off the table while Nathaniel scooped the cat box and then took the garbage and recycling out. Those are major chores that are now off of my already over flowing plate. Not to mention the sense of accomplishment and pride I see in the boys as they handle these tasks on their own.
This morning, Aaron voluntarily made his own lunch and his brothers' lunches while Nathaniel cooked eggs for the family for breakfast (with supervision, of course). I got to head to my post workout shower with the happy sounds of, "Thank you for making my lunch, Aaron!" and "Thank you for making my breakfast, Nathaniel!"
Of course, when I got out of the shower it had changed to, "NO, AARON!! I SAID I DIDN'T WANT CHEESE!!!" and, "I PUT CHEESE IN YOUR LUNCH!!!!" I had to redirect them at that point and pointed out to Nathaniel that it might have been kinder to say, "Thank you for thinking of me, but I would rather not have cheese."
He then hid his lunch box because Aaron was adamant about giving him string cheese.
Even though we still have a long haul ahead of raising up our children (let's not even begin to think about the teenage years...), I am really enjoying the stage we are at. Especially as it feels like the uphill climb of constant diapering, wiping, chasing and mediating is leveling off.
I kind of wish I could go back in time and whisper in my sleep deprived ear, "This will pass! Soon you will be able to have conversations at the dinner table that aren't interrupted with spills and screams and food flung into your hair."
Of course, this will probably all change. :)
Our attempts at raising God-fearing children while joining the real world. It's been a crazy ride so far, but God is ALWAYS good.
Wednesday, January 22, 2014
Saturday, January 18, 2014
Patience
*I know, two blog posts in a row. I'm on a roll!
I'm taking my students through the book of Genesis right now. I could write a whole book on how excited I am to be in Genesis and the lessons learned through it.
But, a book would equal time that I simply don't have right now. As it is, I'm currently blogging this while shoveling mixed vegetables and quinoa into Asher's mouth and explaining to the other boys that yes, Daddy is getting them food so please stop stealing Cheerios off of the baby's high chair tray.
Anyways, I digress.
The book of Genesis holds such wonder to me as I rediscover all of the amazing things about God and His character revealed to mankind. How amazing He is, how deeply He loves His creation, and how if we would just BE and TRUST things would go a bit better on our end.
Right now, we are in the midst of the life of Abraham (well, he is still Abram right now, but...).
There is a theme that keeps coming out and smacking me in the face (I love/hate when that happens).
The theme is trust. Do I trust Him? Even when all evidence in my life points to abandonment and being alone, do I trust?
In a perfect world, I would say, "Of course I do! A men, forever and ever."
In my world, I say, "Ummmm...yes?"
Here's the thing. I need to be patient. I need to trust that God is a God who does what He says He is going to do. Every single promise made to Abraham came true. It just took awhile.
Abraham was 75 when he was called out of his land with his 65 year old barren wife. He was promised land and children that numbered the stars in the sky and the sand on the ground.
It sounds like a cruel joke.
Of course, Abraham wasn't perfect. He lied about Sarah being only his sister (yes, she was his half sister, but he omitted the part where she was also his wife...). He took matters into his own hands Hagar and Ishmael. He questioned God's plan and His ways. And yet, at the end of it all, we see that he trusted God.
How I long to be more like Abraham (except for the whole marrying my half sibling and having a concubine thing). I just need patience.
There's a catch though. I live in an instant gratification world. If I need to get someone a message I can email them, call them, text them or Facebook them. Then, if I don't hear back within 10 minutes I wonder if I'm being ignored. (You know you all too, don't judge!) If I want to see video I no longer have to wait for it to be shown on t.v. or hope that I find a friend who owns it. I can simply YouTube it, or Netflix it, or RedBox it (etc.). If I want to eat something, I don't have to cook, I can drive thru. Heck, I can even get a message to London and get a response within the day (depending on the time of day) if I want.
To say that this hasn't affected my relationship and expectations from God would be a lie.
I pray and I want an answer or a resolution RIGHT THIS SECOND.
I want to see how it's all going to work out. I want to know that everything is going to be okay.
I try to force God's hand. I try to cram Him into a box and into my own expectations, even though I know that He works amazingly in ways that I could never imagine (and His way is always SO MUCH BETTER than I could hope).
I have numerous examples, but this blog post is already so long.
And so, as I continue to walk my students through Genesis, I will continue to take these nuggets of truth for myself as well. I will remind myself to have patience and trust.
I'm taking my students through the book of Genesis right now. I could write a whole book on how excited I am to be in Genesis and the lessons learned through it.
But, a book would equal time that I simply don't have right now. As it is, I'm currently blogging this while shoveling mixed vegetables and quinoa into Asher's mouth and explaining to the other boys that yes, Daddy is getting them food so please stop stealing Cheerios off of the baby's high chair tray.
Anyways, I digress.
The book of Genesis holds such wonder to me as I rediscover all of the amazing things about God and His character revealed to mankind. How amazing He is, how deeply He loves His creation, and how if we would just BE and TRUST things would go a bit better on our end.
Right now, we are in the midst of the life of Abraham (well, he is still Abram right now, but...).
There is a theme that keeps coming out and smacking me in the face (I love/hate when that happens).
The theme is trust. Do I trust Him? Even when all evidence in my life points to abandonment and being alone, do I trust?
In a perfect world, I would say, "Of course I do! A men, forever and ever."
In my world, I say, "Ummmm...yes?"
Here's the thing. I need to be patient. I need to trust that God is a God who does what He says He is going to do. Every single promise made to Abraham came true. It just took awhile.
Abraham was 75 when he was called out of his land with his 65 year old barren wife. He was promised land and children that numbered the stars in the sky and the sand on the ground.
It sounds like a cruel joke.
Of course, Abraham wasn't perfect. He lied about Sarah being only his sister (yes, she was his half sister, but he omitted the part where she was also his wife...). He took matters into his own hands Hagar and Ishmael. He questioned God's plan and His ways. And yet, at the end of it all, we see that he trusted God.
How I long to be more like Abraham (except for the whole marrying my half sibling and having a concubine thing). I just need patience.
There's a catch though. I live in an instant gratification world. If I need to get someone a message I can email them, call them, text them or Facebook them. Then, if I don't hear back within 10 minutes I wonder if I'm being ignored. (You know you all too, don't judge!) If I want to see video I no longer have to wait for it to be shown on t.v. or hope that I find a friend who owns it. I can simply YouTube it, or Netflix it, or RedBox it (etc.). If I want to eat something, I don't have to cook, I can drive thru. Heck, I can even get a message to London and get a response within the day (depending on the time of day) if I want.
To say that this hasn't affected my relationship and expectations from God would be a lie.
I pray and I want an answer or a resolution RIGHT THIS SECOND.
I want to see how it's all going to work out. I want to know that everything is going to be okay.
I try to force God's hand. I try to cram Him into a box and into my own expectations, even though I know that He works amazingly in ways that I could never imagine (and His way is always SO MUCH BETTER than I could hope).
I have numerous examples, but this blog post is already so long.
And so, as I continue to walk my students through Genesis, I will continue to take these nuggets of truth for myself as well. I will remind myself to have patience and trust.
Friday, January 17, 2014
Helicopters or...why I hate the Dojo app.
I don't think it's ever been a secret that I'm not a super "hovering" type parent. I think it was most clear to me when Nathaniel was climbing on the jungle gym at a park when he was a little under 3 and I stood back and watched him figure it out. I also watched as another parent immediately planted herself next to my son and was looking around frantically like he was going to fall any minute. When Nathaniel got stuck he looked over at me and said, "Help, please!"I immediately walked over and helped him figure it out.
The mom then said, "Oh, YOU'RE his mother."
Yup, that's me. Carrie Grummons, endangering children since 2006. (insert eye roll here).
Enter the school years.
In kindergarten the class had a card system. Basically, the kids started the day with green cards up front. Throughout the day, if there was an issue with discipline, the students pulled a card. Depending on the color of the card at the end of the day, that was the punishment doled out. It wasn't a perfect system (no rewards for good behavior and no way to move back to green), it wasn't bad. I think Nathaniel pulled a card once, and I don't even remember what it was for (I just remember the tears he burst into when I gave him a raised eyebrow upon seeing that he had pulled a card).
In first grade they had changed the system to a clip system. Basically, you start your day on green, but throughout the day you can clip up or down depending on the action. But, it's nice because if you clip down, you have chances to clip back up. Again, it's more of a visual reminder to the kiddos to stay in line and not be jerks. The only time there is a consequence for clipping down is if it gets to the yellow or red. Not many kids do that, and it's not my business (as I have told my kids time and again when they try to rat out the naughty kids) as to which kids do clip down.
Enter 2nd grade. During back to school night Nathaniel's teacher told us all about this new app called the class Dojo.
On her ipad the teacher has little icons with the students' names and throughout the day she can give feedback for what the students are doing. Basically, it's still the clip down system, but in real time. I can see the minute my kid clips up or down, and I can see WHY he clipped up or down. The minute I heard about that app I felt my stomach drop deep into the pits of my legs.
This app is the ultimate tool for helicopter parents. There might as well be nanny cams in the classroom at this rate (I shouldn't write that because someone might lobby for one).
What I liked about the other system was that it let me know generally how my kid's day was but left room for conversation at the end of the day. It also gives my kid the freedom to mess up without me getting on his case the second it happens.
Or, for some parents, the teacher's case.
It feels more and more like we are taking too much control of our kids' lives.
When do our kids get the freedom to fail and mess up? When do we give our kids grace and show them that when they mess up they need to own up to it, but then move on?
There is the fine line between being involved in our kids' lives and schooling and take an interest, and taking OVER our kids' lives.
I know of parents who nitpick every single wrong answer on a worksheet and question why it was marked wrong, instead of letting their kids learn from their mistakes.
On the other hand, I see parents who take no interest in their kids' educations and don't step in until the child is failing and frustrated.
There HAS to be a balance!
We need to give our kids the freedom to explore and learn and BE. We need to be their safety net, but we also have to allow them to fall and take responsibility for their actions.
So, I refuse to check the dojo app during the day. Instead, I participate in meaningful conversation with my kiddos and, if I have a real concern, I talk to the teacher, not in a "Why did you do this to my kid?" kind of way but a, "Can you help me understand this?" kind of way.
The mom then said, "Oh, YOU'RE his mother."
Yup, that's me. Carrie Grummons, endangering children since 2006. (insert eye roll here).
Enter the school years.
In kindergarten the class had a card system. Basically, the kids started the day with green cards up front. Throughout the day, if there was an issue with discipline, the students pulled a card. Depending on the color of the card at the end of the day, that was the punishment doled out. It wasn't a perfect system (no rewards for good behavior and no way to move back to green), it wasn't bad. I think Nathaniel pulled a card once, and I don't even remember what it was for (I just remember the tears he burst into when I gave him a raised eyebrow upon seeing that he had pulled a card).
In first grade they had changed the system to a clip system. Basically, you start your day on green, but throughout the day you can clip up or down depending on the action. But, it's nice because if you clip down, you have chances to clip back up. Again, it's more of a visual reminder to the kiddos to stay in line and not be jerks. The only time there is a consequence for clipping down is if it gets to the yellow or red. Not many kids do that, and it's not my business (as I have told my kids time and again when they try to rat out the naughty kids) as to which kids do clip down.
Enter 2nd grade. During back to school night Nathaniel's teacher told us all about this new app called the class Dojo.
On her ipad the teacher has little icons with the students' names and throughout the day she can give feedback for what the students are doing. Basically, it's still the clip down system, but in real time. I can see the minute my kid clips up or down, and I can see WHY he clipped up or down. The minute I heard about that app I felt my stomach drop deep into the pits of my legs.
This app is the ultimate tool for helicopter parents. There might as well be nanny cams in the classroom at this rate (I shouldn't write that because someone might lobby for one).
What I liked about the other system was that it let me know generally how my kid's day was but left room for conversation at the end of the day. It also gives my kid the freedom to mess up without me getting on his case the second it happens.
Or, for some parents, the teacher's case.
It feels more and more like we are taking too much control of our kids' lives.
When do our kids get the freedom to fail and mess up? When do we give our kids grace and show them that when they mess up they need to own up to it, but then move on?
There is the fine line between being involved in our kids' lives and schooling and take an interest, and taking OVER our kids' lives.
I know of parents who nitpick every single wrong answer on a worksheet and question why it was marked wrong, instead of letting their kids learn from their mistakes.
On the other hand, I see parents who take no interest in their kids' educations and don't step in until the child is failing and frustrated.
There HAS to be a balance!
We need to give our kids the freedom to explore and learn and BE. We need to be their safety net, but we also have to allow them to fall and take responsibility for their actions.
So, I refuse to check the dojo app during the day. Instead, I participate in meaningful conversation with my kiddos and, if I have a real concern, I talk to the teacher, not in a "Why did you do this to my kid?" kind of way but a, "Can you help me understand this?" kind of way.
Wednesday, September 4, 2013
Getting what we can handle, or, how to not be a braggy know-it-all. :)
Asher is an awesome baby.
Strike that, all of my kids were awesome in their own way. I don't think there is any such thing as a bad baby, but Asher is definitely awesome. He lets me sleep. As in, from day one he only woke up one time a night to eat and immediately went back to sleep. No screaming from gas, no cries for no reason, nothing just a little whine to let me know that he was hungry and would like a diaper change, then a quick swaddle and a snack and he was good to go.
The night before last he pulled an all-nighter (as in slept all night long from 8:15-6:45). Last night, he did it again. Bliss.
Here's the thing: My other children were NOT sleepers. Nathaniel was up every 45 minutes, Aaron and Benjamin, about every 2 hours. This lasted for MONTHS. MONTHS I tell you! Of course, they made up for it by being good nappers or low key or whatever. I did everything I could to get these kids to sleep better at night. I tried co-sleeping (no one slept), I tried letting them fuss for a bit, but then they would get so worked up that they couldn't get back to sleep, I tried pleading with them and negotiating, "For the love of everything that is holy, please let me sleep!!" Then, I just figured that I had hungry kids so I better just suck it up and deal with it. Which was why everyone said I looked tired those first years of their lives.
I have yet to hear that I look tired with Asher. :)
I truly think that God is giving us what we can handle and is also keeping us humble.
I am 100% sure that if my first baby slept well I would have been a braggy mom. I would have told everyone what they were doing wrong and how to "fix" their kids. I would have pointed out that my kids slept through the night, what is wrong with you as a mom that your children don't? Instead, I got to be on the other end of that sometimes and, since I'm confident in my parenting style and know my kiddos and their temperaments, I got to learn that some babies sleep, and some don't.
As my pregnancy with Asher came to a close I found myself dreading the sleepless nights. The thought of being woken up 3-4 times a night made me cringe. I didn't want to deal with it!
So, the first night in the hospital came and I put Asher in the nursery so I could catch what I thought would be a short cat nap before he needed to eat again. Imagine my surprise when I was woken up 5 hours later to a still sleeping baby who they thought probably should eat again. Then, we got home and he was still only getting up once a night. I waited and waited for the inevitable to happen, but instead, he started sleeping even better!
So, now I know. God has given us the baby we need for the season we are in. Each child has been a blessing in his own way, and it's clear that if I had a non-sleeper I would end up on the news...:)
Strike that, all of my kids were awesome in their own way. I don't think there is any such thing as a bad baby, but Asher is definitely awesome. He lets me sleep. As in, from day one he only woke up one time a night to eat and immediately went back to sleep. No screaming from gas, no cries for no reason, nothing just a little whine to let me know that he was hungry and would like a diaper change, then a quick swaddle and a snack and he was good to go.
The night before last he pulled an all-nighter (as in slept all night long from 8:15-6:45). Last night, he did it again. Bliss.
Here's the thing: My other children were NOT sleepers. Nathaniel was up every 45 minutes, Aaron and Benjamin, about every 2 hours. This lasted for MONTHS. MONTHS I tell you! Of course, they made up for it by being good nappers or low key or whatever. I did everything I could to get these kids to sleep better at night. I tried co-sleeping (no one slept), I tried letting them fuss for a bit, but then they would get so worked up that they couldn't get back to sleep, I tried pleading with them and negotiating, "For the love of everything that is holy, please let me sleep!!" Then, I just figured that I had hungry kids so I better just suck it up and deal with it. Which was why everyone said I looked tired those first years of their lives.
I have yet to hear that I look tired with Asher. :)
I truly think that God is giving us what we can handle and is also keeping us humble.
I am 100% sure that if my first baby slept well I would have been a braggy mom. I would have told everyone what they were doing wrong and how to "fix" their kids. I would have pointed out that my kids slept through the night, what is wrong with you as a mom that your children don't? Instead, I got to be on the other end of that sometimes and, since I'm confident in my parenting style and know my kiddos and their temperaments, I got to learn that some babies sleep, and some don't.
As my pregnancy with Asher came to a close I found myself dreading the sleepless nights. The thought of being woken up 3-4 times a night made me cringe. I didn't want to deal with it!
So, the first night in the hospital came and I put Asher in the nursery so I could catch what I thought would be a short cat nap before he needed to eat again. Imagine my surprise when I was woken up 5 hours later to a still sleeping baby who they thought probably should eat again. Then, we got home and he was still only getting up once a night. I waited and waited for the inevitable to happen, but instead, he started sleeping even better!
So, now I know. God has given us the baby we need for the season we are in. Each child has been a blessing in his own way, and it's clear that if I had a non-sleeper I would end up on the news...:)
Saturday, August 10, 2013
Changing my views.
The other week I overheard a conversation between some women that made my brain start to tick and had me composing a blog post in my mind.
The conversation went something like this:
Woman 1: Oh...I don't let people take my picture. I'm way too fat now.
Women surrounding her: Oh no! You aren't fat! You look great!
Woman 1: You're just being nice. I do let people take pictures of me when I'm not fat, but I'm definitely fat.
Women around her: You look fantastic, for what it's worth. We're fat!
Add to this the regular woe of women talk, all while they are chasing around toddlers waiting for VBS to open up.
In my brain I was shouting: Shut up! You are all beautiful! Why do we do this to ourselves? Why can't we feel good about our bodies? Why do we have to think that we need to look like pre-pubescent boys to be considered healthy and beautiful? (Add in extra frustrations here).
I was going to write a post about how we should encourage one another. We should jump into the photos with our kids because they aren't going to see our extra rolls or our imperfections, just their mothers.
Then, I got sick.
Bear with me for a minute here.
I worked really hard during Asher's pregnancy to stay active and eat right. Sure, I gained the same amount of weight I always do, but I felt great and I thought I looked great.
Afterwards, I still felt great and thought I was looking pretty good for having just had a baby (again, bear with me, this is not me asking for "you look great!!" comments).
I refused to get on the scale because I know that it takes time to get back and I didn't want to be freaked out by something that is just a number and has no bearing on who I am as a person.
But, I got sick and had to go to Urgent Care.
Guess what they do when you go to Urgent Care? They make you step on a scale.
I stepped on with trepidation, but thought, "How bad can it be? I'm 4 weeks post partum, I'm sure I within a certain range."
The number flashed before my eyes (mind you, I was wearing jeans and shoes, which definitely adds 10 pounds, right? lol) and my self esteem plummeted.
That stupid number was all I could see, which made all of those good feelings I had from all of the healthy choices I've been making for the past year and a half go flying away. For the rest of the day (and week, to be honest) all I could think about was my stomach that still makes me look about 5 months pregnant if I'm not sucking it in (hello, I just had my 4th baby, 4 weeks ago!!). All I could think about was how "fat" I was and how awful I felt and how ugly I was.
I found myself avoiding the camera. We were up in the beautiful Sequoia forest and King's Canyon and I was there with my youth group and my family and I was ducking away from the photos or shielding myself with children.
I was those women.
Finally, I told Sam how I was feeling and he told me to knock it off because he married a beautiful woman and he wasn't about to not be married to one, so I needed to stop getting so down on myself. (He's great...I have an awesome, supportive husband).
He's right. Of course, I am still recovering from having a baby and my body will continue to change, especially as I get back into working out and continue to train for the 1/2 marathon. But, my kids love me (and love to play with my squishy belly) and I want them to look back and see pictures of us enjoying life together. I want them to remember a mom who loved herself and loved them as well.
In the Bible it says we should love others as we love ourselves. I do a pretty crappy job of loving myself and treating myself well. It's time to change that.
So, I changed my facebook heading photo. I put up our most recent family photo in front of General Grant, the Giant Sequoia tree. After the photo was taken I picked myself apart. But, I'm putting it up to show that I'm trying to not let it bug me. I love my family and I love that it's complete in this picture. I'm not going to let my brain get in the way anymore.
I challenge others to do this too. Get in the picture. Stop being so negative. Chances are, in 5 years you will look back longingly on those photos and wish you looked as good as you did then (which is what I find myself doing...ha!).
The conversation went something like this:
Woman 1: Oh...I don't let people take my picture. I'm way too fat now.
Women surrounding her: Oh no! You aren't fat! You look great!
Woman 1: You're just being nice. I do let people take pictures of me when I'm not fat, but I'm definitely fat.
Women around her: You look fantastic, for what it's worth. We're fat!
Add to this the regular woe of women talk, all while they are chasing around toddlers waiting for VBS to open up.
In my brain I was shouting: Shut up! You are all beautiful! Why do we do this to ourselves? Why can't we feel good about our bodies? Why do we have to think that we need to look like pre-pubescent boys to be considered healthy and beautiful? (Add in extra frustrations here).
I was going to write a post about how we should encourage one another. We should jump into the photos with our kids because they aren't going to see our extra rolls or our imperfections, just their mothers.
Then, I got sick.
Bear with me for a minute here.
I worked really hard during Asher's pregnancy to stay active and eat right. Sure, I gained the same amount of weight I always do, but I felt great and I thought I looked great.
Afterwards, I still felt great and thought I was looking pretty good for having just had a baby (again, bear with me, this is not me asking for "you look great!!" comments).
I refused to get on the scale because I know that it takes time to get back and I didn't want to be freaked out by something that is just a number and has no bearing on who I am as a person.
But, I got sick and had to go to Urgent Care.
Guess what they do when you go to Urgent Care? They make you step on a scale.
I stepped on with trepidation, but thought, "How bad can it be? I'm 4 weeks post partum, I'm sure I within a certain range."
The number flashed before my eyes (mind you, I was wearing jeans and shoes, which definitely adds 10 pounds, right? lol) and my self esteem plummeted.
That stupid number was all I could see, which made all of those good feelings I had from all of the healthy choices I've been making for the past year and a half go flying away. For the rest of the day (and week, to be honest) all I could think about was my stomach that still makes me look about 5 months pregnant if I'm not sucking it in (hello, I just had my 4th baby, 4 weeks ago!!). All I could think about was how "fat" I was and how awful I felt and how ugly I was.
I found myself avoiding the camera. We were up in the beautiful Sequoia forest and King's Canyon and I was there with my youth group and my family and I was ducking away from the photos or shielding myself with children.
I was those women.
Finally, I told Sam how I was feeling and he told me to knock it off because he married a beautiful woman and he wasn't about to not be married to one, so I needed to stop getting so down on myself. (He's great...I have an awesome, supportive husband).
He's right. Of course, I am still recovering from having a baby and my body will continue to change, especially as I get back into working out and continue to train for the 1/2 marathon. But, my kids love me (and love to play with my squishy belly) and I want them to look back and see pictures of us enjoying life together. I want them to remember a mom who loved herself and loved them as well.
In the Bible it says we should love others as we love ourselves. I do a pretty crappy job of loving myself and treating myself well. It's time to change that.
So, I changed my facebook heading photo. I put up our most recent family photo in front of General Grant, the Giant Sequoia tree. After the photo was taken I picked myself apart. But, I'm putting it up to show that I'm trying to not let it bug me. I love my family and I love that it's complete in this picture. I'm not going to let my brain get in the way anymore.
I challenge others to do this too. Get in the picture. Stop being so negative. Chances are, in 5 years you will look back longingly on those photos and wish you looked as good as you did then (which is what I find myself doing...ha!).
Monday, July 15, 2013
How we do allowance (and why)
We recently implemented allowances in our house. It's our way of teaching our children financial responsibility. We want them to know that doing the jobs that they are assigned (anything above and beyond basic responsibility for themselves) will help them earn money to do things that they want to do. We also want them to know that money doesn't grow on trees and that we work very hard for the things that we have. Since Sam and I don't have people handing us money to go do fun things, we want the boys to work for the money to spend on fun things as well.
Disclaimer: When we do fun things as a family, we pay for our kids. We aren't going to make them pay for a family movie or an ice cream outing or a trip to the zoo. We did, however, make Nathaniel choose between a birthday party and getting his Disneyland pass this year. That was a hard decision for him to make, but he chose a pass because of how much fun he has at Disney all year long. Good choice, kiddo!
Here's how allowance works in our family:
Starting at the age of 4 we give a dollar per age a week. Yes, that's a lot, but out of that we are teaching the kids to tithe 10% to church. We also make them buy their own treats. When we are out and they want gum, they buy it themselves. When Nathaniel wants to buy a snack at school from the snack shed, he pays for half of his snack card. When they want a toy, they buy it. When they want to buy a present for a friend that is above the budget we have set for the present, they use their money for that present.
The general chores that the boys have to do just for being a part of our family include cleaning up their places at the table after meal times, making their beds and putting their clothes away (not to mention cleaning up their toys).
Aaron has to empty all of the garbage cans 2 times a week and help his brother with the dog poop. He also has to pick up shoes and put them away and pick up dirty clothes and put them in the laundry.
Nathaniel scoops the cat poop two times a week, picks up dog poop, and empties the dryer when it is finished (I haven't taught him the finer points of drying clothes and would rather not have my items shrunk, so he hasn't gotten the lesson in switching over the loads yet, we're working on it). He also vacuums when we ask him to and will dust and help me with the bathrooms when I clean them (he's really good at scrubbing toilets!).
The kids have a specific time to do their chores, and if it doesn't get done, then they have to pay the person who does the chore for him. Our reasoning behind this is that we have to pay others when we don't want to do, so they need to pay someone for doing what they don't want to do.
So far, so good. Aaron had a week where he gave away all of his money, and that made him sad, but the next week he earned all of his money. And, now they don't ask for things, they know that they have to use their own money. We even had a fun lesson in the toy aisle last weekend after they spent all of their allowance on candy and junk. They saw how much the cool toys were and that they didn't have enough left to spend.
Win/win! Here's hoping they grow up to be financially responsible!
Disclaimer: When we do fun things as a family, we pay for our kids. We aren't going to make them pay for a family movie or an ice cream outing or a trip to the zoo. We did, however, make Nathaniel choose between a birthday party and getting his Disneyland pass this year. That was a hard decision for him to make, but he chose a pass because of how much fun he has at Disney all year long. Good choice, kiddo!
Here's how allowance works in our family:
Starting at the age of 4 we give a dollar per age a week. Yes, that's a lot, but out of that we are teaching the kids to tithe 10% to church. We also make them buy their own treats. When we are out and they want gum, they buy it themselves. When Nathaniel wants to buy a snack at school from the snack shed, he pays for half of his snack card. When they want a toy, they buy it. When they want to buy a present for a friend that is above the budget we have set for the present, they use their money for that present.
The general chores that the boys have to do just for being a part of our family include cleaning up their places at the table after meal times, making their beds and putting their clothes away (not to mention cleaning up their toys).
Aaron has to empty all of the garbage cans 2 times a week and help his brother with the dog poop. He also has to pick up shoes and put them away and pick up dirty clothes and put them in the laundry.
Nathaniel scoops the cat poop two times a week, picks up dog poop, and empties the dryer when it is finished (I haven't taught him the finer points of drying clothes and would rather not have my items shrunk, so he hasn't gotten the lesson in switching over the loads yet, we're working on it). He also vacuums when we ask him to and will dust and help me with the bathrooms when I clean them (he's really good at scrubbing toilets!).
The kids have a specific time to do their chores, and if it doesn't get done, then they have to pay the person who does the chore for him. Our reasoning behind this is that we have to pay others when we don't want to do, so they need to pay someone for doing what they don't want to do.
So far, so good. Aaron had a week where he gave away all of his money, and that made him sad, but the next week he earned all of his money. And, now they don't ask for things, they know that they have to use their own money. We even had a fun lesson in the toy aisle last weekend after they spent all of their allowance on candy and junk. They saw how much the cool toys were and that they didn't have enough left to spend.
Win/win! Here's hoping they grow up to be financially responsible!
Friday, July 5, 2013
The final installment :)
In the wee hours of the morning on Independence Day, our final son was born. Here is his story (for those who are interested/curious and for remembering later).
Way back in November when I went in for my first prenatal check up I was given an estimated due date of June 30th. Knowing that I have never gone early in my entire history of pregnancies (two children born on their due date and one born way past it), I gritted my teeth and prepared for a July baby. But, as my pregnancy progressed the date was slowly bumped up to June 28th and I began to have hopes that I would NOT be pregnant in July.
Unfortunately, once May hit all of the "You're ginormous!" comments began to fly, along with the "you will never make it to your due date, that baby will come early for sure!" comments. Which, as most of my friends know, drive me up the wall. It got to the point where I didn't even want to go out in public because I didn't want to have to smile and reassure people that no, I wasn't having twins and that I make big babies who come out just fine.
So, by the time the end of June rolled around I was done. I was done being pregnant, I was done waddling everywhere, and I was done with people asking me if I had had the baby yet.
And yet, July 1 rolled around, and there I was, still pregnant.
Mind you, I was measuring smaller than I ever had with any other pregnancy (I was almost 41 weeks and I was still measuring 38, where in earlier pregnancies I measured 41 at 38...). I was also fitter than any other pregnancy (I worked out up to 39 weeks, and by working out I don't mean walking on the treadmill, I mean back squatting 100 pounds and shoulder pressing 65 pounds. I also power walked 2 miles when I was 40 weeks). But, I was still done. I went in for my non-stress test and everything looked great. A nice steady heart beat for the baby, lots of kicks and swishes, and perfectly measuring fluid. Neither myself, nor my doctor, were worried and there was mention of possible induction, but that was completely up to me, to which I was adamant that I wouldn't induce. Babies come when they are ready.
I was, however, discouraged. I was discouraged because I was finished working and didn't have anything really planned or keeping me occupied. I was discouraged because with the history of my pregnancies and deliveries I was certain that I just wouldn't ever go into labor on my own. It felt like my body was broken (when, in reality, my body is pretty awesome at growing human beings considering I carried 4 children to term). Plus, every night for about a week I would have contractions for 2 hours and then they would stop. It all felt very frustrating.
Finally, enough was enough and I was ready to have the baby, no matter what. When I was pregnant with Benjamin I was told that they would schedule me for a c-section if he wasn't born by my next appointment (because I was a VBAC and my doctor was skeptical that I could actually deliver him based on his estimated size. Turns out, Aaron just had a super huge noggin and was poorly positioned. It had nothing to do with his weight). Because of that news I had a friend make me a magic brew (involving ice cream, root beer and enough Castor Oil to drown a rat) which I drank and which kick started my labor 40 minutes later. So, on the evening of July 3rd I invited my friend over to make her magic brew once again...
After drinking the drink (and giggling once again at the thought of what it could do to me instead of putting me into labor) I said good bye to my friend and settled down on the couch to watch a movie with Sam and wait and see what happened. About an hour later my contractions kicked in again. I thought for sure that it was going to be false labor so I didn't get my hopes up. After all, the other 2 times that my labor began on it's own (with Nathaniel and Benjamin) it started off with my water breaking, I didn't actually think that I would start with real contractions.
But, at around 10:30 I decided to start timing them and really paid attention to the intensity. It certainly felt real, so I started moving around and getting my final stuff together and texting friends that this could be it. At about midnight our friend arrived to take care of our children and I was still wondering if I was really in labor. I mean, sure, the contractions were about 6 minutes apart, but they didn't hurt a ton and I felt nothing in between.
I think I was in denial because of the week I had been having.
At 12:40 Sam and I headed out to the hospital. I figured that even if I wasn't in real labor (because 3 minutes apart was false labor?), they would keep me because of how far I was already progressed from earlier appointments and because I was so far over my due date. My doctor had already said that I could come in and be induced any time, so I figured I could just do that if I wasn't in true labor.
We parked in the parking lot and walked towards maternity. During the walk (probably about 200 yards) I had three contractions. A nice security guard asked me if I knew where maternity was (yes, thank you), asked why we walked so far (because I wanted to, thanks) and then said that she wasn't going to get me a wheelchair because I had already walked so far and I should just keep going. Gee, thanks.
We got into Maternity and I walked in saying that I was in labor. The charge nurse asked me if my water broke, which I told her no (then paused for my contraction). I handed them my paperwork and they walked me back to the delivery room.
It was 1:00 am.
I changed into my lovely gown (truly beautiful, lol) and started answering the billion questions being asked of me. As all of this happened my contractions started coming about 1 minute apart. These weren't the pleasant waves I had experienced before, they were the "Holy hell, why is someone ripping me apart with a vice while kicking me!?" types of pain. I was asked if I wanted an epidural and I had replied, "I'm going to wait and see." and 2 minutes later said, "Yes, I want the epidural."
For those who don't know, an epidural is only given after you have a bag of fluid given through an IV so that you are properly hydrated. I had yet to be hooked up to the IV, but I also knew I needed antibiotics because I had tested positive for Group B Strep. Yet, all the while I'm being asked questions (Do you have a car seat? How much do you weigh? When did you last eat? When did you last poop? How old are your children?) and having major contractions. The nurse was trying to keep me on the bed so that she could monitor the baby, but I wouldn't sit still (besides, she told me he had to move down still and I figured lying on the bed was not going to help that at all). The other nurse wanted to start my IV, but I was having so many contractions that we couldn't hold still long enough for her to stick me safely.
We finally started the IV and got my blood drawn for the labs (oof) and I was in major pain. I begged for something to take the edge off until I could get my epidural. Begging for Demerol or something. In the back of my mind I was thinking that there was no way I could do this and also remembered reading that when you were sure you were done, that you were probably in transition and it wouldn't be much longer.
All this time, the nurse was asking me questions and I kept mouthing to Sam, "Who cares? Shut up!" Finally, when she asked me how much I weighed before I got pregnant I tried to answer and out came, "Who cares?! What does it matter!? Shut up!!!" Because, really, I was doing everything I could to relax and breathe and concentrate and I was being asked to answer seemingly random questions. At this point both nurses left the room. I think they were trying to get the anesthesiologist and one was getting morphine. At this point it was 2 am and I said, "I have to push!" Sam ran out and grabbed a nurse and said, "She said she had to push!"
They got me on the bed quick and checked and I was at a 7 (I was at a 3 when I walked in at 1:00 am). At this point the question nurse gave me a little bit of morphine (which, by the way, didn't do diddly squat. The nurse said it made me tired, but it was 2 in the morning so I don't know how much of that was morphine and how much was being 2 in the morning and exhausted from constant pain). I knew at that point that there would be no epidural.
The pain became so intense that as I tried to breathe all I could do was scream and yell.
It was at this point that 2 thoughts were going through my head (aside from "Make it stop!")
1. I was officially THAT patient. The one who screamed during labor. It was 2:30 in the morning and I was screaming, probably waking up a ton of sleeping women. I felt horrible.
2. Every single person was telling me to breathe. One or two people were showing me the "hee hee hoo" technique (which, by the way, I knew, I just couldn't do it at that point). I thought, "If anyone in here starts quoting Bill Cosby I'm going to lose it."
Everything from this point was a blur. I remember hearing them call for the doctor to come quickly.
I remember them breaking my water (because for the first time out of three children my water hadn't broke on it's own or in an attempt to get labor going)
I remember having a contraction and at the end of the contraction pushing without consciously doing so. That freaked me out because no one was around and no one was paying attention to whether or not a baby would come out.
I remember Nurse Questions (I don't remember her name for the life of me) trying to lay me flat on my back and I snapped at her, "No! I won't be able to push a baby out lying flat on my back!"
I pushed and pushed and pushed and being told to push one more time numerous times. Finally, after one more mighty push, the baby was out and on my chest, crying angrily at the world for interrupting his warm, happy place.
We hung out for awhile and Sam cut the cord. Every time a nurse tried to take the baby to get his stats I kept saying, "Oh no, he's fine. I'm just going to hold him for a minute more..."
I then started to apologize to everyone for being so snappy and rude (I really did feel bad, especially for yelling at Nurse Questions to shut up). I was also able to get up right away (after delivering the placenta) and use the restroom.
After all of that I had a few realizations.
1. I was able to have the labor that I always wanted. It was fast and unmedicated (I don't count the morphine because it didn't touch the pain, or make me not care about the pain, it did nothing, really, because it didn't have time to do anything).
2. Fast and unmedicated labors suck. I am glad I experienced it. I am grateful to be able to compare it to everything else I ever experienced. I don't think I would ever want to do it again. But, that could be because I knew that this was the last baby we would have, and having done this 4 times I don't know that I would ever want to do any type of labor again.
3. The recovery from this labor has been the best, but things I thought were side effects of having an epidural are actually just side effects of having a baby (shortness of breath when I stand, for one. Being dizzy and having low blood pressure, for two).
4. I always said that if I had a short labor I think I could do it without pain meds. That's not true as I was begging for the pain meds. The thing is, when the labor is short there is simply no time for pain meds which probably helped me out in the long run.
5. I am, however, proud that I could do it (not that I had a choice, lol) but it makes me realize how powerful my body is and how strong I actually am, not just physically, but mentally as well. I never once said that I couldn't do it, just that I didn't want to. But, I had this image in my head of being on a roller coaster. At this point I knew that it was like being at the top of the big hill of a massive roller coaster and the only thing I could do was ride the ride because no one would stop the ride at the top to let me off.
I don't want to romanticize it. I know people who are HUGE advocates for non-medicated births. I think overall it is best, but at the same time, it's up to the person in the position of giving birth. I think that voluntary C-sections are unnecessary and not safe. I also think inducing just to induce early is unnecessary and unsafe (and also leads to unnecessary C-sections), but I think that telling someone that taking an epidural is a bad thing is not our business.
Anyways, Asher Roland was born at 2:44am on July 4, 2013. He weighed 9 pounds 12 ounces and was 21.5 inches long. I think he looks the most like Nathaniel did, and he has the lightest covering of blondish brown hair (something none of my kids ever had). He nurses like a champ and is mostly awake at night (which is about right considering the kicks and punches I felt the last few weeks every night). He is perfect. :) We are so happy.
Way back in November when I went in for my first prenatal check up I was given an estimated due date of June 30th. Knowing that I have never gone early in my entire history of pregnancies (two children born on their due date and one born way past it), I gritted my teeth and prepared for a July baby. But, as my pregnancy progressed the date was slowly bumped up to June 28th and I began to have hopes that I would NOT be pregnant in July.
Unfortunately, once May hit all of the "You're ginormous!" comments began to fly, along with the "you will never make it to your due date, that baby will come early for sure!" comments. Which, as most of my friends know, drive me up the wall. It got to the point where I didn't even want to go out in public because I didn't want to have to smile and reassure people that no, I wasn't having twins and that I make big babies who come out just fine.
So, by the time the end of June rolled around I was done. I was done being pregnant, I was done waddling everywhere, and I was done with people asking me if I had had the baby yet.
And yet, July 1 rolled around, and there I was, still pregnant.
Mind you, I was measuring smaller than I ever had with any other pregnancy (I was almost 41 weeks and I was still measuring 38, where in earlier pregnancies I measured 41 at 38...). I was also fitter than any other pregnancy (I worked out up to 39 weeks, and by working out I don't mean walking on the treadmill, I mean back squatting 100 pounds and shoulder pressing 65 pounds. I also power walked 2 miles when I was 40 weeks). But, I was still done. I went in for my non-stress test and everything looked great. A nice steady heart beat for the baby, lots of kicks and swishes, and perfectly measuring fluid. Neither myself, nor my doctor, were worried and there was mention of possible induction, but that was completely up to me, to which I was adamant that I wouldn't induce. Babies come when they are ready.
I was, however, discouraged. I was discouraged because I was finished working and didn't have anything really planned or keeping me occupied. I was discouraged because with the history of my pregnancies and deliveries I was certain that I just wouldn't ever go into labor on my own. It felt like my body was broken (when, in reality, my body is pretty awesome at growing human beings considering I carried 4 children to term). Plus, every night for about a week I would have contractions for 2 hours and then they would stop. It all felt very frustrating.
Finally, enough was enough and I was ready to have the baby, no matter what. When I was pregnant with Benjamin I was told that they would schedule me for a c-section if he wasn't born by my next appointment (because I was a VBAC and my doctor was skeptical that I could actually deliver him based on his estimated size. Turns out, Aaron just had a super huge noggin and was poorly positioned. It had nothing to do with his weight). Because of that news I had a friend make me a magic brew (involving ice cream, root beer and enough Castor Oil to drown a rat) which I drank and which kick started my labor 40 minutes later. So, on the evening of July 3rd I invited my friend over to make her magic brew once again...
After drinking the drink (and giggling once again at the thought of what it could do to me instead of putting me into labor) I said good bye to my friend and settled down on the couch to watch a movie with Sam and wait and see what happened. About an hour later my contractions kicked in again. I thought for sure that it was going to be false labor so I didn't get my hopes up. After all, the other 2 times that my labor began on it's own (with Nathaniel and Benjamin) it started off with my water breaking, I didn't actually think that I would start with real contractions.
But, at around 10:30 I decided to start timing them and really paid attention to the intensity. It certainly felt real, so I started moving around and getting my final stuff together and texting friends that this could be it. At about midnight our friend arrived to take care of our children and I was still wondering if I was really in labor. I mean, sure, the contractions were about 6 minutes apart, but they didn't hurt a ton and I felt nothing in between.
I think I was in denial because of the week I had been having.
At 12:40 Sam and I headed out to the hospital. I figured that even if I wasn't in real labor (because 3 minutes apart was false labor?), they would keep me because of how far I was already progressed from earlier appointments and because I was so far over my due date. My doctor had already said that I could come in and be induced any time, so I figured I could just do that if I wasn't in true labor.
We parked in the parking lot and walked towards maternity. During the walk (probably about 200 yards) I had three contractions. A nice security guard asked me if I knew where maternity was (yes, thank you), asked why we walked so far (because I wanted to, thanks) and then said that she wasn't going to get me a wheelchair because I had already walked so far and I should just keep going. Gee, thanks.
We got into Maternity and I walked in saying that I was in labor. The charge nurse asked me if my water broke, which I told her no (then paused for my contraction). I handed them my paperwork and they walked me back to the delivery room.
It was 1:00 am.
I changed into my lovely gown (truly beautiful, lol) and started answering the billion questions being asked of me. As all of this happened my contractions started coming about 1 minute apart. These weren't the pleasant waves I had experienced before, they were the "Holy hell, why is someone ripping me apart with a vice while kicking me!?" types of pain. I was asked if I wanted an epidural and I had replied, "I'm going to wait and see." and 2 minutes later said, "Yes, I want the epidural."
For those who don't know, an epidural is only given after you have a bag of fluid given through an IV so that you are properly hydrated. I had yet to be hooked up to the IV, but I also knew I needed antibiotics because I had tested positive for Group B Strep. Yet, all the while I'm being asked questions (Do you have a car seat? How much do you weigh? When did you last eat? When did you last poop? How old are your children?) and having major contractions. The nurse was trying to keep me on the bed so that she could monitor the baby, but I wouldn't sit still (besides, she told me he had to move down still and I figured lying on the bed was not going to help that at all). The other nurse wanted to start my IV, but I was having so many contractions that we couldn't hold still long enough for her to stick me safely.
We finally started the IV and got my blood drawn for the labs (oof) and I was in major pain. I begged for something to take the edge off until I could get my epidural. Begging for Demerol or something. In the back of my mind I was thinking that there was no way I could do this and also remembered reading that when you were sure you were done, that you were probably in transition and it wouldn't be much longer.
All this time, the nurse was asking me questions and I kept mouthing to Sam, "Who cares? Shut up!" Finally, when she asked me how much I weighed before I got pregnant I tried to answer and out came, "Who cares?! What does it matter!? Shut up!!!" Because, really, I was doing everything I could to relax and breathe and concentrate and I was being asked to answer seemingly random questions. At this point both nurses left the room. I think they were trying to get the anesthesiologist and one was getting morphine. At this point it was 2 am and I said, "I have to push!" Sam ran out and grabbed a nurse and said, "She said she had to push!"
They got me on the bed quick and checked and I was at a 7 (I was at a 3 when I walked in at 1:00 am). At this point the question nurse gave me a little bit of morphine (which, by the way, didn't do diddly squat. The nurse said it made me tired, but it was 2 in the morning so I don't know how much of that was morphine and how much was being 2 in the morning and exhausted from constant pain). I knew at that point that there would be no epidural.
The pain became so intense that as I tried to breathe all I could do was scream and yell.
It was at this point that 2 thoughts were going through my head (aside from "Make it stop!")
1. I was officially THAT patient. The one who screamed during labor. It was 2:30 in the morning and I was screaming, probably waking up a ton of sleeping women. I felt horrible.
2. Every single person was telling me to breathe. One or two people were showing me the "hee hee hoo" technique (which, by the way, I knew, I just couldn't do it at that point). I thought, "If anyone in here starts quoting Bill Cosby I'm going to lose it."
Everything from this point was a blur. I remember hearing them call for the doctor to come quickly.
I remember them breaking my water (because for the first time out of three children my water hadn't broke on it's own or in an attempt to get labor going)
I remember having a contraction and at the end of the contraction pushing without consciously doing so. That freaked me out because no one was around and no one was paying attention to whether or not a baby would come out.
I remember Nurse Questions (I don't remember her name for the life of me) trying to lay me flat on my back and I snapped at her, "No! I won't be able to push a baby out lying flat on my back!"
I pushed and pushed and pushed and being told to push one more time numerous times. Finally, after one more mighty push, the baby was out and on my chest, crying angrily at the world for interrupting his warm, happy place.
We hung out for awhile and Sam cut the cord. Every time a nurse tried to take the baby to get his stats I kept saying, "Oh no, he's fine. I'm just going to hold him for a minute more..."
I then started to apologize to everyone for being so snappy and rude (I really did feel bad, especially for yelling at Nurse Questions to shut up). I was also able to get up right away (after delivering the placenta) and use the restroom.
After all of that I had a few realizations.
1. I was able to have the labor that I always wanted. It was fast and unmedicated (I don't count the morphine because it didn't touch the pain, or make me not care about the pain, it did nothing, really, because it didn't have time to do anything).
2. Fast and unmedicated labors suck. I am glad I experienced it. I am grateful to be able to compare it to everything else I ever experienced. I don't think I would ever want to do it again. But, that could be because I knew that this was the last baby we would have, and having done this 4 times I don't know that I would ever want to do any type of labor again.
3. The recovery from this labor has been the best, but things I thought were side effects of having an epidural are actually just side effects of having a baby (shortness of breath when I stand, for one. Being dizzy and having low blood pressure, for two).
4. I always said that if I had a short labor I think I could do it without pain meds. That's not true as I was begging for the pain meds. The thing is, when the labor is short there is simply no time for pain meds which probably helped me out in the long run.
5. I am, however, proud that I could do it (not that I had a choice, lol) but it makes me realize how powerful my body is and how strong I actually am, not just physically, but mentally as well. I never once said that I couldn't do it, just that I didn't want to. But, I had this image in my head of being on a roller coaster. At this point I knew that it was like being at the top of the big hill of a massive roller coaster and the only thing I could do was ride the ride because no one would stop the ride at the top to let me off.
I don't want to romanticize it. I know people who are HUGE advocates for non-medicated births. I think overall it is best, but at the same time, it's up to the person in the position of giving birth. I think that voluntary C-sections are unnecessary and not safe. I also think inducing just to induce early is unnecessary and unsafe (and also leads to unnecessary C-sections), but I think that telling someone that taking an epidural is a bad thing is not our business.
Anyways, Asher Roland was born at 2:44am on July 4, 2013. He weighed 9 pounds 12 ounces and was 21.5 inches long. I think he looks the most like Nathaniel did, and he has the lightest covering of blondish brown hair (something none of my kids ever had). He nurses like a champ and is mostly awake at night (which is about right considering the kicks and punches I felt the last few weeks every night). He is perfect. :) We are so happy.
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