One Single Thing

It's the start of a New Year. And a new decade to boot.
Remember all the craziness 10 years ago with the whole Y2K fiasco? The earth was ending....or something like that.
And yet here we are....

I've never really been one to make New Year's resolutions. I like to stick to my daily resolutions.

Today I will start running again.
Today I will get the laundry done.
Today I will mop the kitchen floor.

And if I can't resolve to do those things today, there's always tomorrow. I figure by the end of the year I'll get enough accomplished.

I take baby steps, people.

So instead of resolutions, I usually like to take a look at the past year pondering my favorite moments and giving thanks for the blessings.

2009 was a good year for us.
A good year despite the fact that the gloomy "you're still paying for a house that you don't live in" cloud was hanging over our heads the entire 12 months.

I could sit here and list all of the things I'm thankful for that took place in 2009. I've listed them all in my head quite a few times as I've pondered this posting.

I could give you a Year-End review that would probably bore your socks off.
But it's winter.
And your feet might get cold.
So there's no list for you.

I'm just going to mention one thing.
My favorite thing that happened this year.
The thing that keeps coming to my mind when I think of the best thing that happened.
The thing that caused me to giggle the most and probably caused most people to shake their heads at us in disbelief.
But it's the one thing that forever changed the lives of everyone in my family.

In 2009 we found NAET.

This is Zane during one of his allergy elimination treatments back in March.
It's just a jar.
A jar full of vials of allergens and enzymes.
A jar full of hope.
He just held the jar during a chiropractic adjustment and for another 20 minutes after that.

And now he can eat whatever he wants.

Call us crazy.
Say it doesn't work.
Go ahead and laugh about it. I'm the first to admit it sounds a little hokey.
But until you've lived with food allergies, you'll never know the desperation. You'll never know the frustrations of meal planning and going to a restaurant.
And you'll never know the simple joy that can finally be found in a goldfish cracker.
Or a plate of spaghetti.
Or a Hershey kiss.
Or a McDonald's cheeseburger.

It's been a good year.
A good year, indeed.

My New Identity

We're on the cusp of a potentially annoying obsession in our house.
I'm not exactly sure how it began.
I'm afraid I may possibly, inadvertently, be to blame.
I don't know how to get it to stop.
But. It. Must.

I traded in some of my DS games last week and got Mario Brothers for the Wii.
Zane loves to play this game. I love to play this game. Zane loves it when we play this game together. I've come to the realization that right now video games are Zane's love language. It is how we rack up our quality time. I get more hugs and kisses from my boy when I defeat Bowser is the castle of World 3 than I do at any given bedtime.
Go ahead and judge.
It's our bonding time.
That's how we roll around here.

Now, all of that I don't mind. I can handle that.

Here's the latest development.
To my son, I am no longer Mom. Or Mama. Or Mommy.
I have become her:

I am now referred to as Princess Peach.
Princess Peach is from Nintendo Mario Brothers. She's the one Mario is trying to rescue.

The obsession with Princess Peach began a few days ago. It started with the hourly admittance that he wishes Princess Peach were real.

Then he asked if he could call Jesus to see if He could make her real.

Then he asked if she would be real when Jesus finally comes back.

Then he kept asking how many more sleeps until Jesus comes back.

Then he asked if I could take the glass off of the TV so he could climb inside to hug Princess Peach. (I just laughed out loud when I typed that.)

Then when I told him that's not the way it worked, he tried to climb behind the entertainment center to see if he could find Princess Peach.

After a long talk about how TVs actually work and how video game characters are only pictures/drawings and they will never be able to be real, he came up with THE idea.

I can be Princess Peach.
And he will be Luigi
And he will bravely continue to rescue me over and over and over.
He will constantly refer to me as Princess Peach.
I am required to respond in the whiny-damsel-in-distress voice.
I must always refer to him as Luigi.

So tonight Princess Peach made Luigi some Chicken Lasagna Roll-Ups for dinner. Princess Peach gave Luigi a bath and washed his hair. She helped him get his jammies on. And when it was time for bed, Princess Peach prayed with Luigi then gave him kisses and hugs and tucked him in.

Luigi wrapped his strong, scrawny arms around Princess Peach's neck, hugged her tight and proclaimed, "I LOVE YOU, Princess Peach!"

And just to be sure, Princess Peach asked, "Do you love your Mommy?"
And thankfully Luigi replied, "Yes, I love my Mommy, Princess Peach."

Then he asked me to wear pink tomorrow.

This One

I've been feeling a little guilty lately that I haven't given equal blog coverage to this one:



Believe me, I'm the queen of equal coverage.
Just ask my mom. She probably gets a little annoyed that I'm always checking to make sure that each grandchild has an equal number of portraits on display at her house.
I try to count them subtly. I promise.
And yes, I follow the same rule in my own home with my own kids. Come on over and count them. You're welcome any time.

I'm realizing tonight that Anna-rene has been getting the short end of the stick here. But if you knew my heart, you'd see that lately, she's been taking up most of the room in there.

It's been a tricky few months with this girl.
She's opened up a whole new world to me. A world filled with therapy sessions, anti-anxiety exercises and breathing techniques to combat the ill side-effects of stress. A world full of intense emotions and feelings that a young 7 year old shouldn't be having to sort through.

Where is this all coming from?
It's a question I've asked myself more times than I can count over the past few months. I've even had to sort through my own emotions as I've battled with the guilt that I somehow caused this unhealthy sort of perfectionism/anxiety/empathy mindset that my sweet girl is dealing with.


But I know the truth.
That's just the way God wired her.

The good news is, she has now "graduated" to one therapy session every 2 weeks.
AND this is the 1st Thursday night in months that she hasn't sobbed with angst about the upcoming Math test the next day. The math test that, mind you, she almost always gets 100% on.

We're taking the small victories now and celebrating those with great joy!

On another note:
I'm really struggling with her Christmas list this year. It's full of things that, quite frankly, I just don't want to get. And I know if she reads this, which I'm sure she will (Hi Sweetie! Mommy loves you!) it will break her heart. And that's the thing I most want to avoid.
So I'm just going to have to suck it up and get her what she wants. Not what I want her to want.
After all, I did ask her to make a list.
I just didn't expect it to include Paperoni and Bendaroos and Chixos.
Look them up. I dare you.
And if you have young children you'll understand that just thinking about those things makes my head swirl with thought of tiny pieces in every crevice of my home.
Not to mention what my toddler will do with them.
I already know that his digestive system does absolutely nothing to confetti.
Sorry.
You asked.
Oh wait. You didn't ask.

Do you want to know what else is on her list?
And I quote:
laptop (a real one. I'm not kidding)

Maybe I need to make sure that she's clear this is merely a "wish list."
Okay. I'll probably give in to the Paperoni or the Bendaroos.
But I draw the line at a puppy.
I'm just going to pretend I didn't even see it on her list.

Addict

Hi.
My name is Jessica.
I am addicted to Chex Mix.
Wait.
Let me clarify.
I am addicted to Sweet 'n Salty Chex Mix.

It beckons me at breakfast.
It causes me to skip lunch.
It ruins my dinner.

I. Can't. Stop.

Why can't vegetables be so good?

Rewind

I was looking through some old pictures the other day.
That's what I like to do every now and then, so the memories stay fresh.
I also do it so that I can remember my kids during a time when it seemed like they didn't whine so much, or roll their eyes all the time, or disregard my instructions.

Okay, that was supposed to be honesty but somehow it seemed to turn into a failed parenting confession.

Moving right along....

This story I'm about to share is the exact reason I take so many pictures. I probably would have forgotten this little incident had I not caught it on camera.

Rewind back to August 2006 when my Zane looked a little something like this:


We had just moved into our new house in Indy not even 2 months prior. Life was still getting arranged and we were at the threshold of what would end up being an almost year long kitchen remodel. At this point all that was on our kitchen floor was plywood sub floor and carpet remnants. We had just removed a stack of drawers and replaced them with a dishwasher so there were no baseboards either.


On random occasions I would happen upon Zane munching a pretzel stick. At first I thought nothing of it, but as it kept happening I began to get a little suspicious.

Then one day I turned the corner into the kitchen and saw this:


Hey Buddy, what do you see under the dishwasher?


If he could have talked I'm sure he would have just said.
"Oh nothing. I'm just getting a snack," as he pulled out a pretzel stick.

Upon closer inspection, I soon discovered where he had been getting his occasional snack. Apparently he had been stashing his leftovers in case of delayed hunger.


He's a squirrely little guy.

He's Killing Me

I don't know what I'll do when this one grows up.



He slays me every day with these cheeks.



I know I better get myself under control before he's old enough to realize the power he has over me. But right now, as it stands, if he looks at me like this I'm a goner.


He gets away with way too much.
No one else gets to sit in the recliner and eat chips from the bag. (Well, no one else besides Daddy.)


And what other kid gets to lay on the table to color?


And with this look, who's going to make this kid eat all his dinner? Not me.


Most people say that the 3rd child has the least amount of photographs. I don't think that's going to be the case here. I can't keep my camera away from this face.

Bad Grades

I had a house full of little people today. One 4 year old, two 3 year olds, a 17 month old and an 8 month old. There were moments I questioned my sanity. But then I remembered that taking my 3 kids to Walmart by myself during naptime is one of the most insane ideas I've ever had and I felt much better about my afternoon.

A little coloring helped calm me as well. Does anyone else find coloring as soothing as I? I remember doing it a lot in college. And when Anna was little there was always a box of crayons on the table. Who would have thought a cylinder of colored wax could do so much. A big "Thank You" to Edwin Binney and C. Harold Smith, creators of the crayon. I find it slightly amusing that it wasn't either of those men that had the creativity to come up with a name for their invention. Leave it to Ed's wife who combined the french words for chalk (craie) and oily (oleaginous) to come up with "crayon." So thank you too, Alice.

Enough with the history lesson.

One of the little girls today has a heart for coloring. She was just the right height where she could rest her chin on the table top while creating her art. I decided that she looked so content it might be in my best interest to join her.

And then I had the flashback. This happens to me literally every single time I color. No joke. Every single time I color I remember the time I got a worksheet returned to me in Kindergarten and it had this on it:




And underneath that the teacher drew this:



Why the arrows? Let me just provide you with a little clarification.
It was a coloring worksheet. Yes, a coloring worksheet.
I remember it clearly. It was a picture of an owl.
I had made wonderful color choice, but apparently I had colored like this:


And I should have colored like this:



Do you see the difference? Yeah, I had a hard time seeing it too..... IN KINDERGARTEN!!! Being the ignorant 5 year old that I was, I had colored in too many directions. Crayon strokes are supposed to be made in the same direction throughout the entirety of the picture. I changed directions too many times resulting in a big, fat, red check minus.

As you can tell, I will never forget that paper. I have a hard time remembering my high school GPA or even the grade on my high school Calculus final exam (which I'm sure was far worse than a check minus). But I kid you not, every time I sit down with a crayon in hand I will forever be taunted by those nasty little red arrows.

So, here's to you Mrs. Hay. For tainting my coloring ability for the remainder of my life, I colored you this picture today. And I threw in a few directional changes just for kicks.