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.

Pot Pie Night

Chicken pot pie is one of the favorite meals in our house. The kids love it, even though it has lots of veggies in it.

And I love that the kids love it, even though it has lots of veggies in it.

For some reason, a few pot pies ago, I decided to start cutting fun pictures into the pie instead of the typical lines. The kids think it’s fun and are always curious to see what I choose.

I’ve done flowers. I’ve done our initials. And once I even did a tractor. I’ll give you 2 guesses as to which child loved that one the most. And your 2nd guess doesn’t count. He was just a little upset that I forgot the steering wheel.

Did I mention yet that I love that my children love pot pie even though it has lots of veggies in it? I do.

We had chicken pot pie tonight. Guess what’s on my mind?

Math. We have a 2nd grader. It’s a touchy subject in our house. But this made her smile, and that made me smile.

1+4=5   and that’s the number of people in our house that enjoyed dinner tonight, even though it had lots of veggies in it.

Progress. With a capital P. Progress.

To preschool or not to preschool? It's a legitimate question many parents struggle with. Preschool is something that isn't right for some. And for others it's something that is an absolute necessity.

When it came to our firstborn, we struggled with the decision. Eventually, we opted to preschool. We had just moved and we thought it would be beneficial in helping her develop friendships. After all, making friends in a new town is tough even for adults. She already knew her letters and how to write them (upper and lower case). She knew her shapes and how to draw them. She knew how to color in the lines and how to cut and paste. Academically, she was ready for Kindergarten at 4. But she was also still attached to her mother's hip.
Actually, she still is.
I keep telling myself that one day she'll want to leave me and get married and I'll long for the school mornings where she clings to my leg, sobbing because she'll miss me so much.
I keep telling myself that.

And now we have this one.


There really wasn't much of a dilemma with this one. Can someone please point me in the direction of the nearest preschool?

Honestly, I love my boy. Really I do. He brings me much delight. But I have never once doubted that if there was a story to be written about kids who need preschool, he would be Exhibit #1.

And in all fairness, I did try to do some preschool with him at home. Remember those 4 months I was a homeschooling mom? I tried to work with him, too. But if you mentioned the word "learn" or if he even got a whiff of the possibility that an activity had anything to do with learning, he was absolutely-with-out-a-doubt Done. With a capital D. Done. And then he would loudly proclaim "I don't want to learn!!!"

We did manage to learn colors. John Deere is green. Case is red. New Holland is blue. Cat machines are yellow. That didn't leave me much to work with.
Recognizing capital letters? Yes.
Ability to read "John Deere?" Yes.
Lower case letters? Nope.
Shapes? Tires are circles. Semi trailers are rectangles.
Coloring in the lines? Not interested.


What I needed was a Montessori style of school that taught using only farm and construction equipment and terminology. Why do they not have FFA for 4 year olds?

I finally had to settle for a normal preschool. He started a few weeks ago and Loves it. With a capital L. Loves. He doesn't mind learning with someone else. Imagine that. And the best part? He didn't cling to my leg and cry when I dropped him off. He went right into his class without batting an eye and barely said goodbye.

So last week his teacher shared with me that they were having a little trouble with getting him to write his name correctly. Uh oh. I flashed back to the time when he was adamant that his name did not start with the letter Z. It wasn't pretty then. I was hoping things had improved.

Thankfully, this issue was different. The teacher explained to me that the problem is, he likes to write his name in all capital letters. I didn't really see the problem, considering that just a few months ago he didn't want to write his name at all. They should be thankful, right?

Miss Cindy explained that they are working with him to use lowercase letters instead. She said that she told him each student is allowed only one capital letter in their name. Then she told me he paused for a moment, looked at her thoughtfully and declared,

"Okay. I want it to be the E."

Smart kid. Those lowercase e's are pretty tricky.
That's my boy. zanE. With a capital E. zanE.