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Blogging, Flashback Friday

Flashback Friday: No Wonder I am so TIRED

This little gem was written in June of 2007.  My children were 4, 2, and 5 months old.  Oh how I miss those little ones, but then I am reminded of the work of those days…

No Wonder I am so TIRED

I was sleeping peacefully and then the day began.
Early than it should have.
There is NOT a 7 on that clock and I see a 4 year old before me.
Hi, K. Get in bed. 10 more minutes!
Soon T joins us, but at least there is a 7. Put on a show and brush teeth.
I am not even in the shower when they are fighting. Apparently T doesn’t want K to put her arm in the air. Of course, the louder T protests, the more K is determined to keep it in the air. OK…what to do about that?
Stop protesting, T. Stop bothering her, K.
Get in the shower.
Hop out. Don’t bother blow drying. Get dressed.
Hold you. I want more juice. I am hungry.
I need to get your brother, who is 5 months old, to feed him.
Try to feed the baby. Girls are fighting again. This time I think it is about a book.
Head downstairs. Pull out toys. Try to feed the baby again.
Hold you. I am hungry. When are we eating?
Finish feeding the baby. Breakfast for everyone. I sit down to eat and immediately:
I need more juice. Can I have a straw. She is looking at me! STOP LOOKING AT ME!
Really? Really? They really do fight about someone looking at them.
OK – time to feed the baby rice cereal. He is having fun! Glad someone is.
They are now arguing about crayons.
SHARE! (apparently it is a new concept)
Let’s go play. Baby is happy in the saucer. I play cars for a bit.
My car needs gas. MY TURN! She won’t get off. AHHHH! She hit me. Get off!
I intervene. We try again.
Baby is tired. Got to get him to bed. Uh-oh. He is OVER tired and won’t stop fussing. Pat Pat Pat his back. He is fighting me.
They are fighting each other downstairs.
Go down, settle arguments. Baby is still screaming. Go back up.
(repeat twice)
Finally, he goes off to sleep.
To the basement. Girls are playing nicely! I do a load of laundry while monitoring.
Is that the baby crying? Seriously? A 30 min nap?
Get the baby.
Feed the baby.
Can I have a drink? Can I have watermelon? Hold you mommy!
Burp baby. AHHH! He projectile spit ups ALL over the sofa, the pillow, my shirt, my pants, and somehow…the floor too. Man, that is 4 of the 5 oz you ate!
Clean up the spit up. K helps – how nice! Change clothes.
Now, can I get watermelon, mom?
Yes.
Baby is in the jumper. Girls are eating. I grab a bite. I check on the baby and the jumper tray is filled with the other ounce of the bottle.
Uh Oh…this is not the normal amount of spit up. What is going on?
Hold you. Hold you. Play with me. Can you sit here? 

OK, surviving here, but it isn’t even noon.
(The time to write this post was found during rest time. I love rest time. Feeling better!)

Parenting

Loved, even with the gray.

In an effort to save some cash, though at the expense of my sanity some days, I dye my own hair at home.

For the most part, it isn’t a big deal.  Feria works for me, so I typically go with what I know.  But not so much this time.

I finally got sick of the gray, so I picked a night to destroy those gray hairs!  There were two boxes of dye in my closet, but they were a different brand. I must have grabbed them on a deal somewhere and thought I’d give them a try.

Bad call.  My color was a lot darker than I thought, which I thought I could live with.   It was also a very flat color with no highlight or dimension to it.  Worse yet, the gray hairs weren’t even covered.  Right in the front, at the crown of my head, there was still pretty obvious gray.

What is the point of the dye if the gray isn’t covered?

I tried to let it go.

Which included mentioning it to my husband, and friends on the phone, and family and…well, clearly I was saying it enough for my oldest child to hear me.

That night, I was chatting with her before bedtime.  We were about to pray when she randomly informed me, “I can’t see your gray hairs.”

“Oh, they are right here, see?” I explained as I leaned forward.

“I don’t see them,”

I laughed.  “Well, then you must be blind.  But it isn’t a big deal.  I’ll live with the gray.  Let’s pray and then you can get some sleep.”

“Mom, maybe we can pray that everyone would see you how I see you and then they would know how wonderful you are.”

Repeat that as it settles in my brain:  “…then they would know how wonderful you are.”

BAM.  Like a Mack Truck it hit me just when I needed a refresher.

My kids see me as wonderful.

Not because I am the right size.  Or without gray hair.  Or the best chef.  Or the best at keeping anything around here organized for more than 10 minutes.  Or the best at any of the crazy ways I measure my own self.

Nope.

I am the best.  I am wonderful.  Because I am their Mom.  And I love them.

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Your kids love you because you are their mom.  Maybe you need that reminder too.  

Confession.  In that picture, you see my second attempt.  Yes, I did dye my hair again.  I just couldn’t stand it.  Even if my kids don’t care.