I Love Not Camping

Chris and I took a 4-year-old, a 3-year-old and a 1-year-old camping.  Because we are brain damaged. 

You might be asking yourself....How could Chris and Jess possibly consider this to be a good idea? Well for the record, I did not ever think this was going to go well.  But our church goes every year, and we most definitely didn't want to miss out on the fun. 

We did go camping last year and it has been a point of contention in our marriage.  Last year, I looked at the forecast and noted that it was going to be about 50 degrees at night and we didn't have any adult sleeping bags.  I asked Chris for a sleeping bag, and at that time, Chris said "What?  No, we don't need to buy a sleeping bag.  I'll just bring blankets.  It's only going to get down to 50 degrees.  No problem."  And then unbeknown to me, Chris brought an afghan.  Two afghans.  And as I was laying there covered in sweat shirt and pants huddled under that ridiculous blanket, I distinctly remember glaring at Chris and saying "I freakin knew 50 degrees was cold." to which he replied "Oh.  I just realized I've never camped sober.  Turns out 50 degrees is cold.  Who knew?"  

Imagine how well that went over. 

So this year, I was emphatic.  Bring a sleeping bag.  Non-negotiable.  And I was very anxious about keeping Adelai warm.  I planned for long underwear, and two pairs of pajamas to wear.  And I got a sleeping bag, but Chris decided to just bring the down comforter from our bed for himself.  The boys had new sleeping bags that they were very excited about, and I had made lots of snacks for the children. 

In our life, warm + lots of food = a chance at happiness.  I was hopeful.  But do you see that my only concern was warmth?  And food?  As if that's all you need? 

So naive.  So ridiculously not outdoorsy.  So caught off guard.
Did you know it can rain when you camp?
Because I did not.

It started raining at 8pm on Friday night.  I had just put Adelai in her pack and play to go to sleep.  I should have seen this disaster coming, because when I put her down, she looked at me as if I had completely lost my mind.  Sleep in this tent in this crib?  Mommy, do you not remember that I sleep in my crib in the house with the heater? Have you completely lost your mind?

Then she pooped through two of the three layers of pajamas that I had put her in.  Awesome. We got her cleaned up and down to just one layer of clothing, and I laid down with the three kids in the tent.  They briefly played an intriguing game of Adie throwing her toy and the boys attempting to trick me by stealthily picking up the toy for her before settling down.  The rain kept increasing in intensity and I marveled at how romantic it was to sleep in a tent with the four loves of my life. 
For 90 seconds I marveled at that. 

Chris joined us and appeared remarkably surprised that I had taken the whole sleeping bag. Apparently he had some vision of us sharing the sleeping bag and the down comforter together.  I laughed so loud that it startled the kids.  That was not happening.  So, he wrapped himself in the comforter which just happened to be littered with dried up fruit snacks.  It looked that splotches of stains all over the comforter, except that they were sticky.  Interestingly, at some point you just stop wondering where the stains/sticky stuff/boogers come from after the third kid.  Suddenly you just accept what you see.  Expensive down comforter littered with sticky goo?  Naturally.  Chris made comments to support his decision of no sleeping bag again, saying things like "Wow, it's kind of hot in this blanket.  I'm sweating" and "I'm really glad that I didn't have a sleeping bag because this is so comfortable, like I'm being hugged." 
It continued to absolutely down pour on our tent.  I again marveled at how this tent was able to hold back the water.  The five of us slept for about two hours.  And then.....Adelai woke up.  I don't know what time it was, but I think it was about 1 in the morning.  She woke up screaming as if offended that she had been left in this circumstance.  I was immediately concerned that she might wake up other campers, so I broke my rule of allowing her to soothe herself and I scooped her up and made the infamous "shhhhhh!" sound that is gifted to a mother the day that they take their child home.  You get the "shhhh!" and the tired, worn out, beaten up body as a reward for your sacrifice. 

And then it happened.  She looked at me and smiled a huge smile.  She might as well have said "good morning, Mommy! I'm ready for my sippy, eggs and toast."

I would rather meet a bear in the woods than see my 1 year old daughter awake for the day at 1:30am. 

I picked up her toy bear that she was sleeping with, which had been flung onto the ground.  One of the legs was dripping wet, as if somebody had dunked it in the lake and then brought it back.  I checked all around her bed for wetness, but it was dry.  Then I stood up in the middle of the tent and found myself standing bare feet in oh, I don't know, an inch of water. 

I must have stood there for at least one minute, trying to understand how my feet could possibly be wet.  I'm inside a tent....and my feet...they have water on them.  How can this be? This isn't right.  This is wrong, isn't it? 

Then I groped around in the dark to further evaluate this crazy fact, and lo and behold, everything on the ground was drenched.  And because this is the way my life goes, that included all of Adelai's clothes, my shoes, her baby, her blanket and my joy. 

So I shook Chris awake, who realized that somehow his whole back was wet despite sleeping on his side, (where is the freaking water coming from?!?) and he started to rock her while standing.  She enjoyed this immensely and cooed with him, clapping her hands because clearly she was so proud of him.   Then we brought her to our air mattress, where she smacked us in the face for fun and threw her sippy cup into the lake of water in the center of our tent.  Every time we tried to lay her down on the pillow, she made a sound reminiscent of a squealing pig being attacked by another squealing pig. 

Our pillows became wet from the magic water coming into the tent from somewhere as it just down poured for the entire night.  Somewhere around 3am as we were wrestling with this baby trying to keep her quiet, she lunged across my face and became totally still.  It seemed like maybe she had just gone to sleep instantly.  Can you imagine this for a moment?  I'm laying there, praying that this baby will pass out suddenly so that I know God loves me.  Then, she lunges across my face and stops moving.  Her breathing becomes even and she is quiet.  And I'm thrilled beyond imagination, but a bit hung up on the fact that my head is at a 90 degree angle with 20lbs pushing down on it.  And while her diaper is fresh, the part where her diapered buns are smashed up against my face is a little concerning.  I wonder to myself how long I can keep this, and after three tortured minutes, determine that I can't do it.  So I move her as gently as possible, and she sits straight up and is ready for the day, part II.  Chris turns to me and says "Really?  You couldn't hold that?"

About 30 minutes later, she laid down on Chris' pillow while he was moving around the tent trying to find the water.  Again, she went completely quiet and stopped moving.  If you have ever been around a young baby, you might recognize this move.  It's called the "freeze-stop-breathing-never-move-again-or-you'll-wake-the-baby" move.  It seemed to work, except then Chris didn't have anywhere to sleep.  I was okay with that, but he was not. 

So after a couple minutes of the freeze game, Chris gently tried to climb behind me (Adie on one side, me in the middle and that would press Chris up against the tent wall).  And then he whispers "my blanket is wet so I need to use the sleeping bag too". So he was reaching for the zipper as I was making sarcastic comments, saying  "Really?  Your down comforter didn't work camping?  So shocking."  Maybe it was because I had been awake for so long, but this absolutely cracked me up.  I started laughing so hard that I couldn't contain it.  And then I was laughing because I wasn't supposed to be laughing.  Then Chris started laughing and....the baby woke up. 
So now it's been hours and I realize that if nothing changes, I'm not going to get any sleep and that puts me at risk for seizures.  So I say "honey, maybe you should take her to the car so that she can scream it out and go to sleep." I anticipated that he would look offended that I'm sending him out into the rain to an inhumane sentence of listening to her cry in a confined space.  But he looked almost gleeful. 

"You mean like put her in the car and close and lock the door and come back to bed?"
"What?"
"That's what you mean, right?"
"No.  Not at all.  And just to clarify, I'm also not asking you to put her in a boat and shove her out to the middle of Triangle Lake either."
"Oooh, now that's a good idea."

So they went out to the car at about 4:15am, and Adelai didn't sleep until 6:15am.  I immediately fell asleep to the sound of continued down pour of rain and had a lovely dream.  I dreamt that I woke up in the day light, peeked my head out of the tent and the whole church had packed up everything and gone home.  One might guess that I would have been offended, but instead I jumped for joy and yelled "we're outta here!"

The boys woke me up at 7:15 and informed me that their shoes were dripping wet, the towels were soaked and all of our jackets and sweatshirts had been outside.  And no, the camp had not packed up to leave, much to my chagrin. 

So, here is what I know about camping.  The children love it to death and can't wait to do it again.  The parents of teenagers seem to love it because they never see their kids for the entire weekend.  The teenagers love it because they get to see each other all weekend long and have fun.  And the parents of young children?  They have a diagnosable mental illness. 

I very much want to finish by stating that the next camping trip will be over my dead body.  However, in reality, I love Oasis so much that I consider them to be particularly irresistible.  So I'll go.  And the best I can hope for is that my children won't remember the constant look of shock and horror on the face of their mother.

Moral of the story?  I love not camping. 


Her face says everything you need to know about camping.



Three Babies and a Man

I think I've tried to explain what it is like to stay home for an entire day with three children, all under the age of five, but ultimately it's just not possible. 

Simply put, being at home is harder than working in the ER and assessing psychotic and suicidal people.  Even if those people are screaming at me, incontinent and stinky, that job is still easier than staying at home with my children.  Because guess what?  At least I can lock them in a room and walk away.  At home, those same screaming, incontinent and stinky people are not allowed to be locked away.

At least that's what I've been told. 

I love my kids, but fact is fact.  And I do believe that Chris has never questioned that statement, but in the past two weeks he's had the punishment opportunity to stay at home with them twice while I've picked up a couple extra shifts at the hospital. 

Now to be clear, even though I know that staying at home is excruciating, I hate being away from them.  Two days a week of work is a good break for me, three days a week and I'm pushing it, and four days a week my heart just aches.  I still like my job, but I'm anxious to get home and kiss their faces.  Obviously, four days a week away from my babies drives me into a state of psychosis. 

So today was day #2 of Chris staying home with the children while I took an extra shift at the hospital.  I was at work by 8:00, and by 10:00 I was aching to hug my baby.  I called Chris and he begrudgingly agreed to bring the kids to the hospital for an early lunch so I could see them.  Again, clearly I was psychotic.  Sane Jess would see the complete disaster coming without any problems.  But crazy Jess who misses her babies?  It smacked that girl square in the face. 

The first clue that this was going to go badly for me was provided to me immediately when I came out of the door to meet them.  The first thing I saw was Adelai in her pajamas.  At 11:00.  In the morning.  Then I saw Justin wearing shorty shorts and a t-shirt that can best be described as a mid-drift.  And his shoes were on the wrong feet (which is actually true 90% of the time).  And also his face was totally dirty, as if he had smashed chocolate onto his face about 3 days ago, and nobody loved him enough to clean him up.  Then my eyes were drawn to Chase, who was wearing his signature look with one knee high sock and one ankle sock with shoes that were meant to be without any socks at all.  And he was wearing a shirt that had his name tag on it from school. He was the worst, because he looked like somebody thought that was okay.  Justin and Adelai just looked neglected.

The second clue occurred when we entered the cafeteria and the boys screamed at the top of their lungs and ran past a few elderly people to see the fish tank.  Like I said, Sane Jess would have turned right around and called it a day because the writing was on the wall, so to speak.  But I missed them, so I powered through.  We all sat at a table....or Chris and I sat at a table.  The kids actually ran up and down the dining room screaming and racing each other.  No matter what we said, they were spinning and yelling and incapable of even hearing our corrections because, well, they couldn't hear our voices over the low roar of their own chaos. 

And hey, guess what?  You can't go all psycho on your kids when you are at work.  I forgot all about that when I invited them, but as I was sitting there wondering if I could quietly stand up and walk away as if they were complete strangers, I remembered.  Boy, did I remember.

I forgot to mention Chris.  He looked like he had run a marathon and stayed up for 24 hours.  In short, he looked totally defeated.  I recognized defeat, because I always feel like that.  Outnumbered, tired and hopeless in the face of two boys and a toddler who have energy to spare.  So I didn't wander away, but we did wrap up the lunch very quickly.  And by very quickly, I mean that I suddenly grabbed all their crap, threw it in the garbage and rushed them out the door. 

They behaved for 39 seconds, so once again, I lost my brain and invited the kids to see a waterfall on campus on the way back to the car.  As we were walking to the water feature, a bird flew by to the roof above and the boys yelled "I'm going to scare that bird away!"
And Chris said, ever so quietly, "I hope that bird poops on them." 

Because that just sums up everything about being home with the children. 

So they ran to the water feature, and immediately Justin was climbing into the water and trying to jump off the rocks as I stood next to the sign that explicitly said every single action he was doing was not allowed.  And at one point, as he was preparing to jump off of a bridge-like thing into a rock filled ravine, I decided that I should probably begin to stop him.  So I ran towards him and he immediately flopped his body (with his shorty shorts, mind you) onto the cement and screamed. 

In front of the people. 

So I stood next to him and said in my nicest mommy's-boss-could-come-by-at-any-moment-so-get-your-butt-off-the-ground voice "Justin, I have to go back to work so it's time to go to the car with daddy."  And then a physician walked by and said "It doesn't sound like he agrees with that". 

My face turned florescent red, and I shoved the kid into Chris' arms and said good-bye.  I then returned to the haven that is the psychiatric patients. 

So the children went home, and at some point they dressed in bizarre (and largely inappropriate) clothes, as evidenced by this picture that Chris sent me that afternoon:



Chase just saw this pic and said "See? That costume was too short." (it's an 12-18 month costume)

He also informed me that Justin had picked up a yellow racer snake and was bit on the hand. 

Naturally.

I came home to Adelai wearing her clothes completely backwards, as if that was normal.  Chris seemed surprised and said "they're backwards?  I didn't even notice." 

And finally, as I came into the house, Justin yelled "Mom! Come see the rat in our backyard! And the snake!"  I never saw the snake, but I did see the dead mouse which I insisted Chris remove.  Justin then broke down in tears because the dead mouse was thrown away. 

For a moment, I almost felt sorry for Chris because I know they abused him all day long.  But then I remembered that Chris was able to return to work tomorrow, and I will once again return to my position as victim primary care giver. 

Clearly God chose me to be the mommy because even though they act just as crazy under my care, at least they are dressed like normal people when they are bit by snakes or throw public tantrums. 

I do have standards.

Adelai Dancing

Adelai Tap Dancing

Adelai loves to dance, and she's developed this little move that she does that melts my heart.  Check it out.  It brightens my day every time. 

Happy Father's Day

Dear Chris,

First off, can I just apologize to you that I couldn't think of a single gift that would cost .20 cents?  I don't even think that gets you a Fun Size candy bar.  I almost stole some money from the kid's college fund money (you know, the one full of pennies), but I again am stealing internet from the neighbors to write this, so I felt another sin was too much to bear.  Unfortunately, this is my gift to you.  And if it's the thought that counts, then hopefully you will consider this letter the equivalent to a trip to Hawaii. 
Or tickets to a Mariner game. 
Or just a couple of freakin kid-free minutes to watch an entire Mariner game on HDTV. 
Or maybe just a cold beer to drink while the kids are screaming. 
Wow, the bar really isn't that high these days, is it? 

WARNING-  I'm about to get emotional all over your ass buns.

I think I had an idea of how great of a dad you would be on our first date nearly 10 years ago.  You took me to a baseball field late at night and stood on second base.  The way that you looked around the field....I think I loved you that exact moment.  I can't explain why that was the moment, but maybe I understand it now.  Could it have been that the love you felt for the game of baseball was just a glimpse of how much passion you would bring to my boys?  I think about that moment a lot.  Every time Justin comes tearing around the corner yelling "Dad! Dad! Will you teach me baseball?  Can we play catch in the front yard?", my heart explodes with joy.  Because you are the kind of dad where I know with certainty that the dreams of my boys are going to come true.  Justin and Chase are going to get a resounding "For sure, little man" every single time.  Not only will you show up, but you will love every single moment.  And when that those little boys comes inside, they will know that you loved every moment too. 

There are other moments too.  When you come home, you have no idea how the children respond.  They stop everything they are doing, shout "Daddy's home! Daddy's home!" and sprint for the door.  Adelai is always last, but it most certainly is not for lack of glee.  Much to my delight, she has become a Daddy's Girl, through and through. You light up her life.  Her biggest smiles come from the mere glimpse of you, and I can't help but love you all over again. 

Watching you be a dad has added so many layers to my affection for you.  And maybe the most simplest way to explain it comes from my knowledge of your integrity.  I look at my babies and I know to the depth of my core that you will never leave them.  I know that my daughter will never know what it's like to miss her daddy.  I know that my sons will grow up with the knowledge that a man stays, regardless of circumstance.  I don't know what circumstances lie ahead, but I know you. My bet is on you. You will stay, because you are you, and that's what you do. 

That was all really nice to say, but here is what I really want to express to you on this Father's Day. 

I'm so desperately glad that you are the father of my children because I know that as they continue to figure out who God is, the revelation of God the Father will be a reassurance to them, and not a hindrance.  They will understand that God is patient, and God is loving.  He is steadfast and desires above all to provide for His beloved.  He is a protector and will fight for them.  He is a shield and He will sacrifice with joy for them.  And it is from a heart of passionate love. 

Roughly 10 years ago, I loved you a lot.  But now, as I have the privilege to share a family with you, I can't really even express it in words anymore.  You are more than I ever could have hoped for, and I'm so proud to be your wife. 

Happy Father's Day.
Love you. 

She's Not that Innocent

This blog title is two-fold.

1) I just stole internet from my neighbor to write this blog.  That's a first for me.  I'm a criminal...but let's face it.  It was a long time coming.  They have these two small dogs that bark in tandem so that the result is one continuous bark that makes me want to go over there and pound on the door one of these times.  SERIOUSLY?  Who wants two small dogs anyway?  And if you want them so bad, let them out of the garage.  We want our giant dog Ringer to be quiet so bad that we let him sleep on our bed, under the covers.  Get desperate, people.  So I stole your internet.  Sorry 'bout that.

2) We are also talking about our gorgeous girl with the crooked teeth smile and the double dimples that make you want to give her knives and other sharp objects just because she looked at them fondly.  Oh, really?  You want to take out every single silverware out of the dishwasher and throw them all over the kitchen? Okay. 




Adelai is almost 14 months old, and she's recently developed a mental illness.  It's no use denying it, since I have the degree to prove it.  Adelai has PICA.  I'm not sure that all letters should be capitalized, but when you are eating completely strange things on a repeated basis for a substantial amount of time, I think the name of the disorder is probably worthy of all caps.   
So.  In the last week, Adelai has ingested

•  a significant portion of several (at least 4?) Nerf balls
• 3+ crayons
• a portion of a plastic fork

Now, if you have never housed 2 young boys for a significant amount of time, you are probably wondering why Chris and I didn't just remove all of the Nerf balls in the house.  That's an excellent question.  One worthy of explanation to you, as well as the DHS caseworker that is no doubt headed my way since I disclosed above that I'm a criminal and that my child is totally out of control. 

The answer is actually quite simple.  If you had come to my door 2 weeks ago and asked to borrow a Nerf ball, I would have looked a bit puzzled and stated "I'm not sure if we have one.  Let me look around.  Probably not though."

But Adie has found at least five.  FIVE.  TO EAT.  LIKE A CRAZY PERSON. 
Of course I grabbed all the balls out of her hand.  But she kept finding more.  It's like the boys have a stockpile of stuff that I probably don't even realize.  And Chris and I are out-numbered.

Then I had this really ridiculous thought the next day.  I didn't want to throw away these perfectly good balls (except for the significant chunks of missing foam stuff out the side), because it was probably just a fluke, right?

Wrong.  I saw her in the playroom the very next day.  She spotted the ball from across the room.  Romantic music began to play and everything became slow motion as she gleefully charged the ball and immediately took a big bite out of it.  The following day, Chris told me that Adelai came walking up to him with puffed out cheeks; when he pushed on her cheeks, chunks of Nerf ball fell out and she laughed hysterically. 

So the Garlands can no longer own Nerf balls, thanks to crazy Adie and her addiction to eating foam.  Makes me want to pull her aside and whisper "Adelai.  We already have a crazy person in the house.  Please stop competing.  Justin will not lose, baby girl."

And a quick note about the eating of the plastic fork.  This also sounds like remarkably poor parenting on my part.  For the record, she was sitting on my lap and I was talking with several adult women.  Not a single person noticed that she was eating a fork until a lovely girl pointed out that part of the fork was missing.  And yes, in fact, one of the prongs was missing and never was to be seen again.  Can this really be my responsibility?  I've never had to instruct my children that forks are not part of the meal.  Who saw that coming?

So back to the Nerf ball.  She ate chunks out of all those balls on the same day that she ate at least two crayons.  So naturally I thought she was probably going to die and called the doctor's office.  The nurse put me on hold three times.  Obviously they have not received this particular concern  very often.  She said, super slow..."Okay....so..your 13 month old...ate...how many Nerf balls again?" She then went directly to the doctor (a first for the Garland home with a triage nurse) and told us to call poison control. 

And hey, guess what?  I have that number memorized.  So depressing. 

So I called poison control, and the lady BURST OUT LAUGHING FOR AT LEAST TWO MINUTES. 
Not joking. 
She was actually really nice, but seriously. She calmed herself, apologized and said  "She's going to be just fine.  Neither are toxic and both will come out exactly how they came in, so you're in for some interesting diapers, sweetheart."
Then she seemed remarkably careful to ask for my zip code, reassuring me that none of the calls get reported.  Clearly she thought I was no longer in the running for Mother of 2011 Award. 
"Oh, and Jess?  You should memorize this number because I'm sure we'll be talking again."
"Actually, I already have your number memorized because I have a wild three year old who is trying to make me crazy, one day at a time."
"Oh sweetie.  Now you have two."

Crap.

Wild at Heart in the Garland Home

As you may have noticed, being a mother to boys completely freaks me out. 

Aggressive play. 
Random wrestling moves that include having your brother by the throat.
Jumping from the highest point to the lowest point....45 times. 
Climbing the book case.
Climbing the retaining wall. 
Dragging your brother around the floor by his ankle. 
Digging for worms.
Picking up sticks and using them as swords/guns/lasers/arrows to kill the bad guys.
Making all of your toys engage in epic battle with each other. 
Becoming easily obsessed with karate moves. (Justin saw 20 seconds of a karate movie and punched the TV.  I wish I was joking.)

Every single one of these happen weekly, and each and every time, I have an instant response inside my head.  I've heard myself yell "No! Get down! There are no bad guys! Do not pretend to shoot your brother! You are going to get hurt! That is dangerous! That's disgusting!  You are going to break your neck!"  It goes on and on.  The question being constantly asked in my head is "Seriously? Why can't they play quietly like normal people?"

And I would have to admit that a great deal of my efforts are because frankly, it's totally embarrassing when my child tackles his brother or yells "I'm going to kill you!" in public.  You would guess they are watching Gladiator 24/7 in the Garland house.  The fact that I'm a therapist that loves to work with children doesn't help the judgement....or should I say, the fear of judgement.  The quiet, can't-we-all-just-get-along, coffee drinking girl inside of me longs to get my children to sit down, color something besides the wall, and make their toys help each other. 

And in the interest of time, we'll all just acknowledge that it has never worked and I'm causing myself a great deal of grief trying to turn these boys into girls. 

There, I said it. 

So I'm an avid reader (often reading a book every 5 days plus the Bible and occasionally several books at a time), and I ran into a dry spell recently.  At several recommendations, I had bought a copy of Wild at Heart by John Eldredge for Chris to read.  Turns out that Chris is actually too wild at heart to read the book, so it's been sitting around the house.  I decided to look it over, and lo and behold...it's changed my entire perspective of my boys. 

I hate giving synopses of books, mostly because I'm afraid I won't do the author justice.  However, the moral of his book is that God created man in His own image, in the wilderness, prior to the Garden of Eden.  He's built to be an explorer, a warrior, a ruler over all things.  Eldredge says "Like it or not, there is something fierce in the heart of every man."  Essentially, Eldredge argues that God made man with a tendency to seek an adventure to live, a battle to fight and a beauty to rescue. 

So as a mother, I read this book and it stung to the very core.  When I tell my boys to play nice, be quiet, and don't do anything dangerous, I feel like I can see down the span of time to the men I am creating.  Nice, quiet, fearful men who have no idea about the true identity of themselves or the power they possess.  My greatest fear is the picture of them sitting at an office job, knowing they are unhappy and not rising up and walking away.  I am afraid of my sons seeing a challenge and being so fearful that they will fail that they don't even try.  I would consider myself an epic failure were my sons to not recognize the man inside of them. 

I want warriors.  I want men who will rise up to the occasion and fight for what they believe in.  I want my sons to be fierce.  And I want them to be tender to their beauty.  And I want them to protect their babies.  And is it so much to ask for them to take care of me when I am incontinent someday?  (probably.)

So I'm going to ignore my own fear.  I'm going to stop (as best as I can!) trying to get them to settle down.  And I'm going to have faith that they won't end up in prison.  Chris and I have agreed that when they set up fights, we are going to gently lead them into a reason for the fight (like a beauty to rescue).   We are going
to acknowledge wounds, yet bolster them up to know that they can overcome pain.  We will help them to write the rules of God on their hearts, but we won't press them to be nice (that one is hard).  In short, I will step aside so that these boys grow up as God intended them to be.  And Chris?  He's going to show them how to be a man. 

My best quality is my innate, natural ability to give up control.  Not. 

And by the way, if this is being read in court in 20 years, and one or both of my boys are in trouble, can I just say this? 
The alternative was too heartbreaking to accept.   I refuse to break the spirit of my boys.
And I'd rather take my chances on God's design rather than my own.

The LORD is my strength and song,
And He has become my salvation;
This is my God, and I will praise Him;
My father's God, and I will extol Him.
The LORD is a warrior;
The LORD is His name. 
                             - Exodus 15:2-3

Why I was fired by PT

I flunked my first thing ever. 

Always the perfectionist unto death do we part, I finally got the ax-- in physical therapy, no less. 

Why, you ask? 

I have to admit...I was flabbergasted as well.  Somebody can be fired from PT? Really?  I can come in pain, and then leave in pain?  What kind of treatment plan is that?  As a mental health therapist, I would never get away with that.  Can you imagine?  Client came depressed and left depressed.  I guess my job is done here. 

The reality is that I'm about to whine.  If this bothers you, you might want to cease reading here. 

THEY GAVE ME HOMEWORK THAT I COULD NEVER ACCOMPLISH.  EVER. 

And here is my homework;  Do 10 exercises/stretches, 3 times a day. 

Doesn't that sound easy? 

I guess you might be wondering what kind of injury brought me to physical therapy.  I have three bulging disks and an annular disk tear in my lower back, and one (just one!) bulging disk in my neck.  Usually the result of significant trauma, mine is simply the result of nothing.  I love that fact so much.

MD: "Wow.  This usually happens to older men who are ripping out trees in the back yard or something.  Not really 30 year old women.  Did anything happen recently?"
Me: "Nope.  Just a 4-year-old, a 3-year-old and a 1-year-old."
MD: "Huh. That's weird."

So I didn't have a mental breakdown and I consider that a win. 

Anyway, back to the most impossible homework of all time.  Ten stretches, three times a day.  Is there a mother in the universe who can accomplish anything three times a day?  I mean seriously! Three times a day?  I'm tasked with doing something three times a day that doesn't:
1) poop
2) puke
3) pee
or
4) cry?

Sorry.  That homework is so impossible that I don't even know where to start.  Anybody who is requiring a mother to self care three times a day is out of their freaking mind.  And if you, physical therapist, cannot understand my limitations, well then I guess we're kind of done here anyway. 

And the saddest part was that my inability to partake in regular stretching was considered some kind of anarchist refusal to do anything.  Crazy. 

So here is a list of things that I can accomplish three times a day:

• Change diapers
• Say "Justin, you must wipe your buns.  Yes, every time you poop.  Seriously."
• Look for three pairs of underwear after Justin has refused to wipe. 
• Break up a fight
• Put children in time out
• laundry
• dishes
• meals
• pray (but only because I do that while doing other stuff too)
• make a pot of coffee and then turn it on twice to reheat the coffee since I got distracted and never got to drink it the first round
• Go to the restroom and get interrupted for ridiculous reasons (i.e. "where's my green car that I saw two years ago?" and "can I have some cheese?" and "Mom? I just saw a flying monkey!")

That's it.  No joke. 

Their other idea is for me to take a break from volleyball on Mondays.  Never going to happen.  Again, I sound like an anarchist unwilling to follow any instructions.  However, what kind of improvement will it be if I can move easily, but I'm locked up in a padded room in four point restraints? 

Because volleyball nights are the one thing that I guard with my life.  Suddenly, this mother of three is self centered, hostile, and completely unwilling to bend.  I will be at volleyball on Mondays so that I can be supporting all you other freaks my family every other day of the week.  My family has become accustomed.  Stay out of mom's way on Monday night - then you can bug her until kingdom come for the rest of eternity! 

So I was fired.  But the mother of three young children cannot be on a standard treatment plan.  You have to adjust for the fact that between 20 and 40 pounds will be picked up more than 20 times a day.  And a mom has to bend over for boo-boos and tears and hugs and toys and diaper changes and moments of discipline and laundry and sweeping and picking off stickers from the hardwood floor. 

(I could go on and on....that's only what I thought of in the last 5 seconds).

Put simply, I'm not an anarchist, Mr PT man.  I'm a mother in charge of three anarchists who could give a crap about stretches. 

Didn't you hear?  They need me to find the green car that they saw two years ago.  Sigh.