Atmospheric Pressure

How does your house feel?  What vibes roll up and down the floors and under the area rugs?  What sounds float through the air?  Good, bad?  Lazy, hard working?  Screams of anger, laughter?  Ahh, how the *feel* of our home can affect our mind and the receptiveness to correction or instruction or anything productive, for that matter. 
Our children are used to seeing me clean.  It's sort of like, to be expected.  Cylas knows that if he makes a mess that he needs to clean it up, or he'll inform me that a mess was made and SOMEbody needs to clean it up.  How many times have I found Roma with my spray bottle and a rag in hand scrubbing at the floors and walls.  Too many.  But it's ok!  I take her hand and help her scrub.  I'll squirt the rag, hand it to her and we work together.  The *feel* in our house is busy, happy and peaceful. 
The day starts with me clinking around in the kitchen making breakfast, waiting for my babies to get up.  After breakfast, we clean up and rest for a bit.  Lately, we've been doing school with Cylas.  He loves it. 
Throughout the day we busy ourselves with little projects and lots of "us" time.  Me and the babies.  Them around my ankles as I clean up the kitchen or chop veggies for dinner.  My toes being stepped on as they try to help me make our bed or fold the laundry. 
We're a little unit.  We move around the house like a Ruumba.  It's funny. 
All this "working together", though, makes for a good, wholesome atmosphere that they will hopefully try to recreate when they are on their own.  They both have their own preferences, cleaning and general. 

Roma: her hands MUST be clean at all times, no exceptions and she must have at least two layers of clothing on ALWAYS including a puffy skirt, at times she will insist on vacuuming.  

Cylas:  He has to be wearing something Spiderman-ish(underwear, shirt, mask, sandals, watch...the list is ENDless).  His room must be clean (this desire varies and is stronger at other times), he goes through phases where he will do the dishes without being asked(this is a VERY messy undertaking), he enjoys vacuuming his room.  Oh, and he likes to prepare fresh snacks for when we run our errands: fresh fruit, cold water and possibly some Sun Chips.

To be fair, I should say that we're constantly picking up.  My house is by no means spotless.  It is clean, but a stray web can be found here and there and pockets of dust I missed.  Hah, yeaaah, I would be lying if I presented my house as being perfectly clean.  Sometimes I drive myself a little nuts with all the cleaning and picking up and I take a day off.  And since it's summer, I take a day off and sit by the pool.  We pack a picnic, grab our suits and chill.  I like those days.  And I like the atmosphere, too.

My competition

I've decided that I'm officially, seriously, nervous about Cylas going to school.  Watching other people's children and their behaviors makes my nerves jump.  A lot of them have horrible habits that are only fueled by our society. 

My job is to put as much as I can into my boy before he leaves my four walls to sit next to children who might have a bad home life, teachers who are hell-bent on stuffing non-truths and sick ideologies into his innocent head.  

They are my competition.  They will have my kids for hours and hours at a time.  The "real-world" pulls no punches, they cock back and let it fly.  So that means I have to too.  My philosophy has never been to use God a a batter ram, but to show my child all of the wonderful things in God.  

If Cy is mean to his sister I don't ever say, "God doesn't like that."  I don't want him to fear God, well, not like that at least.  But I want him to understand His goodness.  

I explain God a lot differently than most.  Here is a perfect instance:  some days we talk about sharing with others, how it "makes your heart feel good" and how when "you do good, others want to do good, too."  It's very simple.
God isn't my go-to beating stick, he is the icing on the cake.  And that's what I want Cylas to see.  God isn't this big bad, bearded creature dude sitting up there with lightening bolts, no, he is our compass, the little censor light that blinks on and off to tell us when we're not doing the right thing.  And if I can equip my kid with this knowledge, he will be just fine.  His "God light" will shine brightly and guide him through the day and each situation.  Then, he'll come home and we'll discuss any thing that troubled him.  

I admit, my approach to God and parenting may be a little different than most, but I've seen what God becomes if he is presented in a certain form.  

People can yell and shout at me, but I really don't care.  God is the ONLY one who can protect my child from what this world is offering.

Our children are our first ministry...

The words of a very wise woman. 
Spent a good hour on the phone with a woman who helped to nurture and raise me in my home church.  When our conversation came to a close, I felt like I could conquer most anything.  She wasn't full of empty praises for me; she simply shared a few of her own life's experiences.  What a rush.  I just started smiling and believing in myself and in my passions all over again.  It wasn't that I had given up or anything, but when someone reminds you of what you're made of...it's like the ultimate kick-start.

We covered so many different subjects during our conversation, but one of the last pieces of advice she offered up was, "start now, start with Cylas.  He'll be five and in five years he'll be ten.  Our children are our first ministry." 

HU.ge responsibility.  But I accept this.  It's an honor.  My husband and I have the very serious job of putting wonderful, beautiful principles into our children that will carry them on into their adulthood.  We building a foundation for them to work off of.  yipes! 
I remember my year in Europe as a foreign exchange student.
I held strong to my roots and my convictions.
It was a very revealing time for me and I thank God for the people He placed in my life at such a young age.
What a test.  But now, this year is going to be the real beginning of my little boy's journey into the big, wide world.  This September -- he's going to kindergarten. 

I have "control" issues

I do.
And I'm not afraid to admit it.  There are certain aspects of my life that I take very, very seriously and won't rest until I know that everything is just so. 
Right now, we're in California, my birthplace and home, we flew in about two hours away from my mom's place.  That being said, in order to ensure a speedy drive home we split the troops in half.  Three people in one car and three people in the other.  Carpool lane here we come.  Well, our "speedy" drive home turned into another long, arduous trip.  It took us five hours instead of the normal two. 
Car #1:  Me, my sister and Roma.
Car#2: My mom, my brother and Cylas.

This is where the control freak in me starts to get freaky.  My kid is not in my car, therefore, I am feeling out of sorts.  He is a couple of car lengths back and we're in the worst traffic jam I've seen since we moved away two years ago.  I mean, please, compared to where we live, the middle of nowhere, the only traffic you're bound to see is a horse and buggy trotting along, holding up four cars...yeah.  

Soo, here is my heart in my mouth.  Yes.  I'm controlling protective.  But, I make sure to balance it out with letting other aspects in my life hang loose for a while.  Some days I won't vacuuming obsessively or clean constantly.  My house isn't perfect, but I like to make sure it's picked up and if I'm not walking around with a broom and a vacuum the house would be three feet under toys and crumbs.  No joke.

And when my babies are older, I will still be concerned for their welfare.  I'm not going to let them know how my heart trips a beat when I'm not exactly sure where they're at...or how it makes me smile to hear their voices as they chatter, or when they confide in me their concerns.  

In general, I like to know what's going on with my household and I try to find ways to make it run smoother.  People are so quick to judge.  They see me as the one who "runs the house" and have even openly accused me of it.  And I don't mean in a nice way like, "Oh, you are so organized and your family is just so blah, blah, blah."  I mean, like, I'm this dictatorial person and my husband is just a trinket that I dust off every now and then.  Not so.  Our house runs just the way it needs to because D and I are...wait for it...a united front.  Wow.  Who woulda thunk?  Yes, I may be more vocal than my husband, but that doesn't mean anything in the world of a unified marriage.  Well, yes, it does mean something.  It means that I talk a lot and poor D has to sit through it all like and act like he's ReeeAaally listening to me.  HAH.

And please, get that look off your face.  If you're aware the state this world is in...you suffer from "control" issues, too.

The will of a child

I'm not an expert.  I'm just a mom with four and a half years of experience.  Ok, if you're unimpressed, go ahead, click the "x".  But, if you're willing to hear me out, we're in for an opinionated ride together.

D and I have read books on how to raise children.  They have been goldmines.  I honestly believe that some of the stuff that should just be "common sense" is some of the hardest to come by unless it's written out for you.  Invaluable material.  From these books, past experiences, the bible and trial and error we have diligently raised our children to the best of our ability.  You know your work is paying off when random strangers come up and compliment not only your family, but your children!  Tears come to my eyes as I think about this.  Our children, as I have written about before, are our heart and soul manifested.  They magnify your idiosyncrasies exposing what you wish no one knew existed behind your "calm", "gentle", seemingly "patient", loving demeanor.  Yes, your kids are the billboard of what you do behind closed doors.  Can someone say, "Jumbo-tron"?    

Now, the will, what a crucial part of a child's make up.  It's either strong or just "there".  I don't believe that children have "weak" wills because if they want to do something they WILL.  It's just that some are little less forceful in their attempts.

I happen to be the proud mother of two willful children.  They will do what they want within the perimeters of our house rules.  Cylas is a curious type.  He explores, discovers, experiments and is very imaginative.  While he has all of these great qualities, I find him to be needy in certain areas.  Now, Romalise, at this point, is a little mimicker.  It doesn't mean she isn't full of it, because she is.  If things don't go her way, there is much screaming and thrashing about...which results in well, a nice little reminder that such behavior is unacceptable.  So, this is where I start walking this little, thin line of BALANCE.  So finicky, this line.  Too much and you're "off base" and too little means you're "missing the mark".  Ahg!

Children are so keen.  They know how to push you into giving them what they want.  Once they discover how to "win", it's game on.  Good luck getting the ball back in your court.  Shoot.  They may be little, have no experience in the "real world" but they sure know how to strip you of your sanity, self-control, patience, the ability to regulate the tone of your voice...seriously?  Those. little. buggers.  So, I've found that in order to combat this...tragedy of parental mental break-down, I must be consistent.  If I say "no", I stick with it.  It doesn't matter.  No = No.  Simple!  (hahahah).  Yeeeah, I'm doing ok.  Tested. Tried. Still barely standing.

A child's will is tender and ready to be formed...just so.  The experiences your babies have with your direction/correction in their lives will ultimately form their opinion of authority in general.  Wow.  That should make us all pause and think.  What am I doing, right now, to introduce my child/ren to this inescapable part of reality?  Adults, too, manifest their childhood encounter with "authority".  Sometimes it's appalling, sometimes it's a crying shame, sometimes it's hurtful...to see how they treat the authority in their adult lives.  Tsk, tsk... (now, I warned you all that this was going to be opinionated).  Hope you all are still with me...hang in there, just about done with this soapbox.

There is so much to write, but I will save it for another post.  For now, I leave you with this:

We, as parents, are their first taste of authority and structure.  Let's make it a great one...correct your babies in love, not in anger.  Take a moment to stop, think about what you're about to do, if you have to, leave the room...it works.  Stuff like that doesn't go without paying you back ten-fold and in spades.

Best Friends

My best friends.  I think I will describe them to you before I do the "reveal".  They sound much more interesting this way.

One of my best friends is no taller than my waist.   The other has a collection of dead insects.
One of my best friends poops, like, three times a day.  The other makes forts for bad guys and super heroes.
One of my best friends doesn't speak.  The other insists on wearing Iron Man underwear.
One of my best friends gives kisses at random intervals.  The other has imaginary friends like "Hoo" and "Goo-ah".

  Today I was out with my best friends at Subway, our fav place to chill and have a healthy "on-the-go" lunch, when I was approached by one of the employees.  She complimented me on my children and told me I was "such a good mother".  Didn't quite know what to say.  Sometimes I'm a little speechless when people offer such opinions of me.  They don't know me.  But, they do see my children and how they react and interact to and with me, so maybe that's how they form their idea of who I am and what kind of mother I am to my children.  

Either way, I just smiled and nodded.  But then I stopped smiling as she told me about her own daughter who refused to raised the child she brought into this world.  How her daughter was raped at fourteen and now, she, Grandma, is raising her almost twelve year old granddaughter "M".  She lamented at her daughter's lack of desire to be a mother as she proudly showed me her keychain with a school picture of "M".  Emotional sandwich today at Subway, that's for sure.  

It just brought me back down to earth.  Plucked me right out of my BFF cloud and slapped me in the face.  Not everyone has the same "mother" story.   Everyone is different.  Not everyone wants to be a mom, not everyone chooses to be a mom, some people have bodies that won't LET them be a mom...and yet, here I am, sitting in Subway, getting sticky kisses and soft whispers, Sunchips on my shoulders, chocolate milk spilled on my side of the table.  And I'm ok with it.  I love it.  Not only that, but my children are my best friends!  They whisper sweet secrets and touch my face tenderly with grubby fingers.  They want to snuggle in bed with me.  They look for me when I'm out of sight.   They seek my approval.

I am so blessed.  I chose to be a mom.  I chose to set myself aside for the next 18 + years and pour all of what I am into these two, small, innocent beings.  My best friends, at that.  

Cylas.

Romalise. 

The two best friends a mom could ever have.

Compare and Contrast

   Why is it that I, as a mother, feel the need to compare myself to other mothers?  It's getting annoying.  I catch myself comparing how my fellow moms work with their children at home doing things like:  ABC's, 123's, writing, crafts.  Good lord.  I do minimal amounts of these types of activities with my children.  Yes.  I'm horrible like that.  I don't sit down with my kid every. single. day and go over these important skill builders.  I wish I was more disciplined.

No.  Instead.  My kid plays outside almost all day long with his buddy.  They build sand castles, they ride bikes, the play cops and robbers, build forts with my couch and ALL the spare blankets and pretend to play chess.  And then, there are the days where I sit down and we sing the ABC's, we count, we name the shapes and colors we draw and we practice counting and saying our ABC's in Russian.  It's just not every day.  I show him how to run my computer.  I send him out to collect the eggs and feed the chickens our fruit scraps.  And when Papa comes home out come the Play-dough, the model ships to construct, the kites to fly, the paper pirate hats made from newspaper and all the crafty activities.

As of late, Cylas has expressed intense interest in helping me cook.  So, we mix the flour, sugar, and eggs to make pancakes, we pour the batter together to form the little rounds.  Or, he'll pour the pre-measured seasonings into what ever dish I'm making.  We'll discuss and smell all of the ingredients going into the night's dinner.  That's what I do.  I'm not a super mom, I'm not a homeschooling mom.  I'm just a mom.  

My house gets messy.  Cluttery.  Annoying.  My kids scream, fight and cry.  My little boy wets the bed every now and then, my laundry over flows, my little girl takes baths in the toilet.  But I still have all my hair, my children are loved unconditionally and our home is a haven.  A safe one, at that.  I spend my days training my children, showing them how to love and be loved, teaching them the importance of communicating, how to be respectful...

Wow.  From my vantage point, it looks like I'm raising well-rounded, responsible citizens.  ok, ok, I'll quit comparing myself.  I'm not a bad mom...I'm raising my children differently.

War

This morning the alarm woke me up. No, not my children, but an NPR interview with the new general. General McChrystal. I lay there, still fuzzy with sleep, trying to make sense of what I was hearing. And for some reason, through the fog, this exchange of information spoke to me. During the night, Cylas ran into our room and was snuggling on D's side of the bed and early this morning Roma woke up and wanted to be fed so I just left her in bed on my side. With my two children within arms reach and my husband snoring soundly, I couldn't help but think that I have a huge responsiblity to raise my children in this war zone of life. Honestly. Deep thinking for 7:30 am. But I promise that this was all going through my head with rapid clarity. The responsibilities I have as a parent require me to tacticly out maneuver what ever enemy might be seeking out my children. One quote from the general spoke to me. When asked how his method was different from the past generals he said, " You have take to away what the insurgents want most. Access to the people". Then he framed this with his thoughts on how to accomplish this. He said to "arm the people" with knowledge on how to protect themselves. Give them something to want to protect. Amidst my thoughts, I'm laughing at myself for being so literal this early in the morning, but laughing at my inner monologue did not stop me from thinking. And I still agree with myself when I say that raising my children to be armed with knowledge, wisdom and a deep love for God is the most difficult task I've ever set my foot to.