Boogers on the Wall

I have always loved spanking my kids. Not because I am disciplining them. Not because I am angry. Not because they are in trouble. But because I love teasing them by gently swatting their cute little bottoms.

Don’t get me wrong. There have been times when my boys have been completely out of control and I have had to swat them hard. Those times I haven’t loved.

But more often than not I have spanked them for fun. It’s been a little joke in our family. I do it to their dad too.

It has always been fun and games for me to tap their tush as a joke – until my oldest started spanking other adults. Now it’s got to stop.

The game is over. I can no longer teasingly swat my boys’ bottoms. Because we don’t know boundaries. I can’t have them growing up thinking that it’s a salutation.

I’ve got to teach him that it’s not normal.

Right now I don’t know what’s worse, the fact that he’ll swat the backside of mere acquaintances or that he’ll smash his baby brother’s diaper-cushioned bottom. All. The. Time.

I can’t get him to stop. I’ve begged, I’ve pleaded.

I’ve created a monster.

One day after he wouldn’t stop spanking his aunt and uncle I lost it. I shouted at him and spanked him hard.

Oh the irony.

I was trying to spank the spanking out of him.

That’s not going to work. I need a new solution. I can’t fight fire with fire.

What do you do to stop a bad habit? How do you get your kids to change their mindset?

I don’t want to brainwash him, and I admit that this is all my fault, but I need some ideas on how to get him to leave other tushes alone.

Maybe if I completely stop tapping their bums he’ll follow suit.  Word of the wise – don’t spank your kids for fun. Reserve that action for the rare, few times that you can’t get to them any other way. In my opinion it should be a last-resort disciplinary measure.

Otherwise you’ll end up with a lot of awkward situations. Like when your son swats the bishop’s bum during church.

I’m so mad I taught him this I could swat my own backside.

What was more fun than smearing frosting onto graham crackers, topping them with candy and then trying to prop them up onto a piece of cardboard until they somewhat resembled gingerbread houses?

Smashing them all to pieces.

We took a hammer to our gingerbread houses and it was AWESOME.

This is the first year we have made gingerbread houses together. Of course we cheated and used store-bought graham crackers and store-bought frosting, but it still felt like really hard work.

My two older boys and I made them on a Saturday afternoon before Christmas while my youngest was taking a nap. We ended up with candy and frosting everywhere but surprisingly I didn’t shout at all during the whole production – It was a major accomplishment.

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My oldest made an army bunker with an artillery storage area filled with Sixlet cannon balls. He broke toothpicks in half so he could arm his gummy bear infantry with weapons.

My 5-year-old made a tall, narrow fire station. It was guarded by gummy-bear spies on the roof and a marching army of them by the front door.

My house nearly ended up as a Weasley house. It tipped and leaned so many times I nearly gave up. It was by far the worst-made house of the three. I finally got it to stay upright and threatened everyone in the home not to breathe on it.

We set the houses on our dinner table and kept them up well after Christmas.

Honestly I didn’t know how we were going to be able to part with them. My boys are hoarders. They hate to throw things away. For a long time we had to take pictures of random household objects before tossing them so that my oldest could “remember” them (you can read about that here.)

So I was dreading the day I’d have to toss our gingerbread village. I thought about having a house-eating party, but my boys didn’t really even like the candy we used in the first place – especially the gumdrops. I was sure they wouldn’t eat it stale and dry.

So I had the brilliant idea to kick, throw, and whack the houses away.

We set out a blue tarp on our driveway and took turns with the hammer. Candy, graham crackers and frosting flew into the sky as we giggled and trashed all of our hard work.

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But I didn’t hear one complaint. No requests to save the houses and no whines about how we were ruining them.

We hit them so hard we punched holes into our tarp.

Smashing them was by far much more fun than taking pictures and then tossing the houses into the trash.

We’ve got to do it again next year.

My boys are really into aliens, ghosts and zombies, but that doesn’t mean they want to meet any.

I don’t know why they like creepy crawly things – probably because they are boys.

They are really interested in ghosts. We took them to a family-friendly Ghostbuster haunted house last fall. They were thrilled yet anxious as we walked through the “ghost-filled” forest.

At home they love setting up a recorder and trying to capture ghost sounds. Sometimes they’ll put on their homemade Ghostbuster costumes and carry around flashlights as they  “hunt” for ghosts.

But when they are faced with the fact that ghosts may be real they aren’t so thrilled.

We went to the Hill Air Force Base Museum over Christmas break. We walked around the planes and displays like normal. Toward the end of the trip my boys started talking about how they thought the place was haunted.

My 5-year-old even spooked himself into believing he saw a ghost in one of the old helicopters. They walked cautiously through the place after that.

I think they thought it was a game. They were trying to scare each other into thinking the place was haunted.

It was all fun and games until we went to leave.

When we were walking out the door we ran into an elderly man who was volunteering that day at the museum. He asked how our trip was.

That’s when my boys told them they thought the place was haunted. I looked wide-eyed at the volunteer and said something like, “Tell them it isn’t really haunted.”

That’s when he hushed his voice and shook his head at me while he said, “I can’t tell them that because it wouldn’t be true.”

Say what?

I glared at him and said, “But surely there aren’t any mean ghosts here, right?”

He agreed with me and said something like, “Right. The spirits here are all from those who lost their lives defending our nation. They are good spirits.”

You should have seen my boys’ faces. I thought their eyes were going to pop out of their heads. They were both ecstatic and terrified. The museum really had ghosts?

I could have punched that old man.

Isn’t there some kind of adult code? A wink, wink don’t-tell-my-kids-there-really-are-ghosts-in-here conduct to live by? I don’t care if a ghost just flew behind my head. Don’t tell my kids that! Especially if you ever want us to come back!

This old gentleman either never had children or was so far removed from his parenting that he forgot what it was like to live with two boys who really thought there were ghosts.

He forgot about the nightmares kids can get and how when they get nightmares, they crawl into their parents’ bed. He forgot about how scared children won’t go into the basement. He forgot how easy it is for children to hear ghost “noises” throughout the house

Well he better remember fast, or else he’ll scare every kid away. If he keeps it up, no kids will dare visit the museum anymore.

I still don’t know how I feel about ghosts and spirits and haunted sites, but I know that I don’t like to feel scared. And I don’t like my children to feel scared. So I try to stay away from spooky things.

So who knows when we’ll make it back to the museum. And if we do ever go back we’ll probably have to take video cameras, audio recorders, flashlights and our homemade Ghostbuster proton packs.

There you go. You have been warned. If you’re planning a trip to the Hill Air Force Base Museum beware of ghosts.

 Who knew 5 minutes into Christmas morning that I’d try to slice the tip of my thumb off with one of our new toys.

Yep. We had only just begun checking out what Santa Claus brought us when I started bleeding all over our goods.

And my boys weren’t sympathetic – they were excited.

Santa Claus brought both of my oldest boys microscopes. They came in a big kit that has things like slides, a brine shrimp hatchery and unbeknownst to me, a circular slide-sizing slicer.

I was helping my 5-year-old get his kit out when I slid my thumb around the side of that slicer and nicked the tip. Yikes! It hurt. It was cut deep.

I ran upstairs and fumbled one-handedly for a Band-aid while blood dripped from my left hand. I couldn’t open the packaging so I ran back downstairs and made my husband bandage me up.

That lasted about 10 minutes. Then blood started dripping though my Band-aid. I got red all over a set of batteries I was trying shove into a new toddler music toy.

After that I scrambled to find some gauze and medical tape. Then I spent the day with a giant left-hand thumb.

Later that night my mother-in-law and I tried to liquid glue the wound shut. But the flapping skin didn’t take to the glue for very long. By the next morning I reopened the cut while trying to make my bed.

Lame for me. Thrilling for my children.

They had something new to study with their microscopes. My blood!

I’m sure they didn’t dare ask me for a sample on Christmas. It was all too raw at that point. But now that I’d had a day with my wound, they were more than happy to round up their slides and stick them under my finger. I felt like a newborn getting its PKU test sample as we squeezed my finger for more blood.

I let them each walk away with a slide filled with my “human blood.” We covered the slide, labeled it and stuck it under the microscopes.

We spent a long time looking at it. And to be honest, it was COOL!

We were able to see tiny white cell-type objects moving through little river channels of my blood. They flecked and danced about while each of my boys shouted things like, “This is awesome, mom,” and “I’m sorry you got cut but thanks for the blood!”

It was a major sacrifice – all for the sake of science. At least it was me who got cut and not one of them.

We zoomed in and focused our microscopes several times and one of my boys said he was able to see my “DNA.” Man they are smart and they love science.

It took a long time for the skin on my thumb to heal. I felt like I was “all thumbs” for a while. Yet I’m kind of glad I could donate to the cause.

But you better believe I’m not volunteering to donate any more of myself for the sake of new microscope experiments – at least not unless it’s another accident.

365 days is a long time for someone like me to hold it all together. That’s more than 8,700 hours to keep my house clean, my laundry folded, my family fed, my bills paid and my hair combed. And when it comes to not yelling at my kids it seems like an eternity

One year can seem like forever.

I’ve decided to limit my resolutions for 2014 to one: I resolve to take my life one day at a time.

I’m not going to stress myself into thinking I’ve got to be awesome each day of the next 12 months.

This year I’m going to try to take it all in stride and hopefully for most of 2014 I’ll be found with a smiling, non-yelling face.

I’m sure each day is going to be different.

I’m going to try to throw out my naturally rigid scheduling-something-every-minute personality and replace it for one that is more flexible; one that is better at improvising.

I’m going to try to follow my mood, my kids’ moods and my husband’s mood. That will dictate what gets done around here, not my calendar.

I’m sure there will be days when I kick it into high gear and scrub my house from top to bottom. But then there will be other days when my house looks like the aftermath of a hurricane and I don’t get out of my pajamas until 3 p.m.

There will be times when I have a lot of energy to chase after my boys outside, and other days when I just want to cuddle with them and read books on our couch.

I have 365 days in 2014. Every day doesn’t have to feature a clean house. Every day doesn’t need to include a warm three-course dinner.

I am sure I won’t shower every day and I know I won’t always make my bed.

Instead of having a year filled with errand running, organization, and mopped kitchen floors, I want a year filled with giggles, ghost stories and adventures.

I want a year filled with memories.

Here’s to 2014.

Here’s to building blanket forts in our basement.

Here’s to singing “What Does the Fox Say?”

Here’s to walking to remember.

Here’s to star gazing and microscope inspecting.

Here’s to running more miles.

Here’s to Saturday morning cuddles and Sunday afternoon movie days.

Here’s to reading more books and learning more Italian.

Here’s to living.

Here’s to 2014.

Wrapping, tissue paper, cardboard boxes, batteries, tape, scissors, screwdrivers, goldfish crackers, Clementine peels, band-aids – you name it, it was on my living room floor Christmas morning.

I’m sure I have dear friends who can relate and possibly even some whose mess can rival that of the Clemens’s home.

That kind of mess is enough to drive this OCD keep-it-picked-up stay-at-home-mom CRAZY.

Luckily for me I had a dear friend drop off a cute Christmas decoration a few days ago that puts things into perspective. I’m going to share it with you and keep this blog post short and sweet. I’ve had way too many late-night holiday parties these days. I’m ready for bed.

My friend made our family a plaque that says:

“One of the most glorious messes in the world is the mess created in the living room on Christmas Day. Don’t clean it up too quickly.” – Andy Rooney

I’m going to sit back and take that to heart. We aren’t going to do any serious cleaning up anytime soon and I give all you other busy, tired parents permission to sit back and let your living room be a mess too.

I leave you with a picture of my living room couch whereon not a creature could stir – not even a mouse.

Merry Christmas!

Have you finished all of your shopping? Are you all ready for Christmas? Those are two questions you don’t ask a young mother who barely has time to get out of her pajamas in the morning, let alone buy and wrap all her presents by December 19.

It’s hard to think of everything, everyone and get it all together before Christmas. Especially when your kids keep morphing their Christmas lists and asking for new things from Santa.

Yet this year is different for me. I learned to say no – to myself.

Most years I’m modge-podging my way through Christmas Eve trying to get everything made and packaged by morning. This year I’m done. It’s about a week until Christmas and I’m done.

Not because I have done EVERYTHING I thought of doing this season, but because I have done the most IMPORTANT things I have thought of. And I’ve let go of the other things.

For example:

I thought about crocheting little Santa slippers for my mom and sisters. But when I opened the pattern file on my computer, I discovered that I couldn’t even make sense of the instructions and decided to wait until next year. Not. Worth. My. Time.

I thought about making my boys plaid Christmas suit jackets. Then I walked into H&M and saw Christmas green collared shirts for $4 each. Paired with some red suspenders from my sister’s wedding and they have instant Christmas church outfits. Good. Enough. For. Me.

I normally like to make a small Christmas craft for all of our neighbors. This year they got a bag of marshmallow snowman pooh and hot chocolate. My husband is so proud.

I usually stew over what to bring to holiday potluck parties. This year it was Sam’s Club pumpkin pies and sherbet Jell-o salad. Easy. Peasy.

My mind is always racing. Always thinking of what I can make or do next. But this year I’m not giving in. I’m not going to do all of the things I think I SHOULD do.

I’ve decided to sit back and enjoy this holiday season. My oldest is 7. Soon the magic will be gone for him and what will I have to show for it if I don’t put my projects away and believe right along with him? Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

I have a really hard time sitting still. But that’s what I’ve vowed to do this Christmas. I bought 90 percent of our presents online several weeks ago. I finished wrapping them on Monday.

I know a lot of people out there are still shopping and prepping for the holidays. I know how you feel. I’ve been there – pretty much every year. Hang in there. You’ll make it.

But might I suggest simplifying things next year? Maybe your mother-in-law would really enjoy want a gift card. Maybe your kids won’t even play with the silly stuffed animal you stay up late to sew. Maybe your husband doesn’t care if you cook him an apple pie on Christmas Eve.

For me this year the most important gift I have given myself (and by default those around me) has been time.

I’ve watched more shows on Netflix than I care to admit (I have a we-don’t-watch-television-at-our-house reputation to uphold.) I’ve read Christmas stories and thrown snowballs at my boys. I’ve built a couple of snowmen and sledded down the hill in our back yard.

I’ve been to see Santa, several times and we’ve sung Christmas carols around the piano. Instead of worrying and stressing myself through the month of December, I’ve actually laughed and played with my kids.

Those are things that I didn’t have the time or the energy to do in years past. But I’ve decided they are things that I have got to do before all the years are passed.

It’s happened. I have slowly but surely transformed into a hoodie, sweats, pony-tail and cap wearing, never curling-my-hair or putting on makeup, stay-at-home mom.

And I can’t decide if that’s a bad thing.

Most days I don’t go anywhere. I might slip on my stylish moon boots to drop the boys off to school in the morning. But a lot of the time I’m home all day. I don’t have any interaction with the outside world. I don’t see anyone and they don’t see me.

Most days I’m throwing in laundry, cleaning my house or cooking something. Do I need to dress up fancy to stay home all day and keep up on my chores? No.

If anything it’s easier, it’s comfier and it’s warmer to wear loose-fitting, furry-lined sweats. Or better yet pajamas.

If I do go somewhere, it’s usually to the elementary school or grocery store. I have yet to see someone decked out at a PTA meeting or pushing a shopping cart in heels.

I admit it’s fun to get dolled up every once in a while. But the thought of it exhausts me. I’ve become lazy. Lazy and busy. I have three little munchkins to get ready each and every day. By the time I have a chance to get myself ready either I have no time left or I’m completely pooped.

Sometimes I see other moms looking their best – especially at church. I envy them. I barely have time to make sure my skirt isn’t tucked into my pantyhose – forget curling my hair and swiping on lipstick

Not to mention I am so busy making sure my boys have clothes that match and fit, I don’t ever think about myself. I rarely go out shopping for me. When you can fit the same clothes you wore your sophomore year of high school, why buy new ones?

Yet every once in a while I feel like I want to get ready. I want to dress up. I want to have new cute clothes to choose from out of my closet.

My husband has a fancy company party every December. It’s at a fancy hotel. With fancy food, fancy music and fancy attire. One problem: I don’t have anything fancy.

So every year I enter the dilemma of buying something to wear once or showing up to the party in sweats.

Last year I borrowed a cute skirt and top from a neighbor. This year the party has a Mad Men theme where Mid-Century Modern attire is appropriate. I raided my grandma’s fancy keepsake clothes and found a red dress I could wear. Then I borrowed a jacket, belt and necklace. I wasn’t about to buy something new for a one-night party.

Every year I get feeling down about myself because I don’t have anything nice to wear.

I’m starting to wonder if I’m the only mom who feels this way. Occasionally I do dress up and curl my hair. Then when I run into friends and family they almost look shocked to see me “ready.” What have I become?

I used to have style. I used to wear earrings. I used to have dozens of pairs of shoes.

Maybe I should invest in some new clothes. But then again, would I even wear them?

I wonder: How often do other moms buy themselves new clothes? How often do they wear what they buy?

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying that I couldn’t buy myself something new, I just don’t. I rarely think about it. Maybe I should go through my closet and get rid of some stuff. Then make a goal of buying something new every month.

Is that being selfish? Uggh. I feel like this is just another way I have “lost” myself when I became a mom – I have completely lost my sense of style.

Maybe I’ll go pick me something out today. Then again, maybe I’ll just sit at home comfortable in my hoodie and jeans.

Heaven knows I’m thankful for my children. But every once in a while we really butt heads and I have a spell where I feel overwhelmed, underappreciated and unthankful as a mother. I’ve been feeling that way for a couple of weeks now.

So I decided to compile a short list of things about my children that I truly am grateful for. So that way, when I run into another overwhelmed, underappreciated and unthankful stint I can read this and remember how truly grateful I am for each one of my babies.

1. I’m thankful they were born. I wouldn’t trade the birth of any of my four boys for anything. It’s a miracle, it’s an honor to have carried each one of them and helped them make it to this earth.

2. I am thankful I get to raise three beautiful boys who are healthy, happy and very much alive.

Our third son died right before he was born. But the other three have been blessed with very good health.

My oldest might be a slight hypochondriac – I had to bring him Tylenol last week while he was at school because his loose tooth was hurting – but we haven’t suffered disease, defect or even broken bones.

We can run, skip, jump and dance around freely. We can eat what we want, and we rarely make trips to the doctor. Yay

3. I’m thankful for their bright, curious minds. Even if that means I find soapy bubbles spread across my bathroom floor or grasshopper legs next to magnifying glasses on my back patio.

The world is literally their scientific laboratory and they are always looking for new experiments. It keeps me on my toes and we are always learning something new.

4. I am thankful that my boys love to read. There is nothing I love listening to more than my children reading. Whether it’s chapter books like Harry Potter by my two oldest boys or picture-book jibberish from my one-year-old who –believe it or not – “reads” to me all the time.

We laugh at books, we learn from books and we dream of the places they take us. I LOVE sitting next to my kids on the couch, curled up in a blanket reading. Best. Activity. Ever.

5. I’m thankful they love to snuggle. It might mean I don’t get as much sleep as I would like, but it’s totally worth it. Most nights each one of my boys makes his way into my bed at some point – at least once.

A couple of weeks ago my 5-year-old snuck in at about 2 a.m. As he crawled in under the covers he said, “I love laying by you mom.” It completely melted my heart. I love cuddling to my boys.

6. I’m thankful they have each other – especially my oldest two boys. There was a time for a couple of years after my third son died that I was just going through the motions of life. Living like a grieving zombie mom.

Thank heavens my boys had each other to laugh with, to love with and to play with. I literally can’t remember much of what we did to get through those couple of rough years, but I’m glad they had each other. On those days when I didn’t want to get out of bed or off the couch, they had a playmate.

They fight like brothers do, and they are always scratching, punching or kicking each other. But deep down they love one other with all of their hearts.

My oldest son made his 5-year-old brother a badge at school on Monday that said, “Best Brother.” He then clamped it onto his brother’s shirt. A badge of honor. A badge of true friendship. A badge of brotherhood.

Now my oldest two include their youngest brother in their games. They wrestle him and toss the ball to him. He grabs their hands and makes them walk around with him all throughout the house. They hold his chubby little pointer finger and wander with him happily.

They read stories to him and write notes to him. They have taken him under their wing and they have loved him from the moment they found out I was pregnant with him.

They are brothers forever.

7. Finally, I am thankful for their forgiveness. Sometimes I feel like I am being the meanest, most unprepared, impatient, inexperienced mother of all time and yet they shrug it off like it’s no big deal.

Every once in a while I’ll apologize to them for yelling at them and they wrap their arms around me and tell me casually that it’s OK.

I’m almost certain they will get together later in life and laugh about their lunatic mother. They’ll reminisce about how she’d stomp and shout. They’ll do it lovingly and they’ll do it teasingly. They love me no matter how crazy I get.

They are true examples of unconditional love.

That’s truly amazing and it’s something to be truly thankful for.

My husband is bound and determined to give our friends and neighbors snowman poop for Christmas this year. It’s clever, it’s cute and it will be delicious.

But for the past several years I have made a small, simple craft to give. I like making things and I was having a hard time letting go of creating something and settling on pooh.

That’s when I found out about a fundraiser for my mother in law’s cousin. (Friends and family were raising money to help cover medical expenses from her fight with cancer. She is uninsured.)

I decided to make a craft to donate to the boutique part of the event.

I was able to satisfy my crafting itch while donating to family at the same time. Win. Win.

Friends and neighbors you have been warned, you’re getting snowy waste for Christmas this year but don’t worry, it will be edible.

For the craft, I made HO HO HO blocks out of the extra wood we had from remodeling our basement bathroom.

The blocks were inspired by my amazingly talented friend Jenny Hadley – you can check out her blog here. She made a super cute harvest sign out of black glitter, chevron striped fabric and wood. I tried to copy her idea and make a harvest sign for myself. It didn’t turn out nearly as cute as Jenny’s.

I wanted to try the same type idea for the Ho Ho Ho blocks. Luckily they turned out better than my harvest sign. I love how they looked when finished.

If any of you are interested in making something similar, continue reading. You can see how I put them together step by step. Oh, and if you are interested in donating to my mother-in-law’s cousin, you can visit her gofundme donation site here.

For the blocks:

First my husband cut a bunch of 2 by 4s into 4-inch blocks.  When he was done I sanded them all with an electric sander, then stained them and let them dry for several hours.

Then I took my rotary cutter and cut up some grey and white striped chevron fabric into 4-inch squares. After the blocks were dry, I sprayed them with spray adhesive and then stuck the fabric to the front.

I let them dry overnight.

Here are some of the craft supplies I used to put on the fabric and glitter:

Then I cut out HO HO HO stencils using my silhouette cutting machine. If you would like a copy of my silhouette file, send me your email address in the comments and I’ll send you the file.

I used cardstock paper so it was thicker and sturdier. I used each “HO” stencil to paint Elmer’s glue onto the fabric.

(Each stencil lasted for about 2 or 3 blocks before it got super sticky and glittery.)

Then I sprinkled red glitter on top of the stencil, removed it and had an instant glitter HO.

I sprayed a layer of spray adhesive over the glitter, hoping that would help keep it in tact.

I made three block per set. If I were to make these again, I would probably use something other than spray adhesive to stick the fabric to the wood. Not that it didn’t work, but my hand got super sticky while holding the blocks and spraying. Also, the edges of the fabric curled a couple of times so I had to keep pushing them down with my finger. Using scrapbooking paper may be better.

Other than that I think they turned out really cute and I ended up keeping one set for myself!