How we survived "the witching hour"

Just about every parent has come to that point where you think you've completely lost your mind only to learn that your kid isn't the only one to do __________ and in fact, it's so common, it has a name. I thought my child somehow became possessed by aliens every afternoon until I learned that people call it the "witching hour."

I know. It sounds kind of mean to compare your sweet newborn to a witch...until 4pm hits and she turns into a crazed lunatic. The witching hour is that time of day when your baby has played, napped, eaten, spent all day being cute and then just can't do it anymore. She runs out of cuteness. It's not time for dinner or bed, she's too tired to play anymore and the only thing that feels good is to scream at the top of her lungs because maybe then you'll understand just how frustrating the world is to her. And this, of course, leaves no option but for you to join her because yes, in fact, you do understand how frustrating it is so WHY DONT WE ALL JUST YELL ABOUT IT. Cue your spouse walking in the door from work expecting to be greeted with kisses and hugs only to find two pathetic souls heaped in the corner wailing at each other.

Sounds dramatic but if you've lived it, it's not so far from the truth. The witching hour is real, it's cruel and it's soooo not just for babies. If you've ever worked at an office and experienced that feeling when it's a few hours after lunch but not close to time to go home, you know how the kid feels. You know you've considered more than once crawling under your desk for a quick nap.

So as with all things that relate to babies and adults, toddlers deal with the witching hour about as well as they deal with emotions, commercials during cartoons and being told no. They turn into monsters. Tiny, little monsters that appear to have consumed an entire case of Red Bull. See, with toddlers, it's less about crying and more about whining. It's less "hold me" and more "catch me if you can." From the hours of 3-7pm, their life mission becomes to NOT STOP. Don't. Whatever you do, don't slow down because you might realize you're running out of steam and that just won't do. So what do they do? They run. They run in circles from the dining room, to the living room to the kitchen, to dining room... They run up the stairs and down the stairs. They change clothes. They strip out of all their clothes. They run the dining room circuit again naked. They color, they paint, they draw, they do stickers. They ask for a snack, they may or may not finish the snack. It's a never-ending, exhausting way to spend EVERY SINGLE AFTERNOON.

So the other day when a friend mentioned she had tried something and it helped her boys, I thought what you're thinking. Why not? We call it Bath O'Clock. At about 4-4:30 - just the time the afternoon crazies are amping up, we head upstairs to take a bath. Brynna loves it. She's not too tired and it doesn't mean she has to go immediately to bed. So she loves getting some extra play time, and I love that she's contained and happy. The warm water is calming, but she's having fun playing so she doesn't even realize that I'M WINNING. (Yes, that was the ultimate point of this entire rambling mess.) By the time she's ready to get out of the tub, she's clean and happy, and I've had a few minutes to sit still. We can make dinner and when Daddy gets home, we can greet him with the hugs and kisses he so loves. It also means that the rest of the evening is relaxing time spent together rather than a rush of trying to get everyone ready for bed.

Does it work every day? Of course not. There are days you have commitments in the evenings, aren't home or for whatever reason, it just won't work. But the next time you can, give it a try. I bet you thank me. :)

Nothing Without Love

I read these words with new meaning today. Whether you've read the Bible or not, you've probably heard these words. 

     If I speak in the tongues of men or of angels, but do not have love, 
     I am only a resounding gong or a clanging cymbal. 
     If I have the gift of prophecy and can fathom all mysteries and all knowledge, 
        and if I have a faith that can move mountains, but do not have love, 
     I am nothing.
     If I give all I possess to the poor and give over my body to hardship that I may boast, but do not have love, 
     I gain nothing.*

Imagine if this were the philosophy with which you parent. What would be different? How would you be different? 

     If she can speak in complete sentences and read before Kindergarten but doesn't know how to treat others,
     her words are just noise.
     If you enroll him in Kumon, he excels in math and can do long division in his head, but he's selfish,
     he will get nowhere.
     If you take them to travel the world but don't teach them to give to those who are hurting,
     they haven't learned anything.
     If she gets into college but she doesn't know that God created her and she's special,
     it's meaningless.
     If I give her all the world has to offer but don't teach her to love people because Jesus loves her,
     I've given her nothing.
     And that means I've failed.
     We all have.

So teach them. Please. Teach them that 
Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.*

Love and people are the only things that last forever. So love people.



*1 Corinthians 13

I'm Grateful

Things I'm grateful for today...

Mucinex D
antibiotics
kleenex
rain boots
NyQuil
my David
cupcakes
Rainbow Chip icing
Mentholaum
Brynna Grace
a random 60 degree day
Target microrib tank tops
Bones (the show...although I'm also quite fond of my own)
the scan-as-you-go gun at the grocery store
freedom
pale pink nail polish
friends who are family
the schedule feature on Blogger
Dr. Pepper
fresh flowers

grace

What Happened at the Play Area

A few things to note:
1. I don't like the concept of play areas at malls. Shopping should be a calm, quiet, enjoyable experience. Children are neither calm nor quiet. An entire group of children herded into a pen like miniature cattle - definitely not calm or quiet.

2. I prefer the mall over the park. Don't get me wrong, I take my kid to the park. But would I rather stand in the cold or heat pushing a swing or walk through the Nordstrom shoe department? Come on.

3. Nothing annoys me like old kids at the play area. So many questions arise: Why is this 12 year old not with other 12 year olds? What does he/she find fun about crawling through tunnels with toddlers? Is he/she really so offended by a 3 year old to need to push and shove? WHERE IS YOUR MOTHER???

4. It's loud. I know I covered that, but it needs it's own sidebar. It's so, so very loud. High pitched squeals, crying fits, moms yelling for Jr. to smile so she can send a pic of him sitting on the turtle to Grandma. Not to mention the guy who drives the train circling the food court ringing his bell every 37 seconds to remind the kids playing that they aren't on the train, thus setting off a round of whining "Can I ride the train nooooow?" So loud. So many things at one time. Sends my OCD tendencies into overdrive.

5. I don't do feet. Don't like any but my own. But they're everywhere. Smelly little feet that can't wear socks because they interfere with your traction when climbing the giant polar bear, and HEAVEN FORBID. WE CAN'T HAVE THAT.

Ok, so this is what happened.
Brynna and I have been cooped up in the house for several days. We've left for gymnastics, Target and the doctor's office, but between snow, rain and illness, we have spent more time at home than we usually do. This is bad for multiple reasons. If I'm at home I need it to be picked up. If BG is at home she needs to line characters down the hall, leave a trail of princess paraphernalia in her wake and tie scarves across every piece of furniture in the living room to "decorate."

So even though I still felt like poo, yesterday we went to the mall. We had lunch with Jason, Brody and McKenna (because who doesn't want McDonald's when they're sick?) then off to the play area. Trying to keep up with Brynna and Brody at the play area is like trying to chase a squirrel. Eventually you'll be exhausted and they'll be perched atop something tall ready to pounce. It's best just to sit back and make sure no one is injured. After a few minutes two kids walk up to me. The boy was at least 7 and his sister about 5. (You already know I'm annoyed.) He said "Excuse me, your daughter was being mean to us."

Stop.
A. How do you know it was my daughter? Are you profiling based on our blonde hair? Rude.
B. If you can articulate in a complete sentence how my 3 YEAR OLD offended you, you're old enough to work it out on your own.
C. And furthermore, you're too old to be at the play area.

They proceed to explain how Brynna told them they weren't allowed to climb on the slide because it was part of her and Brody's castle. I made Brynna apologize and we discussed that she doesn't, in fact, own the play area or make the rules. At this point, I look up and see Thing 1 and Thing 2 still in front of me. (What? Why are you still here? Are you looking for penance? I'm not paying for emotional damages.) Finally, off everyone went.

Or so I thought.

About 20 minutes later I notice the two older kids following BG again. I watched them plan their movements and follow just close enough that it would bother her but far enough that they weren't technically doing anything to her. Sneaky little buggers. As Brody approached, Jason and I watched as Brynna explained, pointed and they both started in the same direction.

Stop.
Don't mess with young love. It will mess you up.

We intersected our kids before the older two were left pulverized, and based on the fact that he had to approach me in the first place, I don't suspect it will be the last time that young man has to be saved from a strong-willed woman.

Because she is mine. And I am hers.

I know you think I make her up. I know you think Brynna Grace is a cool name I thought up then gave an overly dramatic, adorably bossy personality and hired an actor to portray. Seriously, though. How cute is the actor I hired??

As proof she is all mine, here you go...

Exhibit A
Me: We need to get ready to go.
BG: Why, are we late?
it's just assumed...

Exhibit B
Me: We are going to do something fun today.
BG: I can't wait! I'm going to wear my pink shoes!
no idea where we're going, but she's planning her shoes

Exhibit C
Me: We are going to the grocery store.
BG: But it's raining outside.
Me: I know, but we need milk.
BG: But my hair will get wet.
sometimes I wonder if she looks in the mirror and sees a black woman with a relaxer.
ps...we went without milk for that day

Exhibit D
Me: We are both sick and need to take a day to rest and get better.
So far she has played dress up, doll house, worked 3 puzzles, had lunch and colored
I've made a listing brochure, done the dishes, paid bills, made all the beds and straightened the house

She is mine. And I am hers.

Confessions

I have children's books hidden in my room because to read them one more time might send me ALL THE WAY OVER THE EDGE.

I might smile sweetly, but I have no sympathy for your business trip (i.e.: night alone in a hotel room), client dinner (aka: eating food someone else prepared while it's still hot with people who don't sing the theme song to Backyardigans halfway through the meal) or happy hour (do I even need to translate that?). No sympathy. None. Like, at all.

BG thinks all her princesses have lost their shoes. They are in a bag in my closet.

I'm jealous of my 3-year-old's wardrobe.

Yesterday when she took my bracelet, I didn't use it as a teaching moment. I didn't quietly respond as an adult mother to her child. I snatched it and said "That's mine! Get your own!"

I'm 33 years old and I still do my homework on the way to school. (just now it's Bible study questions and it's before we leave the house because Brynna can't drive)

I only finished the Bible study questions because Lois, my 85-year-old group leader, would call me out for not being prepared.

Some Days

Maybe it's just me, but...Some days I don't want to be "The Mom." Some days I don't feel like being the one to hold everyone else together. Some days I feel like falling apart myself.

Some days...
I don't want to learn anymore.
I don't want to grow.
I don't want to mature.
I don't want to gain more wisdom.
I don't want to smile.
I don't want to be a cheerleader.
I don't want to say it's ok.
I don't want to pretend.
I don't want to put on a happy face.
I don't want to make the house look pretty.
I don't want to clean the dishes.
I don't want to do the laundry.
I don't want to cook.
I don't want to work puzzles.
I don't want to color.
I don't want to be the bigger person.
I don't want to clean up your mess.
I don't want to wipe your ___________. (boogers, butt or otherwise)
I just don't want to.

Thankfully, today isn't one of those days for me, but I have them. Some days you just don't want to. Some days you want to be like everyone else in the house and throw a tantrum and stomp your feet. You need someone to pick you up like you do for them. And that's ok.

Some days.