Don't hate me...but I didn't read your last facebook status

Do you ever feel like you're in one of those music videos where the surrounding world is moving at back-breaking speed while you are walking in slow motion?

That's been my life the last few months.  Maybe it's my ever-growing news feed on Facebook.  Maybe it's the hundreds of tweets I don't really read while scrolling through merely trying to reach the top.  Maybe it's the inbox full of bloggy notifications letting me know that everyone is blogging EXCEPT me.  Maybe it's the 9 million instagram pics of people seemingly living a life that I want for myself.  Maybe it's the 16 different unwatched shows that are silently haunting me from my DVR.  Maybe it's the 300 or so pictures on my camera's memory card that have yet to be downloaded.  Maybe it's the overflowing monthly calendar of places to go and obligations to fulfill.  Maybe it's the laundry list of things to do....you know the one you start and successfully cross off a few things only to lose steam and transfer the rest to a whole new list which may or may not, weeks later, still be untouched and pinned to a bulletin board that you walk by hundreds of times a day.  No?  Just me?  *Shrug. Whatevs.

Whatever the cause...some days I feel like I'm driving for the first time on the interstate with two hands on the wheel in the slow lane watching others speed by while multitasking on their smart phones and bluetooth earpieces.  It's taking all I have to focus on the face-to-face encounters with the people that I love most.  It's taking all I have to raise my children and run my home and not end the day with one big headache.  It's taking all I have to connect with God each day in a meaningful way.  And it's taking all I have to fulfill the obligations I've already committed to.  So excuse me while I put the chatter of everything else on hold.  It's not that I don't care that you love Country Outfitter's cowboy boots that they may or may not give away because you "like" their page {has anyone ever REALLY won anything by doing that stuff??} or that I don't enjoy a good crazy cat video, or that I don't want to see your beautiful vacation pictures, or that I think I'm too civilized to watch the latest American Idol Vegas cuts.  It's just that right now....I'm moving in slow motion...so go ahead...Ill catch up later.

A Year Later {Charlie turns 1}

A year ago today, I fell in love with a 3rd Watson boy.

 

My second son Charlie was born and God again made room in my heart for one more.  After having some trouble getting and staying pregnant this go around, my perspective changed a bit, and I have soaked up every minute of his first year.  Seeing how fast Carter grew up also made me realize how fleeting babyhood really is.  So through what seemed like never ending sleepless nights, days when I fought to keep my sanity, and moments when my patience wore thin, I took a deep breath and reminded myself that he grows a little more every day.  And if I'm not careful...I'll miss it.  So I've rocked him a little more, cuddled him a little longer, and kept everything baby for as long as possible.  I've been in no hurry to make him walk, talk or do anything remotely toddler...in short, I'm procrastinating.  There's no going back once they find their legs, and I know he'll be walking into a Kindergarten classroom before I know it.  But for now, I'm living one day at a time, finding joy in the little things, and stealing as many kisses as possible from those pudgy baby cheeks. 

He is happy, giggly, and an all around easy baby.

 

For his 1st birthday, I went with everything little man inspired.

Everyone wore their best tie and donned a 'stache before being served desserts and homemade hot cocoa.

 

 

 

 

 

My favorite moment of the night was looking up and seeing everyone giggle and point at each other's mustaches.  Laughing is my favorite thing to do, but honestly I've been too exhausted to do much of it lately.  It was good to be silly for a few moments and laugh with the ones I love.

 

Not to mention this kid.  He tends to light up any room

 

also...he may be a sugar fiend like his mommy

 

 

This birthday wasn't just a milestone for Charlie...it was a milestone for me, too.  I have learned so much this past year.  And for someone who likes to move 100 miles a minute and be perfect at everything, the most important lesson I learned was to stop...and enjoy the crazy messy non perfect moment.  Because those are often the best ones.

Happy Birthday Charlie Joseph



Great Expectations

I once read somewhere that disappointment grows from unrealistic expectations. 

Like the time I sat in the dirty santa circle with my fellow fifth grade classmates loftily hoping for a shiny new Hello Kitty Friends Only sticker book as I looked at the selection of wrapped gifts.  I pick the package that is sure to deliver all of my Sanrio dreams and unwrap it to find an obviously regifted/used pair of rainbow knee high socks.  How could this be?  I spent so much time picking out that brand new 48 pack of glitter pens for my gift only to get old socks?!

Skip to adult life when year after year I muster up the hope of a magical holiday season filled with It's a Wonderful Life dreams and lofty Pinteresting ideals.  Handmade ornaments, perfectly pretty wrapping, chocolate dipped confections, and family members cheerfully drinking their eggnog and counting their blessings. 

But the reality is that those ornaments don't make themselves and family members aren't perfect.  The reality is that it takes a Christmas miracle to get out the door {on time} with 2 bathed and festively clothed children, a husband, overnight bags, a pack-n-play, the all important sleep sound giraffe, the {hopefully} yummy dish you prepared, and a sleigh-worthy load of gifts that are sure to be smashed into the back of the car ruining the effort you spent to wrap them only to fight holiday traffic for an hour.  Needless to say...by the time I backed out of the driveway my Christmas cheer was nowhere to be found.

While deep breathing behind the steering wheel, I decide the only thing that will fight this early onset of Grinchism is Starbucks so I pull in and wait a painstaking 11 minutes.  I huff and puff while mentally pulling out a bazooka to blow up the cars in front of me.  How long does it take to make coffee, for goodness sake?!

Holiday spirit at its finest.

But somewhere between the barista and Jackson Street I found my inner elf.  Because it's just as much my job to bring the joy as it is everyone else's.  Christmas is about the birth of the one who died for our selfish selves.  The self that selfishly expected a Hello Kitty sticker book.  The self that would have {imaginarily...is that a word?}killed to get her coffee a few minutes faster.  The self that expects everyone to be as perfect as she is in tough family situations.  The self that greedily wants her holiday to be magazine worthy without having to do the work.

Maybe my disappointment comes from an inner knowing that nothing I do or give or receive could ever measure up to the gift He gave.  Maybe my disappointment comes from expecting joy from gifts or from people.  But the truth is that there is no amount of tinsel, chocolate or wrapping paper that will compare to the Greatest Expectation that will never disappoint...the One who came.  He was one of us.  He died for us.  There is no jolly-old-pointy eared-sugar-plum-reindeer-jingle bell substitute. They will all disappoint. There is only one I Am. And my job is to love the way that he loves.  Period.

 

Mommy Confessions: Mommy don't play, yo. Learned lessons on discipline

Well, I haven't posted in a billion years...but in my defense, I've been raising up the future of America{I've found that, as a mom, this is generally an accepted excuse for just about anything.  Feel free to use it at will}. And I've come to learn some valuable lessons on discipline, so I thought I'd share.

*note: if you enjoy criticizing parenting techniques and cross referencing blog posts with researched data, feel free to stop reading and X out of this window.  No really.  Feel free.

Still with me?  Great!  Then you know that I'm not trying to say that what I have found true for me and my children is true for everyone, blah blah blah, disclaimer disclaimer, etc.

So, on those lovely notes...
As a christian, I believe my job as a parent is to train children in the way they should go {Proverbs 22:6}.  What does this mean to me?  Well, the references to the parent/child relationship in the bible boil down to obedience, and I believe that it is my job to teach my children how to obey my husband and me so that they can later learn how to obey God.  I believe God loaned his children to me and trusted me with this job, so I take discipline and obedience pretty seriously.  But it's his reoccurring theme of love that I reference most.  I've been around children of all ages and have my own 3 year old to know that kids' need for love trumps all others {except maybe for that whole feeding thing}.  And this brings me to my first learned lesson:

There is no substitute for quality time
I'd say 9 times out of 10, if one of my students or my own child has acted out, it is because, in some way, they have a need for attention or a need to be acknowledged.  So, I've always tried to maintain a stance that positive quality time on my terms is better than negative quality time on their terms.  I can choose to spend good focused time, let's say, in the morning with my son talking to him, asking him questions, laughing with him, dancing with him, singing with him, throwing ball with him {basically letting him know that I love and care for him}. Or...
I can ignore this need of his and inevitably spend hours of my day yelling at him, disciplining him, spanking him, sending him to time out, arguing with him and ultimately letting his outbursts control our relationship to one another.  This option is exhausting and pretty disheartening.
Why does good quality time work?  Well it all boils down to love.  Carter will always want to make me happy because he loves me.  So the more I nurture that love, the more he will make an effort to please me.  I want his obedience to be intrinsic, and so does God.  God wants us to obey because we love him.  Period.  So it's a good rule in my book.

I've found that discipline is never ending. Children lack the ability to think long-term, so just because I disciplined my son for hitting his younger brother in the head with the bouncy ball today doesn't mean he won't do it again tomorrow. But when he does, he knows what my response will be. And that is my second learned lesson.

Be consistent
Kids not only need boundaries, but they need to know where yours are. Every adult is different, and that is ok. But they will conform to the boundaries of the adult they see and care for the most unless they have discovered that they can do otherwise without consequence.  So my trick is to nip things in the bud the first time it happens.  If you merely tolerate the behavior the first time...chances are you will snap and explode by the 10th time.  Don't snap and explode.  It's not attractive.  Take it from an experienced exploder.
But every time that thing happens, my response should always be the same.  No matter the time of day, the location, or the present company.  This lends itself to the next learned lesson...

Let your yes be yes & your no be no {Matthew 4:37}
In short, keep your word.  Every time.  It's biblical and well...because trust me, they notice when you don't.  Every time.  If you told them no, your answer for that request should stay as a 'no' until conditions are favorable for YOU to change to a yes.  Let's say I'm trying to hold off the snacks until lunch, and little man asks for goldfish.  I say no three times which will probably result in whining or a tantrum.  Well my go-to for whining and tantrums is ALWAYS time out{gives him a break from the situation...and it sucks to stay in the timeout spot so there is incentive not to throw tantrums}, so it's easy for me and not a surprise to him{consistency}.  But after timeout I may offer him lunch a little early and let him know that if he finishes lunch he can have all the crackers he wants.  I know you want crackers, and I want to give you what makes you happy, but crackers come on MY terms.  Not because I'm a snack nazi and I hate all snack foods...but because I want him to have a nutritious lunch with protein and fruit first.  If he didn't have a problem eating a carton of goldfish and still eating a healthy lunch?  well then snack away my little energizer bunny! No harm no foul.
*side note: I often ask myself "why am I saying no?"  Sometimes I say no because it's just easier at the time than yes, but that may not be fair.  I have to remember he wants to be heard.  He wants to be acknowledged. 
Keeping my word and staying consistent take work...but put it in on the front end and it's smoother sailing on the back end.  Carter is 3 now, and time outs are few and far between because he knows my general boundaries.  He knows what disobeying, whining and tantrums lead to.  Every time.  No apologies.  No excuses.  No get out of jail free cards.  Mommy don't play, yo.

learned lesson number 4...

Never underestimate the power of good manners
Yes ma'am, Yes sir, please, thank you, and may I be excused are like religion around here.  It's a sign of respect, it's a life skill that can be really hard to teach later in life, and...well...it's southern.  So it's law in my house.
Also, the confidence to greet adults and give a good hand shake is something that some college students have trouble with.  So we started little man early.  We taught him a few catch phrases that help him relate to adults with confidence, and while a handshake paired with a "Hi! How are you? How about that weather?" May seem like a silly thing to teach him, when he says this to anyone, they ALWAYS smile, laugh and more importantly RESPOND to his questions which equals a win for him.  He feels successful.  There's no substitute.  I want a son who has no problem introducing himself to his teachers so that he isn't just a face in the class.  I want a son who has no problem shaking a father's hand before he takes that man's daughter out on a date.  I want a son who speaks with confidence because child predators don't choose children like that.  They choose children who are unsure of themselves, & afraid to speak up or say no.  I want a son who knows that he is important enough to be seen and heard by adults and that he doesn't need me to speak for him.

I may not always get it right.  I may want to run from the house screaming some nights.  But God never said it would be easy.  He did say, however, that it would be a blessing.  And that my children would be like arrows in the hand of a warrior{Psalm 127:3-5}.  Those arrows aren't free.  They don't come without work, but they make me a better hunter.  A better person. 

MVP

Today, my youngest son Charlie {8months} underwent minor surgery.  In technical terms, he had a hernia that needed repair and an undescended testicle that needed to, well, descend.  In my terms... he had ball surgery. 

And while, from the outside, this may not have seemed like a big deal to me, I assure you that if you've had a conversation with me in the last week...part of me wasn't listening.  Because this day has been lurking in the back of my mind. And while I did my best to make ball jokes{there are a lot, by the way} and distract myself with whatever could take my mind off of it, there was no avoiding today.

But this post isn't really about me somehow keeping it together right up until it was time to give him "hugs and kisses" goodbye before the surgery, and how I knew if I did I would lose it completely so I just said "I can't..." and let my husband do it.  Or how I nearly bit my lip in half waiting the hour that it took for the doctor to do the job.  Or how every time I looked at my phone and saw a message that asked "how are you?" tears would well up because I knew I needed to say "I'm okay."

 

This post is really a shout out to all of the parents who have waited.  Waited to be called.  Waited for answers.  Waited for doctors.  Waited for test results.  Waited for surgery to end and their child to wake up.  Waited hours, weeks, months or years for their child to recover. 

This post is a shout out to any parent who has ever had the courage to consider the worst case scenario, and the faith to hope for better. 

For any parent who has wondered when things will be "normal" again. 

To parents who sit, stand or pace through waiting room chatter while imagining every step of the procedure your child is sleeping through.

To any parent who would gladly take the place of their child in the hospital bed or the operating table.

To any parent with more than a ball on the line.  Where the best case scenario is anyone else's worst nightmare.

To parents who move mountains to make sure their child gets what they need.

To parents who ask God "why?" Who ask nurses "how much longer?" and who ask doctors "what next?"

For parents who spend more time in the hospital than at home.

For parents who worry...because our worry is love under pressure.

 

I know that my day was just a taste of what some experience, and in the words of one of those extraordinary kind of parents that I am lucky enough to know,

"Our strength comes from the Lord."

 

Mama called the doctor and the doctor said....

A sick family is one of the many Mommy Rights of Passage.  Kids get sick, then because you can't keep from kissing, hugging, and making general physical contact with them, the parents get sick as well.  Now, myself, I am a tough-it-out-no-drugs-necessary kind of gal, but that kind of thinking doesn't really go over well with children.  They tend to refuse to sleep, refuse to eat, and generally refuse to behave like normal humans when they get sick.  So I was forced to make an appointment.  And taking more than one child to the doctor's office is no small feat.  I'm not sure if you are aware, but going to the doctor requires a lot of waiting, and this is something that neither I nor my children are fond of.  But we did it.  For the betterment of our sanity, we waited, we were seen, noses were checked, lungs were listened to, weight was measured, meds were given, and we were on our way. 

Cut to two days later when my husband falls ill.

And then one by one, our family falls victim to what I call the "crud." I think I'm out of the woods, escaped by the hair on my nose {that's an strange saying, no?}, when BAM, it hits. 

I take some time to sulk about it, but the after a few days of next to no sleep between the coughs of my husband and the cries of my children, I'm just pissed. How dare this thing come at me?!  I don't have time to be sick!

I medicate via over the counter daytime/nighttime whatever, hoping something will put a dent in this thing....nothing.

I try to tell myself I'm fine, and decide to go to a hometown concert and enjoy myself over the weekend, and it all caught up with me.  In the form of a blackout.  Yep.  I was just standing around, chatting, enjoying myself by the tour bus of Dustin Lynch and the next thing I know, I'm on the ground looking up at worried faces.

You know that saying "The bigger they are, the harder they fall" well that would be true.  Falling as an adult sucks.  I definitely felt like I got hit by a small car.  Okay, maybe just a go-cart, but you get the idea.  If it weren't for the construction barrel behind me, I may have had some awesome skull stitches to brag about, but I'll be thankful for the lack of blood that was shed.
However, the night was not a total bust, as I did get to meet Dustin...

and yes...he's just as amazing in person.  And no, he didn't see me faint.  Thank you, God.
 

But I woke up on Monday feeling like a hot mess, and realized I needed to go to the doctor.  I also realized that my kids needed to go back to the doctor because they had finished their meds with no signs of improvement.

Why does everything seem impossible when you are sick?  Sick kids are bad enough, but when your own body is crying for help and rest, caring for little ones is like climbing Mt. Everest.  I sat and sulked for a moment wondering how I would get it all done, then took a deep breath and made the appointments.  I went first to find out I was severely dehydrated.  Turns out you should drink a lot of fluids when you're sick. 

You heard it here first, and you're welcome.

Anyhow, 2 bottles of water, 2 shots, an EKG {just to be safe}, 2 prescriptions {big shout out to Codeine cough syrup}, and 2 hours later I was on my way home only to face another appointment for the boys.

Thank goodness I had the help of my husband and mother-in-law because things like standing and walking were a little tricky that day.  But we were all sent home with new prescriptions for the boys, and that was a week ago.  They are still sick.  As I'm typing this, I'm listening to the baby cough over the monitor. 

I have always taken the attitude that doctor knows best.  Well, this mom is feeling a bit different a month later.  That doctor better hit us up with the best she's got, because the Watsons are ready to say goodbye to Mr. Crud.  Little Charlie is due for surgery next week {more to come on that later} and they won't operate if he's sick.  Needless to say, I'm ready to get that surgery behind us, so I need him to be well!!  So looks like mama's gonna call the doctor...again.



Mondays Are Dumb

 

....And I know that every working person would agree with me, but there's a whole other dimension to Mondays as a SAHM.  And this Monday is no exception.  My husband, who I miss terribly as of recent, is back at work.  My working friends are back to their jobs, and I should be back to mine.  Well, Maybe I should back up and start with the weekend. 

Saturday, we packed up our sad sick family and ventured home to Normandy Tn.  Yes, we are sick.  All of us.  Have been for a month.  That may be a whole other post.  Anyhow, I went back and forth about whether or not to go and subject the boys to the cold weather...blah blah blah.  But in the end I decided that I was tired of hibernating at home waiting for us to get well.  That only assured cabin fever with a side of short temper, and down home backwoods is usually, for me, a fast track to sanity.  There's something about being home that takes me back to what's important, and there's no room for fast-paced living around a fire pit.  So the fire pit, hot stew, cornbread, sweet tea, marshmallows, firearms {yes, we shoot guns} and a general attitude of "who cares?" won out.

 

 

 

But just like any vacation {because that's what it is, in a way} you pay for it doubly when you return home, and that is just what happened.  There's a laundry list of things to do, put away, catch up on and get in order, but between the packing, unpacking, driving and the non-sleeping that occurred {ahem, sick kids}, I have zero energy or motivation to do any of it.  So here I sit, at 10something AM, still in sweatpants and glasses, blogging away while all those things sit and wait for me. 

And the difference now as opposed to being a teacher, is that as a teacher, I had no choice.  My body got up, got ready, got going and did its job because that's what needed to be done.  I got there at the same time every day.  I would talk to the same people every morning, cheer up as my coffee kicked in, plan my lesson, make my copies, and run my day the same as always.  I would pass fellow teachers in the hall and we would share a look that silently expressed how we couldn't wait until 3:15pm, and somehow, we would.  The last bell would always ring, and the day would be over.

 

But at home, all the lines are blurred.  Productivity is relative. 

Heck, everything around here is relative. 

There are no absolutes.  No black and white.  No test scores.  No evaluations.  No collaborating.  No grumpy bosses.  No emails to answer.  No deadlines.  And nothing is EVER the same.  The kids are different every day.  So a large part of me flounders in these kind of loosy goosie situations.  A part of me needs routine and pressure to produce quality work.  And I've found that it comes in waves.  So...I just wait for the wave.  And I ride it for as long as I can when it comes.  However, on Mondays, those waves are few and far between. 

But maybe that's the beauty of Monday.  There is a whole week ahead of you waiting to be spent, and being a professional procrastinator {insert a curtsy of acknowledgement}, I can convince myself that I have 4 more days to prepare for the next weekend.  Yeah, I've got time.  I'll get it done tomorrow.  So, today, I have a serious case of the Mondays.  And my prescription is a second cup of coffee, more cuddle time with a certain 3 year old and an episode of Little Bill, a really hot shower, and a big pot of soup.  Take that, Monday.