A glimpse into the mind of a six-year-old boy

I've decided Camden's mating ritual when he gets a little older will be a combination of silliness and slapstick comedy. He really likes his friend Alli, but he's quick to tell you it's only as a friend. On the playground today, I saw that boy go to some great lengths to elicit a giggle from her. First came faux tripping over stumps, which only incensed me. I'm sure there's nothing more embarrassing for a six-year-old peacock spreading his feathers than his mama threatening to make him do his own laundry if he doesn't quit falling down. I later watched him propel himself off a zipline platform into a pole and then heard the second hand story from Alli's mom on how he chest-planted from a leap off the top of the slide.

In his defense Alli is a catch. She can burp like a trucker, a feat that is most impressive to my little dude. My closest friends and family know how much I appreciate a good belch (much to my husband's chagrin), so Alli won my heart the first time she opened her mouth to display her phenomenal talent. I did have to avoid the "mom stare" from my friend Barb--who happens to be Alli's mom--when my high five was interpreted as a way to encourage bad manners, so I had to stifle a giggle each time she burped after that. I think Camden knows he better bring his A game with Alli, and he was trying to work some magic this afternoon. Hopefully I won't be my son's mojo killer for the rest of his natural born life, but I so enjoyed being a spectator in his social life this afternoon.

Everybody was kung fu fighting....

What a weekend! Only the Jones family could leave Savannah with one sick kid and show up in Carrollton six hours later with three sick kids. Hudson developed an especially barky case of croup, and Scout kept the pace by sporting a booger crusted eye. Luckily everyone rested and recuperated at Gran's and enjoyed spending time with old friends at their "Carrollton birthday party" on Saturday.

Trips to Carrollton are always bittersweet for me. There is never enough time to see all my family and friends, and I'm always sort of sad to leave. Luckily I'm usually armed with at least one grandmother's homemade goodies, which never make it past Macon. Usually I perk up when we cross the bridge over the marsh, and I breathe in the scent of salt air instead of cow patties. Nevertheless, I probably would have been a lifelong Carrolltonian like my parents and grandparents before me had God not had a better idea.

Instead I'm in Savannah blogging when I should be sleeping, and Jason is snoozing on the couch with a Jimmy Carter documentary playing in the background (snore....I can't imagine why he fell asleep). Tomorrow I will start working off the three straight days of biscuits and bacon my mother-in-law spoiled me with and totally disregard the high bar she set by serving Pop Tarts and frozen waffles for breakfast (hey, you can't beat Leggo my Eggo). Our season of birthdays in now on hiatus till September, and for that, I am extremely thankful.

What's that smell? Oh, it's me.

I know my personal standards are WAY lower than they used to be because today I went to the grocery store without taking a shower for the second day in a row. I didn't even bother to put baby powder in my hair to absorb the grease, and instead of brushing my teeth, I ate a few breath mints. I looked down at my pants in the car and realized I had ketchup and mustard on one knee, which was left over from Superbowl Sunday. Huh, I thought to myself. I should really try to do a better job keeping up with the laundry.

I talked to two other moms when I went to pick Hudson up from school and caught a whiff of one mom's perfume. She smelled great--all clean and ladylike! I figure she's really on top of her game and has time to shower and apply perfume, or she's stinking brilliant and used the perfume to disguise her mom stench. Just to make myself feel better, I'm going to assume the latter and try out her trick.

Anyhoo...I did finally grab a record-breakingly fast shower AND brush my teeth, so maybe Jason will keep the faith that I still value my own cleanliness. I may even give a homecooked meal a shot in the hopes it will smell better than I did the majority of the day.

Boys, Barf, Boogers, Baby, and Bronchitis

First of all I want to give a shout-out to my quick witted friend Barb for inspiring this catchy blog title. She clearly has mad alliteration skills (I mean skillz) and a keen insight into life in the Jones household. It has been four days since my last blog, and the five elements in the title are the culprits of my delay.

Boys
Lawson and Hudson's Double Trouble Party was a great success! Instructor Mason is a masochist for giving up his Saturday afternoon to herd twenty-five children into a circle and attempt to endow them with kung fu knowledge, but I'm so grateful he did. Jason let the boys rip into their gifts the second they came in from the garage, and our kitchen was a toy minefield as a result. It's with great shame I admit our kitchen was a minefield for three days. Okay, fine. It's still a minefield today.

Barf
It wouldn't be a party unless someone hurls, and Camden was happy to oblige at 1:00 a.m. Sunday morning. For the first time since we had kids, I actually choked back my own urge to barf while cleaning up after him. Cupcakes, cheese puffs, and breakfast for dinner. Enough said.

Boogers
What I can only attribute to the mythical "Savannah crud," boogers are running rampant in our house. My favorite mucus moment came when Jason picked Scout up only to put his hand right on a sticky concoction that was clinging to her leg. It was epic--but only because it happened to him and not me.

Baby
It's official. I have given birth to the Duchess of Destruction who also happens to have an unusually healthy set of lungs on her. She has developed a diva-like attitude seemingly overnight, and every time her tiny little demands aren't met, we are rewarded with an ear-piercing screech of frustration. When I tell her no, she flashes a toothy little grin at me and adds an extra adorable nose wrinkle in just to throw me off my game. It looks a little something like this.

See! She even sticks that cute little tongue out. Tell me how in the world I deal with her screeches before the other five members of our family suffer partial hearing loss. I'm open to all suggestions.

And Finally, Bronchitis
Today I took Lawson in for his four-year-old checkup and mentioned a persistent cough he's been battling for two weeks.  A week ago I was told he was suffering from allergies and given samples of Allegra. Today I watched him sit in the doc's office and receive a breathing treatment right on the spot. I want to hit my head against a wall and pray to God for a break from illnesses and medical bills, but I'm just trying to be patient while my babies adjust to the new climate. It's like I told one of our favorite couples when they did us a huge favor this past weekend. I'd offer you our fifth-born child, but I already promised him/her to the pediatrician.

Disclaimer for anxious family members who follow this blog. There are no plans for a fifth child. It's just a joke. Seriously, don't freak out.

Arrrggghhh!!!

I don't think I ever want to see another box of Duncan Hines again. The economic changes in our lives mean that the Publix Bakery can't rescue me from my disastrous ineptitude in the kitchen. At 1:00 this afternoon, I set about cracking eggs and mixing batter. At 10:00 this evening, I finally set down my spatula and took inventory. I have 56 sad little frosted cupcakes and 12 rejects. Six were snarfed down by my husband and kids (okay, and by me), and a dozen never made it past the batter stage because I was just too tired to muster up the energy to pour anything else into cute little cupcake liners.

Now I'm sitting here wondering if five-year-olds care if my cupcakes are lopsided. Tomorrow I will buy those nasty Cheese Puffs I only let my kids eat on rare occasions and embrace the fact I will be covered in Capri Sun and processed orange dust for the majority of the afternoon. It's likely I'll have a little frosting in my hair, much like I did today when I showed up for a 4:30 appointment without having bothered to check a mirror before I left the house. I'm hoping it will all be worth it when I see Hudson and Lawson karate chopping with their friends, and I manage to scarf down a few more cupcakes while no one is looking.

The Joy of Surprises

Today is my baby boy's fourth birthday. Lawson is our third son--in three years' time. Camden was nineteen months old, and Hudson was four months old when I saw two pink lines again. I had just gotten back to my pre-pregnancy weight and was giddy to be a bridesmaid in one of my best friend's weddinng. I had been in two weddings while I was enormously pregnant, once masquerading as a belted pear and once as a beaded firetruck. I had planned to look svelte and lovely in my chocolate brown dress, and now I was going to masquerade as a Hershey's Kiss--one of the giant ones you can only find on Valentine's Day.

I cried. A lot. I feared for my marriage (being a cranky, hormonal pregnant wife for two years is tough, much less for three years) and for my two little dudes (missing out on Hudson's infancy because I was huddled over a toilet puking was overwhelming to think about). In fact, I cried for five months straight, and the multi-faceted "mom guilt" nearly consumed me. I was snarky to my husband, short with my babies, and crying uncontrollably about one of the greatest blessings God can give someone.

When Lawson was born, I was still afraid. In all honesty having three boys 28 months old and under was daunting. But Lawson Charlie Jones is joy incarnate. He is the quirky, laid-back corner of the Jones boy triangle. He is my cuddle bear who will tell me he loves me out of the blue for no reason at all. He is also so stinking cute that I have to hide my giggles when his mischievous side kicks in. He embraces his stereotypical role of pesky little brother with gusto.

My three little men are best buddies who will have each other for the rest of their lives. Watching the three of them grow over the years has been an honor. They learn from each other, support each other, and laugh with each other. They also fight with typical rough and tumble boy rambunctiousness, which makes my life colorful and hilarious. I watch the three of them hover over Scout cooing and crooning to her, and I think what a lucky girl she is to have big brothers who adore her.

You see, Scout was our second surprise baby. (By now you're thinking, good grief, do something about that already.) I was scared when Scout came along, too, but I was armed with the knowledge that God doesn't make mistakes. Lawson is an incredible gift from God, and Scout is equally as amazing. Sometimes our lives are just meant to take unexpected paths that are more fulfilling than we could have ever imagined. My life is rich beyond measure because I was blindsided by the element of surprise.

My Unusual Accountability Partner

I've discovered a great new accountability partner for harried moms. It's called an open window. My neighbors can now make an educated decision whether to pity me, applaud me, or simply nod in understanding when the kids' level of rambunctious activity and whining suddenly spikes at 5:00 p.m., the witching hour in our house. When the windows are open and the broadcast of WPPR Kid Crazy can be heard throughout the hood, I don't feel the need to walk onto the driveway and make a public service announcement that we are not, in fact, beating our children. It's just bathtime.

In all seriousness I sometimes do my best parenting in public. I'm calm, on the ball, and prepared to handle crises including but not limited to hunger, boredom, "crate bottom" from sitting in the shopping cart too long, sibling rivalry, hitting, biting, crying, peeing or pooping emergencies, and inadvertent shoplifting. The kids usually respond pretty well to cool, collected mommy, so much to the point that I've rarely shied away from taking them out in public when I need to. That being said, I still have blog-worthy public incidents with the kids. I just respond to them better.

When I'm at home, however, it's sometimes easy to fall prey to the 2:00 p.m. energy slump or get distracted by the computer or phone. Sometimes I get so engrossed in laundry or the dishes that I neglect to interact with the kids like I should, or I raise my voice with impatience when I'm interrupted. The open window always helps me out, though. It's like a smaller version of the public at large. You would be amazed how calm you are when you know others might be listening. I stay in better control of my emotions, and I'm able to see the kids' points of view more objectively. I take more time in explaining their consequences and reassuring them I love them no matter how many times they sit in time-out for telling me they hate me.

The open window will not endow you with an endless supply of patience, but it may just help you think outside the box for more effective ways to resolve conflict. My continued goal is to practice Open Window Parenting at all times, even during those months it's thirty degrees outside and an open window would do nothing but increase your heating bill and lead your children to question your mental stability. I know even if the neighbors can't hear me when I'm Demon Mommy, my kids can. And they deserve Open Window Mommy all the time.   

Train Wreck Mom Strikes Again!

Here's a quick rundown of today so far.

1. I rolled out of the driveway at 8:54. Camden and Hudson needed to be at school by 9:00.  By what I can only attribute to divine intervention, I made it to Camden's school with a minute to spare, and Hudson's teachers happened to wait three extra minutes to end drop-off.

2. It was forty degrees and breezy this morning, and Camden's coat was in Jason's truck, which was at the jail. I drove twenty minutes to Chatham Parkway only to discover Jason had forgotten to leave the coat in the back of the truck for me.

3. I gave Scout a Dum Dum sucker to calm her while we waited for Jason, and she promptly put it in her hair. They call them Dum Dums because dumb-dumb mommies give them to their twelve month old babies and expect them not to put sucker in their hair.

4. By the time I got the coat, the weather was warm and beautiful.

5. I saw a gorgeous home with my friend Barbara that could potentially be a rental house we love. Unfortunately, we admired it right up to 12:05. Hudson was supposed to be picked up by 12:00. I did not have my phone, and I really should start wearing a watch.

6. I fed my kids waffles and Pop-Tarts for lunch.

7. Hudson went ballistic because he lost a game on pbskids.org. When I put him in his room to calm down, he screamed that he hated me and wasn't my friend for five minutes straight.

8. I am supposed to be working on a freelancing article right now, but instead I'm ADD mom who's blogging about her crazy day.

It can only get better from here, right? Right?

All in good time....

My baby girl is a year old today. She's a living timeline of the changes that have taken place in our lives over the past thirteen months. As my mother-in-law says, Scout is a little gift from God we unwrapped in the midst of economic chaos. She's been a ray of sunshine and a source of continued strength for us since she arrived.

I used to pray for God to somehow add a little girl to our group of cool little dudes. I honestly believed Jason and I would adopt one day when we were at a place in our lives where a fourth child wouldn't be overwhelming. I could only laugh when He revealed He had his own ideas for the timeline of our family's completion.

After dry-heaving my way through the majority of my pregnancy, I was scheduled for induction at 37 weeks because of complications, and I went in confident Scout would arrive the fastest of all my children. Thirty-three hours and two failed epidurals later, she debuted at a whopping 8 pounds, 12 ounces. Believe me, I was really thanking God for His time when he saved me from delivering a 10+ pound baby. (And women who labor naturally on purpose are insane.)  

When we moved here, Scout was only four months old, and I was heartbroken, homesick, and teetering on the edge of misery. Those of you who know me well understand I am probaby a little overly attached to my family, friends, and home town of Carrollton, Georgia. However, living with a tight ball of fear in the pit of my stomach for six months had left me exhausted and eager for a new beginning. I fully opened my heart to my faith for the first time in many years and gave God control of our situation. I really didn't know what was going to happen, but I believed He had a plan in store for us.

It took four months of loneliness and one killer tan (thank you, Tybee Island) to experience a breakthrough. I finally let my neighbor and new friend keep the kids so that Jason and I could go on a "Savannah date" and reconnect after so much change. I introduced myself to another mom as she walked around the neighborhood with her little man and made my second new friend. Then I attended my first MOPS meeting. The blessings I've experienced in doing so continue to astound me. I've made many incredible friends and met inspiring moms.

Over the past few months, I've gained the confidence to take on a new career and finally let go of the fear that held me back in embracing my beautiful, eclectic new community. Sometimes I still worry, and sometimes I still miss my grandma's cooking. But I know God will do great things with our family if I just allow Him to take His time with us.

The Power of Mom Guilt

I'm having one of those days when I'm plagued by anxiety, self-doubt, and what can only appropriately be described as "the blahs." Rationally, I know these feelings are exacerbated by PMS and lack of sleep, but the blahs have a funny way of pushing ration right out the front door.

These are the days I retreat from the world because if I let people have a glimpse into this part of my personality, they might think I'm a fruitcake. However, I've always read that if you face your fears head-on, they'll seem less frightening. So I'm blogging about it. If you read this and determine I'm a nut, so be it. I'm hoping maybe someone else out there feels nutty, too, and the crazy, sometimes contradictory, ramblings I'm about to unload might make you feel less alone.

In an attempt to at least organize my crazy, I'll use bullet points.

• My kids are sick. Scout hasn't slept in three days, and when she finally quit wheezing long enough to fall asleep, Hudson crawled in our bed with a high fever. We're scheduled to go to Carrollton tomorrow for a baby shower for one of my dearest friends AND for a triple birthday party for the three youngest kiddos. I need antibiotics and steroids to work stat, and I need a serious stretch of good rest.  On the flipside I know parents with children who are truly, critically ill, and the fact that I'm stressed about my babies' illnesses makes me feel guilty. I can't imagine what these parents go through each day, and my kids will get well with five days of medication.
• My house is a wreck. The Laundry Monster is on a rampage, even after two of my incredible girlfriends came over yesterday and folded and put away six loads. I know I have clothes on my back, a roof over my head, a washing machine, and great friends who will eat chocolate and fold clothes with me. So I feel guilty for being frustrated with the insane amount of laundry I have. The blahs have also left me colossally unmotivated today, so I feel like the five loads I have left are taunting me. Craaazzzyy.... 
• My perfectionism is problematic. I just wasted five minutes of my life trying to figure out how to properly space my bullet points because they won't look as nice listed without spacing. Technology glitches: 1. Me: 0.
• I let my kids watch TV and play computer games all day. I am so tired today, and I let the kids stay in their pjs and watch PBS all morning and afternoon. I even stole a power nap while snuggling with Lawson and Hudson and watching Curious George (Scout was snoozing in her crib). I haven't even thawed anything to cook for dinner yet. Bad mommy.
• I am wallowing when I should be taking action. I'm letting the blahs have me when I feel like what I should be doing is unearthing the living room from the mountains of toys and whipping up a well-balanced meal that my kids will refuse to eat.

Well, there you have it. Just getting these thoughts out is enough to at least motivate me to cook dinner and psych myself up for a more productive evening. I think I can, I think I can.....