Survival Rules for Moms of Boys

Rule #1

The grown-up bathroom should be a kid-free zone. Otherwise a mom like myself seeking just one fleeting moment of privacy to do her business won't be caught off-guard when she sits down in a puddle of little boy sprinkle and slides unexpectedly to the back of the seat. This toilet seat should be the one place in the house a mom can plant her booty without fear.

Rule #2

Be prepared to spend significant amounts of your budget on kids' shoes. God apparently instilled little men with some sort of mutated Sasquatch gene that leads their feet to grow ONE AND A HALF sizes in just six months' time.

Rule #3

Be prepared to take drastic measures to deal with the crippling mom guilt associated with letting your kids walk around in shoes that are one and a half sizes too small. These methods include but are not limited to: Prozac, counseling, vodka, long jags of crying to your girlfriends over coffee, and/or frivolous purchasing of random toys to make up for the injury to little toes.

Rule #4

Don't fight the inevitable "trickle down" effect of boy habits upon female siblings. My 18-month-old daughter is already walking around peeing on trees and crashing monster trucks.

Rule #5

Lower your standards when it comes to the levels of "appropriateness" on conversational topics about poop, pee, itchy "nuts, privates, or weiners," butt cracks, and burping and farting. Or in the alternative, prepare yourself to fight a really disgusting uphill battle.

Rule #6

Add "What the hell is that smell?" to your everyday mommy vernacular. Trust me, it will come in handy.

Rule #7

Expand your understanding of the laws of physics. A little boy's inertia, velocity, and gravitational potential energy defy the traditional framework which you have up to this point been taught.

Rule #8

Allow embarrassment to wash over you at every opportunity so that eventually, you are virtually immune to the effects of tantrums in department stores, your friends seeing your living room littered with tampons because the boys were sword fighting and/or singing into a teeny, tiny microphones, your son announcing you "pee out your booty" when he is in the bathroom stall with you, and his verbatim repetition to the neighbors of the questionable conversation you and your husband had when you thought little ears were otherwise engaged.

Rule #9

Have a frank (pun intended--you'll see), honest answer ready when your son panics and asks you why his private parts are "tall." In fact, before you reach that point, get over your reluctance to discuss the male anatomy altogether. He will discover it around three months of age and be fascinated with it the rest of his life, so you better get used to it and teach him to be comfortable with his own body. But not too comfortable, mind you. You don't want a seven-year-old who watches TV like Al Bundy or unabashedly "adjusts" himself in front of random strangers.

Rule #10

Give and receive love from your little boys freely and abundantly. The bond between mother and son is special and should be nurtured and appreciated. It should also grow and change as your son grows and changes. Remember, no one wants to have their kid referred to as a "titty baby" when he is in the horrific throes of puberty. And we women of course do not wish to be referred to as a "monster-in-law" one day when our sons are married because we had difficulty recognizing boundaries and cutting the apron strings when the time was right.

Bonus Rule

Clean a boys' bathroom at least every two days. The whole once a week thing won't cut it--unless you plan on sharing your findings with highly specialized scientists seeking to discover new species of bacteria.

Have Kids, Will Travel

My parents are headed to Savannah with my niece and nephew in tow, and I feel my anxiety level building by the minute. With four kids in five years, my life is inevitably really loud and fairly chaotic. I mean, I'm no Octomom or anything, but you can imagine three boys wrestling while an 18-month-old tries to get in an ankle bite is a tad stressful. Thankfully I can bear fun-filled chaos and really only start to feel my sanity slip away when whining and fighting dominate the day's background noise.

My parents, on the other hand, rather enjoy their quiet, wrestle-free existence, and I can't say I blame them. My dad more than paid his dues when he raised a son and a headstrong daughter who spent the first nine years following her parents' divorce being pissed off at the world, and I can vouch for the fact that my stepmom brought up two quiet, calm kids. My stepbrother isn't afraid to speak his mind but does so in a very level-headed, diplomatic kind of way, and my stepsister is a soft-spoken mom balancing a nursing job with raising two very cute kids. Her kids, however, tip the scales of calmness in a decidely different direction than my zoo crew.    

So needless to say, I'm anxious to see how this whole scenario pans out. I will relish having a house full of noise, but my parents may have to hide out on my back porch in order to stave off anything from migraines to panic attacks. I really hope my stepmom is bringing some bourbon in case of emergencies. I've always said there really is no way to explain the phenomenon of three boys in three years to an outsider, but I truly hope that in staying with us, my parents get to see the fun nuances of our lives. Each of my kids is such a beautiful little enigma, and I want now more than ever for all of their grandparents to appreciate that in them. Living far away from family means that there is less time for them to absorb all of the joy that comes from watching my kids grow. I really hope the noise doesn't drown out the unique splendor of living in a house full of aspiring greatness. 

Sleep? Is That Like a Necessary Thing?

Coffee has been a truly essential part of my life since 2004. Before I graduated to the hard stuff, I recall choking back gas station cappuccino in college and thinking I had a pretty hard lot life because I had to stay up three nights in a row every time midterms or finals rolled around.

 Little did I know that true sleep deprivation takes place slowly over time. It's not a three day caffeine bender followed by two days of sleeping till noon and then partying like a rock star to celebrate the end of the semester. It's a tedious chipping away of your sanity. It's kid puke in the middle of the night. It's a toddler in tears at four a.m. because she peed out of her diaper and woke up cold and cranky. It's bad dreams, requests for water, and cries of I'm hot! I'm cold! It's dark! I'm scared!

For the past three nights, it's been an 18-inch sliver of space for my slumber. I use the term slumber very loosely. Picture me teetering on the edge of one side of the mattress with a hot, restless (albeit cuddly) little monkey glued to my back. Picture a beautiful but inaccessible oasis of space in the middle of the bed and then a five-year-old just beyond that area who is determined to shove my husband off the other side of the bed.

We decided long ago to let our kids into our bed if they ever wandered in because Jason wanted them to feel like they could come to us for comfort when they needed it. I don't disagree with that sentiment to this day, but I don't think we knew we would have four kids when we made that call. We certainly never anticipated we would have two in the bed more than one or two nights in a row. In fact, it's actually unusual for us to have that situation for three nights straight.

Maybe this is my grown-up version of midterms (except now I chug Maxwell House Columbian roast in the mornings instead of gas station French vanilla cappuccino in the middle of the night). Maybe there is a celebration of some sort looming aroud the corner. Only instead of celebrating the end of the semester, we're celebrating a good night's sleep (which these days falls under the "at least five hours" category). Instead of sleeping till noon, we'll let the kids play computer games when they wake up, and we'll sleep till 8:00 a.m. (True rebellion for thirty-something parents.) Rather than partying like rock stars with kegs at the nearest frat house, we'll party like rock stars with movie night and Diet Dr. Pepper. It will be epic. Trust me, the world isn't ready for that level of debauchery.   

Why? Why? Why?

I am working hard to get into the minds of my children as they plague me with a variety of the persistent questions beginning with the word "why?" I welcome the word when it is followed by innocent, inquisitive words like "did The Fresh Beat Band get a new Marina?" But as they get older their questions get harder. I had to explain cancer last week, and their devoted prayers to baby Wynn McBrayer have opened up a great deal of questions about life and death and why God just won't make that sweet boy's arteries grow. Some questions I don't have answers for, but I always try to be honest and admit when I don't know.

Some days the "why" is an endless, annoying, whiny, high-pitched tirade of "why does he get more computer time? Why does he get juice first? Why does Scout get to stay up while we're resting? Why are boogers sometimes brown?" Sometimes when I offer them bonus points for picking up toys, I'm presented with the question, "Why does he get to pick up more toys than me?" Seriously? Five seconds ago you were throwing a tantrum because I asked you to pick up any toys, and now you want to file a complaint about being denied the right to pick up more?

My solution is usually to usher them off to their beds for some much needed rest and regrouping while I tend to Scout or relish in the all-too-short moments of quiet. As I sit here, I have my own list of "whys" I would present to the world if it was still permissable and socially acceptable for me to adopt a childish disposition. Assuming you'll play along with me and indulge me to pretend such is the case, here is a list of my questions. Imagine them spoken in a frustrated tone that fully conveys the injustice I feel.

1. Why do I provide my daughter with a delicious lunch followed by S'mores Goldfish only to have her methodically feed them one by one to the dog?

2. Why did God choose to give me such a big mouth that all too often has one or more of my feet shoved into it?

3. Why didn't my husband and I come up with the solution of a secret signal when my filter starts to fail years ago? I could have been spared so much embarrassment. (I can't reveal our new trick for fear you guys will catch on while we're in the middle of a conversation.)

4. Why does my husband have better hair (and eyelashes) than I do? Such a waste. I mean, he can't even put mascara on. Well, I guess he could if it was Halloween or he was living a double life as a tranny. Maybe I can convince him to try it out just one time to satisfy my envious curiosity.

5. Why can't someone invent some kind of cream or non-invasive procedure that restores pre-pregnancy boobs? I'm just saying. Potential millions to be made, people.

6. Why do I always, always, always have some disgusting, sticky, unidentifiable food substance in my hair at all times? Seriously, I've ceased to be embarrassed about it when people point it out. Maa...that's just ravioli again.

7. Why can't it be automatic for mommies to accept playdate invitations to the pool or beach with a "Yes, I'm attending, and I'll be wearing a modest tank suit today." This declaration could spare mommies who dared to bare the shameful title of Hooker Mom in a Bikini. Thank goodness my closest friends and I have developed a rapport that warrants this information essential and provides it without fail or judgment. I have gladly donned my two-piece in order to save a friend's dignity when she found herself swimming in a pool full of tank suits AND one full coverage surf suit.

Tomorrow will bring on another onslaught of whys from my little ones, and I'll tell you I'm secretly glad to be able to respond. What a joy it is for me to have their trust and desire for my opinion. I hope my relationships with them remain strong and honest as they grow because I know their questions for me (and my questions for myself) will only get harder as the years progress. What is your "why" question today? I would love for you to share.

Huh. So That's What That Looks Like.

Today I saw what every mom dreads. My kid was standing on the back patio scratching his head like crazy. I've been waiting for my turn to roll around since Wilmington Island seems to be experiencing a lice epidemic. I'm so thankful the moms who have been through it before me have been willing to share tips on what to look for and how to treat it; otherwise I may have assumed my little Pigpen just needed a bath.

I thought I would probably wretch or at least get a massive case of the heebies jeebies if it happened to us, but the first thing I thought when I saw the dreaded nits was, "Sh*@. There goes my run at the Y today." This thought was immediately followed by dollar signs flipping around in my brain as I tried to wrap my head around the cost of treatment, detergent, and new hairbrushes for all. I very nearly short-circuited once I imagined the energy required to physically hold down four children and treat them with foul smelling chemicals and then envisioned the endless piles of laundry.

My afternoon sucked a big fat one. There was one highlight where an angel in blue scrubs at the Walgreen's drive through pharmacy went and got lice spray for me to purchase through the window, which meant I didn't have to wake Scout up and haul her inside with her three extremely cranky brothers. All three boys have been given crew cuts at Mom's Salon. I am now well versed on what a lice bug looks like (something I have always wondered). I can't open the door to the laundry room because I am in the process of washing everything my kids' heads have ever touched (and basically everything else I own). 

I'm sure during the course of reading this you've wondered why the hell I would blog about my kids having lice. Believe me, my husband already walked into the office and said, "Please tell me you're not blogging about this." But the fact of the matter is every other mom I know who has dealt with it in the past few months is a clean, normal mom just like me (yeah, I consider myself clean but the normal part may be stretching it), and I'm hoping the stigma of lice equalling dirty kids is lifting. Do I really need to worry you guys might think we're nasty because my kid had head lice? I certainly hope not because if I've learned anything from today, it's that no one is immune to the pesky little critters. Well, and that my son was WAY too attached to his hair.

My oldest has been growing his hair out for a year in order to have "surfer hair," and he was way more devastated by the haircut than he was by the fact he had freaking LICE. He cried hysterically for over an hour, gave himself a migraine, and puked all over my kitchen floor. This, my friends, was the icing on today's cake.

I hope my Savannah friends won't start avoiding my calls or act like they don't see me when we happen to be at the Whitemarsh Island Wal Mart at the same time. I plan to carry around my lice spray for the next two weeks in order to calm my frazzled nerves and ward off any lice bug that dares to cross my very pissed off path. Be sure not to sneak up behind me because I'm so jumpy I just might spray you by accident.   

Media Relations

One of the biggest conflicts plaguing me as a mom today revolves around the media available to my kids. We have a DVD player in the car, three computers in the house, and a Wii. Experts will tell you these "luxuries" can eat away at the family dynamic and lead to attention problems in children. I say the lack of these items can eat away at my sanity and lead to a rather lethal form of PMS called Pissy Mom Syndrome.

The truth is I don't often abuse the engaging lure of disney.com or pbskids.org. I try to limit each child to half hour morning and afternoon sessions of computer time because some of the games they play are actually educational. The DVD player in the car is normally reserved for car trips above and beyond 30 minutes. The television is turned on for downtime or as a special treat before bed. There are certain circumstances, however, that warrant exception. These are including but not limited to:

1.) I waited till the last minute to clean the house for a play date and now need to frantically vacuum and hide the unfolded laundry to preserve at least a shred of dignity that will later be ripped from me when one of my kids screams at their friends or throws a punch over a toy disagreement.

2.) Hudson is so irritated with the world that he's declared he hates the planet and hisses like a cat at anyone who comes close. (This may also be an indication of hunger induced devil possession.)

3.) Hudson and Lawson are kicking and punching each other across the space between their car seats and no amount of my threatening their lives from the driver's seat reduces their animosity. 

4.) Camden has torn through the house clapping his hands like a circus monkey screaming "Politoed" for the hundredth time and looked at me with a challenging gleam in his eye and whispered "Pikachu!" when I reprimanded him. (All of you Pokemon virgins who don't know what the heck I'm talking about may breathe a sigh of relief and count yourselves blessed.) 

5.) Scout has climbed on top of the table and spilled whatever liquid she finds up there. Again.

6.) Daddy has been left in charge. 

I completely agree there are times when I should shove my kids out the door to be "real boys" (like they're  Pinocchio or something). But there are also times when it's hot as balls outside and I'm on the brink of heatstroke trying to play with them in the cul de sac in order to feel like a good mom. Yes, we all benefit from my neglecting my appearance and risking a backne breakout from sweating when I'm pitching the ball to my little sluggers. I love it, and it makes me feel happy and connected to them. They love it because Mommy is trying to hang with them on their level. But if the house is an abomination, and I've made them turn their underwear inside out in order to avoid washing their clothes, they need other outlets for entertainment while I get my act together. Legos and Trio blocks are saving graces for us, but don't think I'm afraid to mix a little Mario Cart into the repertoire.

You, my dear readers, may loathe the computer and Wii. You may be shaking your head in indignation and condemning me for using them to my advantage. These are just possibilities I'm going to have to learn to live with if I want to restore order to a crazy day or to give myself a break from all of the noise (and wrestling) in my life. Don't worry--the mom guilt will plague me as my penance, and I'll spend some time today studying up on Pokemon abilities and moves with Camden, building marshmallow toothpick animals with Hudson, letting Lawson explain the proper rubbing tag qualities to me, and reading Dora Goes to the Beach to Scout over and over. When they lay their sleepy little heads down on their pillows, I'll remind myself it's not a bad gig.

   

The Double Sided Tape of Genetics

Anyone who has ever wondered where I get my candor and inappropriate sense of humor should look no further than my Grandmama. She is one of the most influential people in my life. She has been the one I look to for guidance on how to most effectively embrace a zeal for life, how to better love your spouse unconditionally (sometimes by shaking your head in silent laughter at all of his little quirks), and best of all, how to turn a cartwheel, hula hoop, and burp like a trucker.

This morning I listened to a voice mail she left me wishing me Happy Anniversary. I'm always thankful to miss her call on these days because the messages she leaves are priceless and worth re-saving every sixteen days just to listen to and laugh at when I need to be reminded of home. Last year she called and sang a little ditty she made up that boasted a melody somewhere between Happy Birthday and Yankee Doodle Dandy. This year was no disappointment.

She started out innocently enough by telling me she loves me and wants to tell me Happy Anniversary. She then goes on to say how she wanted us to have a good time. The gist of the rest is an absolutely hilarious stream of consciousness that runs something along the lines of "Well, I guess you've already had a good time on other anniversaries because you have four kids, not necessarily on your anniversary but at some point in time." She not only started my day with a laugh, but she reminded me that my lack of pretense (and my slow internal filter) comes from good stock.

Grandmama is one of a kind. She has impeccable hair from weekly trips to her longtime stylist (don't ever expect to catch her at home on Thursday mornings), a fabulous suntan from working in her garden with my Grandpapa, and an enviable shoe collection. I feel more comfortable at her house and in her presence than I do most any place in the world, and Sunday lunches with my family are very near the top of the list of what I miss most about Carrollton. Lunch is never short on grousing from Grandpapa because we're five minutes late, flavorful southern cooking complete with fresh veggies from the garden, and unforgettable belly laughs. No subject is ever too taboo for discussion, and no one can ever show up to her table in a bad mood and leave it still grumpy. My friends love her as much as I do, and she rewards their love by spoiling them with dirt pie, which unfortunately is usually eaten by me before it makes it to them.

We all have positive and negative attributes we inherit from our families. My mother has the same goofy sense of humor as Grandmama and thankfully passed it on to me. My grandpapa and my mom are talented writers, and I like to think a sliver of their talent runs through my veins. My dad is very practical and level headed, and....well, clearly I wish I had inherited a little more of that. My kids have a conglomeration of chromosomes (uh huh, you like that alliteration, don't you?) that make them the intricately designed little creatures they are. I hope I can do the genes I contributed justice by teaching them to love themselves and to love where they come from. Both sides of the genetic gene pool are sticky, but they are purposeful and valuable. Thanks, Grandmama, for adding color to my day and inspiring me to laugh at myself and to try a little harder to be the best mom I can.

Eight Years and Counting

Jason and I will celebrate our eighth anniversary on Tuesday, June 21. I love thinking about our wedding because it was a GREAT day. The weather was absolutely perfect, and all the people I loved were gathered in one place to watch me marry a man who made me feel honored to be his blushing bride.

I was his pregnant bride for anniversaries one, two, and three. I had a LARGE glass of wine on anniversaries four and five to commemorate the fact that I wasn't pregnant, and I was still shaking my head in wonder over a fourth pregnancy when number six rolled around. Our seventh anniversary came on the heels of the upheaval of moving to Savannah, and we celebrated with dinner at Tubby's with all four kids. Yeah, imagine the raised eyebrows and turned heads when we inadvertently walked our kids through the bar at happy hour instead of coming through the door to the dining room. A dinner with tantrums and greasy chicken fingers wasn't exactly romantic, but it was quite fitting for the hilarious challenges we face as parents.

I attended a Bible study this past week that dealt with God choosing to lead us through the wilderness rather than illuminating the easy road as a way to reveal undiscovered potential within ourselves. When the only door that opened after Jason's firm dissolved was in Savannah (at the time a metaphorical wilderness to me), I felt angry and grateful all at the same time. But over the past year, I have discovered a strength, confidence, and sense of independence (and thankfully a better sense of direction) I've never before experienced. When my dad visited in March, he was delighted to see I now even know how to parallel park.

Through everything my husband has been the one I lean on for familiarity and stability. He is a determined, studious kind of guy who balances out my balls to the wall approach to life. He never backs away from the challenge of bringing up four kids, and he is involved with them (and the housework) in a way for which I'm extremely thankful. I know I got lucky with him.

As much as it pains me to admit, I'm not perfect. To add insult to injury, my imperfections heighten Jason's and vice versa. I like to deal with conflict right away--never backing down from the challenge of confrontation. Jason likes to have time to process his feelings and evaluate the conflict without interference from me. I tend to share way too much with people (hence the blog that continually embarrasses my man), and Jason is a very private person. Balance for us on these issues is sometimes a struggle, but we continue to talk and put in the effort to grow in our marriage. Yes, we have a plan for achieving a lifetime together--work at it and laugh at ourselves whenever possible.

Anyone who thinks marriage won't be hard is in for a bumpy road. It's work every day. Hopefully you married someone you really like and who you count as your best friend. Finding that person extraordinarily attractive doesn't hurt either, but do be prepared for the possibility of four children if this is a factor in your marriage (another statement that will embarrass the mister, but he knows I'm right). I can honestly say after eight years, I not only find Mr. Jones delicious, I also count him as my best and most loyal friend. He pisses me off faster than any other person on the planet, but even when he drives me nuts, I still look forward to the moment we apologize and move on about our business of building our beautiful life. To my husband I say a sincere thank you for the best eight years of my life and for the promise of joy and laughter to come. Even in the wilderness, I am blessed to have your hand to hold.

Out of the Mouths of Boys

I wanted to do a blog to put down on paper (er, computer screen) the funny things my little dudes say. Sometimes I feel like I have so many that I can't always dedicate my blogs to them equally.

Camden
Camden is a very bright, inquisitive, articulate kid with the nice added bonus of being all boy--athletic, messy, and endlessly energetic. He's always thinking (and talking but I'm not sure where he got that from). Sometimes when he declares things, he does it so matter-of-factly that I forget he's only six. He is quite obsessive with nature and God's creatures right now. Last month he collected several "pet" ladybugs, which I ultimately convinced him would fare better outside. As we were walking back in, he looked at me and said, "You know what they say, Mom. If you love something, you set it free." Really?! Has he been watching chick flicks or reading chick lit to learn that mantra?

I also had to inform him that his elementary school principal will be moving to a new school next year. He thoughtfully replied, "Well, being a principal is like presidents. You can only serve a certain amount of years." I'm thankful he made this connection and took the transition so well.

He does, however, remain very distressed that I don't know more about Pokemon. Pokemon is his new obsession, and I'm completely lost when he says things about Ash and Water Type Pokemon (what?). Lately he has been frustrated with my ignorance, so he keeps telling me, "You really need to brush up on your Pokemon skills, Mom." Touche.

Hudson
Hudson is quiet, sweet, thoughtful, intelligent, studious, and socially reclusive at times. He also has a nice little silly streak and is a master at putting puzzles and Kung Zhu fighting rings together. I imagine his being the middle child is more difficult than he is able to express as he is constantly trying to assert his place among his siblings. (I never get to be first! Lawson got out before me! Camden has toys and I don't!)

As of yet he hasn't caught on to the fact that we find every opportunity we can to get him to say the word "caterpillar." He reverses the sounds so that it comes out like "cal-uh-pitter," which is one of my favorite funny words right now. He understands the life cycle of the "calepittar" very well, so he never minds explaining it to me. Eventually he'll realize what I'm doing and self-correct (like he did when I made him say "thirty" over and over because he used a Boston accent). What a sad day that will be.

Yesterday he scared the life out of me by jumping off the side of the Y pool while I had my back turned putting Lawson's life jacket on (Hudson was next in line). The lifeguard was quick and pulled him out, and when his shaken up mommy asked him why he did it, he simply replied, "Dodge said he could do it, and I just wanted to be brave like him." Sweet boy. He perked up two seconds later and said, "Mom! I've never been saved by a lifeguard before!" At least he had an easier time seeing the positive in the situation than I did.

Lawson
Oh, there are so many things I can say about our youngest boy. He's devilishly, mischievously handsome. He has the absolute cutest little speech patterns EVER (chair is "shair" and "thirsty" sounds something like "stirsty". Oh, and "I think" is "I stink"). Overall he's just an easygoing little dude. He's quiet until he can assess a situation, so you may seem him sucking his thumb and rubbing his "wubbing tag" while he draws his conclusions. He's also very funny without really trying to be. His constant attempts to aggravate his brothers drive me absolutely insane, but he always says something hilarious or flashes his toothy grin to get out of trouble.

I did manage to document one particularly indignant exchange he had with Hudson last month. While climbing up on his stool to brush his teeth, he slipped and borrowed a line from Tangled. "Mommy, my smolder's broken!" Hearing him, Hudson said out of the blue, "You're never going to fall in love with anyone!" Lawson didn't miss a beat in stomping his foot and saying, "Yeah-huh! With Mommy!" How could I not smile about that?

Last week he asked me where God lived. When I pointed up to the sky, he scrunched his face up and asked, "In the clouds?" "Sort of," I replied. He thought for a few seconds and then inquired very directly, "Which cloud is it?" It appears I'm going to have to expand my explanation a bit.

I promise to detail Scout's vocabulary at a later time. This blog is already so long that you guys will take one look at it and decide you don't have time to read it right now. Plus she's not really saying much other than Mom, uh-oh, and Dora, Dora. Wait, I take that back. She does converse fluently in her own little Scout language. I'll try and capture it on video for you.

  

School Daze

This morning I attended the second graduation ceremony of the season for my little dudes. Two weeks ago Hudson and his pre-k class matriculated in high style for five-year-olds, and this morning I watched Camden trot proudly across the stage to receive his kindergarten diploma. Every ounce of frustration I've felt with my kids the past few days disappeared in those minutes, and I found myself teary-eyed at the warp speed time travels. The past six and a half years have gone by in a blink, and the times I feel flustered, I try to remind myself they're only mine to nurture and love within my own home for a short time.

At both ceremonies all the children sang songs and posed for pictures with proud smiles on their faces. I sat wondering how each little spirit would grow and speculating on what marks they'll make on this world as they navigate life's challenges. Their innocence is amazing to me, but even more amazing to me is the individuality God grants each of us even from such a young age. My boys' classmates and friends have endearing, quirky qualities that are each their own, and learning their personalities and appreciating them the way I try to in my own kids has been a fun challenge for me as a mom to school-aged kids. I've found myself praying lately that each of my four kids learns to love and accept others no matter what challenges or personalities their peers may have and hoping God gives me the strength and wisdom to instill this quality.

I am a proud mommy who will hopefully draw calming patience from the reserve of deep emotions I experienced watching my babies go through one of life's rites of passage. In reality I know it will only be a matter of time before I'm fighting the urge to put my head in my hands because Camden is telling me the same story for the fifth time in a forty-five second time period. Hudson will inevitably push me to the brink of tolerance with his emotional outbursts. Lawson will start a fight by elbowing his brother on the fly and playing the victim when his brother ultimately retaliates. And my sweet Scout will crawl out of her new big girl bed and into the kitchen five times before finally giving in to exhaustion.

All of these stresses are part of my daily routine, but there is also great joy in knowing I'm privileged to watch them grow, to appreciate their individuality, to hold them in my arms when they slow down enough to let me, and to cheer loudly and embarrassingly when they graduate from any grade. I hope I remember every day that their "school days" go by in a "school daze" and take a moment to regroup enough to soak up as much time as I can.