Yesterday was our first beach day of the season. It went as well as could be expected. I received a phone call from my better half, who was already on Tybee, around 10:30 a.m. urging me to gather the three troops who were with me and come meet him and our oldest. Of course, gathering the troops means something entirely different to me than it does to him; thus, our first day back on Tybee went a little something like this (c'mon!).
10:30-10:45--allow children to watch the remainder of their show while I dig for swimsuits. Break up two fights and mop up my daughter's pee puddle, which is on the living room carpet next to her potty. Apparently my strategy to bring the potty to her is an epic fail.
10:45-11:30--battle with two of four children to actually put down the Wii and TV remotes, put on a swimsuit, and brush the fur off of their teeth. Sit in what remains of pee puddle when trying to dress boys.
11:30-12:30--battle with Scout over which lovely bathing suit to wear and how best to coordinate beach cover and swim shoes. Dig for ponytail holders and marvel when she decides to keep her pigtails up. Search for cooler and pray it isn't growing mold. Brace myself (unnecessarily) to lose consciousness from stench when I open lid. Add sandwich fixings minus one important item--bread. Call hubby and ask him to get bread. Then text hubby and ask him to buy cheap sunglasses.
12:45--yell at hubby in stress induced frustration when he questions what is taking me so long. Dig up crappy snacks for hungry kids and try to wrestle everyone to the van and into booster and car seats.
1:00--head to Tybee and call hubby repeatedly and wonder why I am getting no answer. Fight back PMS tantrum and frustration as I get closer to Tybee with no designated plan for meeting up with hubby and firstborn child.
1:30--make third loop around the island while hubby nonchalantly purchases sunglasses.
1:45--pull my van into hubby's killer parking spot, grab bread from him, and proceed to make sandwiches to eat in the van while he searches for a new spot.
2:00-2:30 p.m.--start unloading beach chairs, cooler, buckets, shovels, Hotwheels cars, towels, camera, Pooh Bear, and the kitchen sink and witness two trucks full of rednecks on Spring Break fight over a parking spot. A nearby EMS responder walks over to intervene just as winner of the Biggest Redneck contest, heretofore known as "blue pickup truck driver," tries to run his truck over the curb and into the back of close runner up to Biggest Redneck , aka "red pickup truck driver and drunk bare chested passenger." Begin to suspect I've been teleported to Panama City Beach instead of Tybee Island.
2:30-2:45 p.m.--settle into a pretty nice spot on the beach only to discover Camden is already chest deep in the freezing cold ocean. Wade in after him and suffer mild hypothermia as a result of my quest. Change Scout's poopy swim diaper and walk back to boardwalk to toss nasty mess. Encounter many drunk girls who don't believe in using sunscreen, most of whom have glittery belly button rings and unfortunately placed tattoos on their lower torsoes. Laugh to myself as I imagine saggy post-baby tats and stretched body jewelry scars.
3:00 p.m.--pop open a 25-ounce can of Mike's Hard Lemonade, a very much appreciated peace offering from hubby. Joined by friend and his daughter. Friend apparently enjoys hypothermia and plays with our boys in the ocean while sweet daughter plays with Scout.
3:30 p.m.--cold, wet rain begins to fall. Notice two of four children have blue lips, and one has uncontrollable shivers, which I interpret as actual sign of hypothermia. Pack all of our stuff and slowly struggle to get back to the van, sulking that we won't get our money's worth of our paid parking, which does not expire until 5:50 p.m.
3:40--return Jason to his truck and stop at fishing pier so that I can pee in the smelliest, most disgusting public restroom I've seen since celebrating my 21st birthday at skanky karaoke bar.
4:45 p.m.--pull back into driveway after sitting in traffic for an hour to travel all of twelve miles.
And we can't wait to do it all again next time!
Sunday, April 15, 2012
Saturday, March 31, 2012
The Fine Art of the Family Photo
Ah, the joy of taking a picture with all of our children and achieving the ultimate victory of No Photoshop Required. Just kidding. There's no such thing as No Photoshop Required when you have four kids who absolutely loathe having their picture taken. As a result, I have almost no pictures of all four kids together and only one picture of all six of us together. Even that one required the mad Photoshop skills of friends who are photographers. (Thank you, Jimmy Fulcher and Heidi Schardine.) Here it is. The lighting is still poor, but all the kids look happy and calm. What a great facade.
Here we are pre-Photoshop. Clearly my friends are miracle workers.
Still, I persist in my quest for perfect family pictures to add to this slim collection at every photo op our life presents. The result has been a collection of pictures that make me laugh till I pee whenever I look at them. Let's face it. It doesn't take much for a mom of four to pee when she laughs. Maybe it would be funnier if my pictures cause someone who didn't carry four watermelons in five years to laugh until she pees. Please update me if such a feat is accomplished simply by viewing our photos.
Today we celebrated Lawson's 5th birthday six weeks late with a very small gathering of his classmates. We walked away without one picture we could use in a frame or photo book, but the rejects are totally worth sifting through. My friend Lori served as photographer, and she deleted a couple of gems before I explained how I love the duds just as much as the perfect pictures. Without further delay, here is a collection of high quality Jones family photos past and present for your viewing pleasure.
Actually, I take back what I said earlier about only having one gem of a family photo. This last one is absolutely precious to me. It was the first picture I ever took of my our kids as four instead of three.
Pictures are priceless, and the collection I have is so important to me because it's completely representative of real life. A life full of tantrums, laughs, inappropriate comments and gestures, and loads of desperate attempts by Mom to just get one shot that I feel Grandma will cherish forever. I know they hate it now, but one day I hope they can look back and be thankful I was so annoyingly persistent.
Ah, the joy of taking a picture with all of our children and achieving the ultimate victory of No Photoshop Required. Just kidding. There's no such thing as No Photoshop Required when you have four kids who absolutely loathe having their picture taken. As a result, I have almost no pictures of all four kids together and only one picture of all six of us together. Even that one required the mad Photoshop skills of friends who are photographers. (Thank you, Jimmy Fulcher and Heidi Schardine.) Here it is. The lighting is still poor, but all the kids look happy and calm. What a great facade.
Here we are pre-Photoshop. Clearly my friends are miracle workers.
Still, I persist in my quest for perfect family pictures to add to this slim collection at every photo op our life presents. The result has been a collection of pictures that make me laugh till I pee whenever I look at them. Let's face it. It doesn't take much for a mom of four to pee when she laughs. Maybe it would be funnier if my pictures cause someone who didn't carry four watermelons in five years to laugh until she pees. Please update me if such a feat is accomplished simply by viewing our photos.
Today we celebrated Lawson's 5th birthday six weeks late with a very small gathering of his classmates. We walked away without one picture we could use in a frame or photo book, but the rejects are totally worth sifting through. My friend Lori served as photographer, and she deleted a couple of gems before I explained how I love the duds just as much as the perfect pictures. Without further delay, here is a collection of high quality Jones family photos past and present for your viewing pleasure.
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| Scout is so happy to be taking a picture with her family. |
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| Awful. |
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| Easter 2011 Train Wreck |
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| My personal favorite. |
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| Christmas 2010 |
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| I must have that green hat! |
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| Wait! Just a few more shots, guys! |
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| My beautiful babies. Scout was thirteen days old. |
Pictures are priceless, and the collection I have is so important to me because it's completely representative of real life. A life full of tantrums, laughs, inappropriate comments and gestures, and loads of desperate attempts by Mom to just get one shot that I feel Grandma will cherish forever. I know they hate it now, but one day I hope they can look back and be thankful I was so annoyingly persistent.
Wednesday, March 28, 2012
We are the People of Wal Mart
I bet there is nothing Wal Mart greeters love more than a mom with kids, especially when she's got three doorstep boys and a toddler wearing her bathing suit. That's right, people. A bathing suit. Like the underage spring breakers in Panama City who think it's cool to peruse through Wally World in nothing but skanky cutoffs and a triangle top. Okay, well maybe not that bad, but you get my drift. My daughter exercised her right to be a free spirit and wore a one piece and "sparkly shoes" (pink sequined Mary Janes) to Wal Mart sans Pull Up, hence the trip to Wal Mart in the first place.
On the four minute drive from the elementary school carpool line to Wal Mart, I felt like I did a sufficient job prepping the kids for our mission. What do we need? Soap and Pull Ups, Drill Sergeant! The first five minutes of our trip were largely uneventful. Scout and Camden were slightly distracted by the point of purchase sunglasses display, but it was nothing I couldn't handle. As we neared the Pull Up aisle, I swore I could almost see the imaginary band of angels crooning to my children as they walked up on a seven foot high stack of bean bag chairs covered with the likes of Spongebob and Lightening McQueen. Seriously, what are doing to me, Wal Mart? Hudson and Lawson hopped right up on a chair sitting on the outskirts of the display, and I thought I'd roll with the moment and take a little photo. Look how cute they are.
Moments later, all four sat down, and I thought, "Oh, how cute would it be to have a picture of all of them together?" That's right. I broke a cardinal rule of motherhood. Never ever break out a camera like an amateur Wal Mart mommy on a touristy shopping trip. I had a mission, people, and I detoured from said mission. The cuteness sucked me in, and before I knew it, Scout was scratching and pushing Hudson off her chair, and Camden and Lawson were barking out which version of the chair they wanted. The highlight was Scout pushing the stack in anger and the slow motion domino effect that sent multiple chairs toppling to the floor.
A passerby in a Memorial Hospital polo shirt did offer to help me stack them back, but her unsmiling face said what her kind gesture did not--that I was a train wreck mommy who let her kids destroy property at the local Wal Mart. Ugh. Guilty as judged. When all character chairs were secured, we walked twenty feet away to the Pull Ups where the employee stocking shelves watched in silence as Hudson and Lawson exchanged blows and Hudson flung his Power Ranger under the shelf. He then crawled all over the nasty floor and reached under the shelf to retrieve it (yak!). Suddenly I found myself wondering if soap really is absolutely necessary for good hygiene.
On the way to the soap aisle, Scout took off running, her tiny fanny cheeks shining because her suit had ridden up while I was carrying her. For the nexteternity four minutes, the boys and I stood in the middle of the aisle trying to pinpoint her exact location based on the volume of her giggles and the pitter patter of her sparkly shoes. Cue sneering employee, and you have another spectacular high moment of my shopping trip. I retrieved my daughter and resorted to holding Hudson's hand in order to prevent him from revisiting his nasty little exploration of the nether regions of Wal Mart's shelves. Hudson's world is often a deliciously silly little mind concoction, and I swear if I didn't have to maintain my front of being a responsible adult, I'd like to visit it sometimes just for fun. But I digress.
I'll spare you the details of the frustration I suffered in the ten remaining minutes it took for us to exit the store. They can be summed up quickly by saying Hudson filled his arms with ten bottles of hand soap rather than agreeing to carry the 3-pack of Ivory I had to dig out from behind all of the pricier soaps on the shelf, Camden kept running back and forth to the snack aisle for random items like Goldfish and fruit chews when he was supposed to be carrying the Capri Suns and then laughing hysterically when I told him to put his loot back, and Lawson was violently assaulted by a rogue box of Kool Aid Jammers.
My silence as we exited the store instilled more fear in my children than an angry lecture could ever do, and as we pulled out of the store parking lot, I said these simple words. You.Will.Write.Sentences.
I got my sentences (justice!) and some very sincere apologies. Our next trip to any store is likely to be just as disastrous, and I'm just going to have to learn to live with sneers and open mouthed stares from innocent bystanders. I've got three boys. Three. I mean, there's no real hope for my life to be anything but hilariously chaotic, and the fact that Scout relishes an opportunity to make her brothers laugh just makes it all the more diabolical. Judge me if you want, random strangers. I wouldn't trade them for any amount of normal.
On the four minute drive from the elementary school carpool line to Wal Mart, I felt like I did a sufficient job prepping the kids for our mission. What do we need? Soap and Pull Ups, Drill Sergeant! The first five minutes of our trip were largely uneventful. Scout and Camden were slightly distracted by the point of purchase sunglasses display, but it was nothing I couldn't handle. As we neared the Pull Up aisle, I swore I could almost see the imaginary band of angels crooning to my children as they walked up on a seven foot high stack of bean bag chairs covered with the likes of Spongebob and Lightening McQueen. Seriously, what are doing to me, Wal Mart? Hudson and Lawson hopped right up on a chair sitting on the outskirts of the display, and I thought I'd roll with the moment and take a little photo. Look how cute they are.
Moments later, all four sat down, and I thought, "Oh, how cute would it be to have a picture of all of them together?" That's right. I broke a cardinal rule of motherhood. Never ever break out a camera like an amateur Wal Mart mommy on a touristy shopping trip. I had a mission, people, and I detoured from said mission. The cuteness sucked me in, and before I knew it, Scout was scratching and pushing Hudson off her chair, and Camden and Lawson were barking out which version of the chair they wanted. The highlight was Scout pushing the stack in anger and the slow motion domino effect that sent multiple chairs toppling to the floor.
A passerby in a Memorial Hospital polo shirt did offer to help me stack them back, but her unsmiling face said what her kind gesture did not--that I was a train wreck mommy who let her kids destroy property at the local Wal Mart. Ugh. Guilty as judged. When all character chairs were secured, we walked twenty feet away to the Pull Ups where the employee stocking shelves watched in silence as Hudson and Lawson exchanged blows and Hudson flung his Power Ranger under the shelf. He then crawled all over the nasty floor and reached under the shelf to retrieve it (yak!). Suddenly I found myself wondering if soap really is absolutely necessary for good hygiene.
On the way to the soap aisle, Scout took off running, her tiny fanny cheeks shining because her suit had ridden up while I was carrying her. For the next
I'll spare you the details of the frustration I suffered in the ten remaining minutes it took for us to exit the store. They can be summed up quickly by saying Hudson filled his arms with ten bottles of hand soap rather than agreeing to carry the 3-pack of Ivory I had to dig out from behind all of the pricier soaps on the shelf, Camden kept running back and forth to the snack aisle for random items like Goldfish and fruit chews when he was supposed to be carrying the Capri Suns and then laughing hysterically when I told him to put his loot back, and Lawson was violently assaulted by a rogue box of Kool Aid Jammers.
My silence as we exited the store instilled more fear in my children than an angry lecture could ever do, and as we pulled out of the store parking lot, I said these simple words. You.Will.Write.Sentences.
I got my sentences (justice!) and some very sincere apologies. Our next trip to any store is likely to be just as disastrous, and I'm just going to have to learn to live with sneers and open mouthed stares from innocent bystanders. I've got three boys. Three. I mean, there's no real hope for my life to be anything but hilariously chaotic, and the fact that Scout relishes an opportunity to make her brothers laugh just makes it all the more diabolical. Judge me if you want, random strangers. I wouldn't trade them for any amount of normal.
Wednesday, March 21, 2012
Bunk Bed Scavenger Hunt
Last night our family had an adventure. We set out at 7:00 p.m. in search of a bunk bed that would allow the boys to share a room this summer. Considering the fact that there is a possibility I'm out of my mind for thinking this little experiment will work, I really did NOT want to invest much money in the endeavor. My first day perusing craigslist led me to a little gem of a post that read "twin over full metal bunk bed with mattress for $60 OBO."
Well, the OBO sold me on the followup because it gave me an in to offer fifty bucks for what would cost me a great deal more in a store. After some a conversation revealing the poor woman selling the bed had FOUR BOYS (God bless her), we made some carefully orchestrated plans to meet. Said plans, of course, went completely awry because that's just how we Joneses roll. First we needed Jason's truck, then we needed cash, then we needed Sonic, then we needed to make four phone calls to the seller to figure out how the heck we ended up forty-five minutes off course from Ft. Stewart. Then best of all, we needed to pull over in the line to get through the gates on base to confer with the military police about why we don't carry copies of current insurance cards in our vehicles (because they look it up in a nice, fancy little computer database now). Sigh.
By the time we rolled up to base housing, two kids were asleep, one was screaming that his feet itched, and the other was relentlessly throwing Pooh in the floor and crying for me to pick it up (guess who). Hudson was wearing wet shorts because his water spilled all over him early into the trip, Scout's water exploded when she tossed it on the floor, and the car was covered in honey mustard from the popcorn chicken. Ew.
The end result is a happy one, though. We arrived home at 11:00 p.m. with a bunk bed and full size mattress (free of pee and puke stains, mind you) for fifty bucks. The kids were definitely a little reluctant to get out of bed this morning, but I bet they'll agree with me that it's all worth it when they're climbing into (hopefully not jumping off of) their new bed. If the deal is right, the effort is worth it.
Well, the OBO sold me on the followup because it gave me an in to offer fifty bucks for what would cost me a great deal more in a store. After some a conversation revealing the poor woman selling the bed had FOUR BOYS (God bless her), we made some carefully orchestrated plans to meet. Said plans, of course, went completely awry because that's just how we Joneses roll. First we needed Jason's truck, then we needed cash, then we needed Sonic, then we needed to make four phone calls to the seller to figure out how the heck we ended up forty-five minutes off course from Ft. Stewart. Then best of all, we needed to pull over in the line to get through the gates on base to confer with the military police about why we don't carry copies of current insurance cards in our vehicles (because they look it up in a nice, fancy little computer database now). Sigh.
By the time we rolled up to base housing, two kids were asleep, one was screaming that his feet itched, and the other was relentlessly throwing Pooh in the floor and crying for me to pick it up (guess who). Hudson was wearing wet shorts because his water spilled all over him early into the trip, Scout's water exploded when she tossed it on the floor, and the car was covered in honey mustard from the popcorn chicken. Ew.
The end result is a happy one, though. We arrived home at 11:00 p.m. with a bunk bed and full size mattress (free of pee and puke stains, mind you) for fifty bucks. The kids were definitely a little reluctant to get out of bed this morning, but I bet they'll agree with me that it's all worth it when they're climbing into (hopefully not jumping off of) their new bed. If the deal is right, the effort is worth it.
Monday, March 12, 2012
The Blame Game
Please tell me why there is an epidemic of husbands who go out of their way to do some really incredibly helpful things around the house (which we of course express our appreciation for) and then become total monsters demanding recognition for their contributions and/or suddenly crowning themselves Kings of Clean? Said Kings then rule their unwitting subjects with overly controlling innuendos and hypercritical, inaccurate declarations.
Um, excuse me? Did you forget who cooked the meal you ate tonight? Did you forget who suffered through our oldest child's foul after school antics and homework avoidance tantrum techniques? Who made school lunches today or made sure the school uniforms were washed and dried for this morning? In what parallel universe are you suddenly the only one who contributes?
Ah, The Blame Game strikes again. It's so easy to get sucked into this vortex of conflict where the board looks something like the game of Life and the playing pieces look like four kids, two jobs, tons of laundry, tired cranky tantrums, Cub Scout meetings, Daylight Savings Time, a pile of Trio blocks, and a huge chunk of paychecks that may as well be made out directly to the grocery store when it's all said and done.
It's life, and we play dual roles in it. On the one hand, we are spouses, and on the other hand, we are parents. Sometimes these two roles work together in perfect harmony, and you can ride the wave of peace and fulfillment like a boogie boarder showing off his effortless moves. Other times, the roles are not only competing, but they're just downright conflicting. If I give my best to the kids right now to ensure everything gets done in time to get them in bed early, then I can't clean as much, and all of my husband's efforts this weekend are harder to see. However, if I pay a little less attention to my kids, delay baths and bedtime so that I can sweep the floor and pick up the playroom, the kids get in bed later and continue the vicious cycle of DST induced crankiness.
The effort to stop pointing fingers and work as partners is harder to do when the adults in this whole game are also tired, stressed about work, and feeling like the road to a good night's sleep looks long and bumpy. Thus the volcano erupts, and we experience infuriating frustration and a stubborn unwillingness to see where the other person is coming from.
Neither partner in our little union is perfect. I'm emotional and passionate and borderline, sometimes across the borderline, controlling. I will let you know exactly how I'm feeling when I'm feeling it and not always in the most calm, rational way I would like to. Sometimes I fight like a little redneck girl, but I'll always come to a resolution as humbly and apologetic as I can. I think the trick in a marriage is understanding how the other person communicates and trying our best to figure out how to mesh our own methods with another's. Sometimes we need to meet in the middle, and sometimes we just need to try out another person's tactic, despite how foreign it may feel.
Tonight I've got three babies fed and bathed and ready to crawl under the covers. My hope is to accomplish the goal of getting them into bed early AND sweeping the floor, maybe even before my partner in crime gets home from Cub Scouts with the fourth dirty and cranky kid. The good thing we have going in our marriage is that even though no one on the planet can make me as angry as he does, there is also no one else on this planet who touches my heart the way he does. Understanding that little tidbit brings me joy even in my anger. For that, Jason Jones, you can be King of Clean just for today.
Um, excuse me? Did you forget who cooked the meal you ate tonight? Did you forget who suffered through our oldest child's foul after school antics and homework avoidance tantrum techniques? Who made school lunches today or made sure the school uniforms were washed and dried for this morning? In what parallel universe are you suddenly the only one who contributes?
Ah, The Blame Game strikes again. It's so easy to get sucked into this vortex of conflict where the board looks something like the game of Life and the playing pieces look like four kids, two jobs, tons of laundry, tired cranky tantrums, Cub Scout meetings, Daylight Savings Time, a pile of Trio blocks, and a huge chunk of paychecks that may as well be made out directly to the grocery store when it's all said and done.
It's life, and we play dual roles in it. On the one hand, we are spouses, and on the other hand, we are parents. Sometimes these two roles work together in perfect harmony, and you can ride the wave of peace and fulfillment like a boogie boarder showing off his effortless moves. Other times, the roles are not only competing, but they're just downright conflicting. If I give my best to the kids right now to ensure everything gets done in time to get them in bed early, then I can't clean as much, and all of my husband's efforts this weekend are harder to see. However, if I pay a little less attention to my kids, delay baths and bedtime so that I can sweep the floor and pick up the playroom, the kids get in bed later and continue the vicious cycle of DST induced crankiness.
The effort to stop pointing fingers and work as partners is harder to do when the adults in this whole game are also tired, stressed about work, and feeling like the road to a good night's sleep looks long and bumpy. Thus the volcano erupts, and we experience infuriating frustration and a stubborn unwillingness to see where the other person is coming from.
Neither partner in our little union is perfect. I'm emotional and passionate and borderline, sometimes across the borderline, controlling. I will let you know exactly how I'm feeling when I'm feeling it and not always in the most calm, rational way I would like to. Sometimes I fight like a little redneck girl, but I'll always come to a resolution as humbly and apologetic as I can. I think the trick in a marriage is understanding how the other person communicates and trying our best to figure out how to mesh our own methods with another's. Sometimes we need to meet in the middle, and sometimes we just need to try out another person's tactic, despite how foreign it may feel.
Tonight I've got three babies fed and bathed and ready to crawl under the covers. My hope is to accomplish the goal of getting them into bed early AND sweeping the floor, maybe even before my partner in crime gets home from Cub Scouts with the fourth dirty and cranky kid. The good thing we have going in our marriage is that even though no one on the planet can make me as angry as he does, there is also no one else on this planet who touches my heart the way he does. Understanding that little tidbit brings me joy even in my anger. For that, Jason Jones, you can be King of Clean just for today.
Friday, February 24, 2012
The Days are Long, but the Years are Short
I once read this little quote on a friend's Facebook page. It seems like a contradiction, but the reality and truth in the statement always give me pause when I think of it in terms of motherhood. We get one shot at this gig, and I have a mind just analytical enough to spend too much time debating whether or not I'm spending it the right way and making the early years of my kids' lives special enough for them to avoid years of teenage angst.
The fact of the matter is that the years are short. Every day we get is a gift, but it's all too easy to lose sight of that fact when things like exhaustion, school pictures, basketball practice, fights over the Wii remote, and the Pinewood Derby race get in the way of a stress-free, reflective, giggles and rainbows kind of existence.
This week the kink in my armor was crippling homesickness. I found myself transfixed by worry and sadness that my children are five hours from grandparents and cousins. The friendships I shared with my cousins and the closeness I had with my grandparents are two of the greatest gifts of my childhood, and it suddenly became very important to me that I'm too far from home to logistically make these gifts a reality for my own kids on a daily or even monthly basis. Each day I woke up thinking of a particular aspect of home. One day it was Ms. Marni's Preschool where Hudson and Lawson went the year before we moved to Savannah. Another day it was our land and the back deck of our house that overlooked a beautiful field.
Last night we went to the YMCA for a basketball game played by adorable, feisty five and six year old boys. I talked and laughed with other moms, snagged a copy of Breaking Dawn from my friend Barbara (woo hoo!), and cheered for my little scrappers on the court. We then took our gaggle of kids to one of the local churches on the island for an authentic low country boil and oyster roast. The kids ran and played, we stuffed our face with shrimp and homemade desserts, and I cracked up with my MOPS friends.
The night was a reminder that God has us right where He wants us right now. The sense of community I feel on Wilmington Island is sometimes even stronger than what I feel in my own hometown. Jason has a job he loves and so do I. Much the same way I loved Ms. Marni's Preschool, WIPP has become an integral part of our family's lives, and every day I wake up excited to spend the first half of my day with my adorable students.
My friends are my family here. They take care of me when the bottom drops out in a multitude of ways, like when five out of six Joneses get the pukies or I need ski gear for a one day trip to Snow Mountain. They listen when I cry and laugh with me when I'm happy. They eat Mexican food with me to make up for a crappy day, and they watch my kids for free for me to celebrate milestones with my husband or to go to the parent-teacher conference I forgot about. They even spend an hour out of their day trying to help me break into my van with a coat hanger so that I don't have to call the locksmith again.
I really believe few places on Earth are like Wilmington Island. For now I'll just have to focus on finding ways to go home to Carrollton to visit more often. I continue to be humbled and thankful for the blessings we have and for the fact that my kids are happy, something that matters more to me than anything else. They may grow up farther from grandparents and cousins than I did, but their childhood experiences in Savannah are rich beyond measure so far.
The fact of the matter is that the years are short. Every day we get is a gift, but it's all too easy to lose sight of that fact when things like exhaustion, school pictures, basketball practice, fights over the Wii remote, and the Pinewood Derby race get in the way of a stress-free, reflective, giggles and rainbows kind of existence.
This week the kink in my armor was crippling homesickness. I found myself transfixed by worry and sadness that my children are five hours from grandparents and cousins. The friendships I shared with my cousins and the closeness I had with my grandparents are two of the greatest gifts of my childhood, and it suddenly became very important to me that I'm too far from home to logistically make these gifts a reality for my own kids on a daily or even monthly basis. Each day I woke up thinking of a particular aspect of home. One day it was Ms. Marni's Preschool where Hudson and Lawson went the year before we moved to Savannah. Another day it was our land and the back deck of our house that overlooked a beautiful field.
Last night we went to the YMCA for a basketball game played by adorable, feisty five and six year old boys. I talked and laughed with other moms, snagged a copy of Breaking Dawn from my friend Barbara (woo hoo!), and cheered for my little scrappers on the court. We then took our gaggle of kids to one of the local churches on the island for an authentic low country boil and oyster roast. The kids ran and played, we stuffed our face with shrimp and homemade desserts, and I cracked up with my MOPS friends.
The night was a reminder that God has us right where He wants us right now. The sense of community I feel on Wilmington Island is sometimes even stronger than what I feel in my own hometown. Jason has a job he loves and so do I. Much the same way I loved Ms. Marni's Preschool, WIPP has become an integral part of our family's lives, and every day I wake up excited to spend the first half of my day with my adorable students.
My friends are my family here. They take care of me when the bottom drops out in a multitude of ways, like when five out of six Joneses get the pukies or I need ski gear for a one day trip to Snow Mountain. They listen when I cry and laugh with me when I'm happy. They eat Mexican food with me to make up for a crappy day, and they watch my kids for free for me to celebrate milestones with my husband or to go to the parent-teacher conference I forgot about. They even spend an hour out of their day trying to help me break into my van with a coat hanger so that I don't have to call the locksmith again.
I really believe few places on Earth are like Wilmington Island. For now I'll just have to focus on finding ways to go home to Carrollton to visit more often. I continue to be humbled and thankful for the blessings we have and for the fact that my kids are happy, something that matters more to me than anything else. They may grow up farther from grandparents and cousins than I did, but their childhood experiences in Savannah are rich beyond measure so far.
Friday, February 17, 2012
The No Yelling Rule
Three weeks ago I took it upon myself to institute a no yelling rule in the house. The rule is primarily geared to combat angry yelling, but we are applying it to all forms of yelling, including annoying screaming (seriously, I only want to hear ear piercing screeches if you're injured or being kidnapped) and inappropriately loud talking (guilty of doing it and guilty of passing the gene on to Camden). I had to back track a bit the day after I made this decree upon the house and explain to my husband why I felt it was important and to ask that we help hold each other accountable. Generally I talk to him about these things beforehand, but my impulsive nature got the best of me, leaving me to roll with it or face losing my credibility.
Thankfully, the rule is working out. The first week was very tough, and I seriously considered just carrying around a recording of me reiterating "remember, there is no yelling in the house." I easily said it at least a hundred times in seven days, and because of the no yelling rule, I of course had to say it in my calmest voice. Hudson is throwing a tantrum for the fourth time in thirty minutes? Calm Mommy. Jason has been in the shower for forty minutes while I herd cats, I mean kids. Calm wife. I step on a Lego and embed it into my foot? Cursing under my breath Mommy.
But now something is starting to happen in my house, in my family, in my marriage. All the chaos is still there. We've got four kids, come on. But the volume and the undertone are starting to shift. It comes more naturally for me to approach conflict with the kids calmly, and an apology to my husband is more freely given. I get more eye contact from the boys when we discuss choices and consequences. It doesn't mean the anger isn't there. They still get to feel what they feel. They just have to choose a better way of expressing it.
I told a friend my theory was that if we spoke without yelling long enough, the calm voice would become habit. My hope is to change the dynamic of my family. If we're yelling, I want it to be because we are outside playing and laughing or trying to hear each other over the crashing waves at Tybee. I don't want the "normal" my kids grow up with to be yelling.
On Valentine's Day, Jason and sat on the couch together after the kids went to bed, he sifting through files for the next day and me catching up on DVR shows. At one point he fell asleep with his head in my lap. It was not a particularly exciting night, but it was perfect. Throughout the day we reminded each other of the no yelling rule, and sometimes we tag teamed to give the other person a breather. I didn't get defensive when he held me accountable, which is huge. I'm starting to feel like I'm one half of true parent partners, which is something I think all kids desperately need. I'm not saying this journey won't be challenging, but I feel like we can stick to it. I believe it's working for all six of us and not just for the kids. Keep your fingers crossed.
Thankfully, the rule is working out. The first week was very tough, and I seriously considered just carrying around a recording of me reiterating "remember, there is no yelling in the house." I easily said it at least a hundred times in seven days, and because of the no yelling rule, I of course had to say it in my calmest voice. Hudson is throwing a tantrum for the fourth time in thirty minutes? Calm Mommy. Jason has been in the shower for forty minutes while I herd cats, I mean kids. Calm wife. I step on a Lego and embed it into my foot? Cursing under my breath Mommy.
But now something is starting to happen in my house, in my family, in my marriage. All the chaos is still there. We've got four kids, come on. But the volume and the undertone are starting to shift. It comes more naturally for me to approach conflict with the kids calmly, and an apology to my husband is more freely given. I get more eye contact from the boys when we discuss choices and consequences. It doesn't mean the anger isn't there. They still get to feel what they feel. They just have to choose a better way of expressing it.
I told a friend my theory was that if we spoke without yelling long enough, the calm voice would become habit. My hope is to change the dynamic of my family. If we're yelling, I want it to be because we are outside playing and laughing or trying to hear each other over the crashing waves at Tybee. I don't want the "normal" my kids grow up with to be yelling.
On Valentine's Day, Jason and sat on the couch together after the kids went to bed, he sifting through files for the next day and me catching up on DVR shows. At one point he fell asleep with his head in my lap. It was not a particularly exciting night, but it was perfect. Throughout the day we reminded each other of the no yelling rule, and sometimes we tag teamed to give the other person a breather. I didn't get defensive when he held me accountable, which is huge. I'm starting to feel like I'm one half of true parent partners, which is something I think all kids desperately need. I'm not saying this journey won't be challenging, but I feel like we can stick to it. I believe it's working for all six of us and not just for the kids. Keep your fingers crossed.
Monday, January 30, 2012
Great, It's Going to be THAT Kind of Day
This morning I woke up feeling smug about the status of Operation Get Four Kids Out the Door. The smugness should have been my first bad omen. No mom of four should ever get cocky. Lunches had been prepared the night before, clothes had been put in the dryer, and I was out of bed well before seven. I was showered, dressed, and having coffee by 7:30. Babies were loaded in the car by 8:30. Excellent. My keys were....nowhere to be found.
A frantic search ensued for the next fifteen minutes as our kids watched. The boys were strapped into the back of Dad's truck, and Scout was tucked away behind my driver's seat. They were surprisingly well behaved as we scrambled to retrace my steps from the night before. My phone was dead, so at a certain point, I had to stop, look up my work number (oh the common skills we have lost due to technology--I can't even memorize a phone number anymore), and call to let my coworkers know I had lost my keys.
Woo, I bet they were surprised to hear Molly, who is always on top of things and has it all together, couldn't find her keys. I warned my colleague I was likely going to end up riding my bike to school and kindly requested everyone refrain from poking fun at me, despite the fact that I'm just such an easy target.
At 8:59 (now nine minutes late for work), I gave up. I had sent Jason on with the boys ten minutes earlier. I changed out of my boots since biking two miles in boots is difficult and retrieved a warm coat for Scout to wear inside the bike trailer. I raised the garage door, and as I started to pull my bike out, I happened to look down and see my keys on the ground under the van. Apparently I dropped them there in the dark the night before when I hauled a sleeping Scout in from the car.
Thankful I didn't have to ride my bike to work, I took the four minute car ride to work and shamefully skulked inside right as the school day began. The students must have sensed my fragile state because they were absolute angels. I even had lunch with a great friend, was first in carpool line to pick up the boys, and scored Dolphin Tale at the Redbox kiosk. The day was looking up again.
Of course, it was capped off by Scout crapping up her back and my locking the keys in the van for the fourth time in two months, but hey, my life is the best comedic material I've got. Boredom isn't part of my vocabulary, and my own little brand of frazzled mom adventures make for one fun ride.
A frantic search ensued for the next fifteen minutes as our kids watched. The boys were strapped into the back of Dad's truck, and Scout was tucked away behind my driver's seat. They were surprisingly well behaved as we scrambled to retrace my steps from the night before. My phone was dead, so at a certain point, I had to stop, look up my work number (oh the common skills we have lost due to technology--I can't even memorize a phone number anymore), and call to let my coworkers know I had lost my keys.
Woo, I bet they were surprised to hear Molly, who is always on top of things and has it all together, couldn't find her keys. I warned my colleague I was likely going to end up riding my bike to school and kindly requested everyone refrain from poking fun at me, despite the fact that I'm just such an easy target.
At 8:59 (now nine minutes late for work), I gave up. I had sent Jason on with the boys ten minutes earlier. I changed out of my boots since biking two miles in boots is difficult and retrieved a warm coat for Scout to wear inside the bike trailer. I raised the garage door, and as I started to pull my bike out, I happened to look down and see my keys on the ground under the van. Apparently I dropped them there in the dark the night before when I hauled a sleeping Scout in from the car.
Thankful I didn't have to ride my bike to work, I took the four minute car ride to work and shamefully skulked inside right as the school day began. The students must have sensed my fragile state because they were absolute angels. I even had lunch with a great friend, was first in carpool line to pick up the boys, and scored Dolphin Tale at the Redbox kiosk. The day was looking up again.
Of course, it was capped off by Scout crapping up her back and my locking the keys in the van for the fourth time in two months, but hey, my life is the best comedic material I've got. Boredom isn't part of my vocabulary, and my own little brand of frazzled mom adventures make for one fun ride.
Saturday, January 28, 2012
If Your Sink Makes You Gag, It's Time to Load the Dishwasher
Yesterday I was at the end of a tough week, and I knew I was losing my grip on what I like to call "In Control Molly." Last Monday we instituted a No Yelling policy in the house that goes across the board. It started with no yelling for Mommy and Daddy but segued to include the kids by Wednesday. As a result, I have had to maintain a calm demeanor 24/7 until it becomes habit.
When Camden yelled in my face, I had to gently remind him of the new policy. When Hudson giggled as I redirected him, I had to try not to lose my cool over his lack of interest in following the rules. When Lawson demanded something to drink with a loud, disrespectful tone....yep, you guessed it. Reinforce, reinforce, reinforce, hold hubby accountable, be held accountable by hubby in return. The first week has gone as well as I could have hoped, but it has been exhausting. When Camden and Hudson chose to ignore me when I asked them to stop wrestling on Thursday, I lost hold of my control and burst into tears. It was time for a break, which meant it was time for a clean house.
To be honest I would almost rather cry when redirecting my kids than try to clean my house in the state that it was in yesterday. No one should have to fight the urge to gag as much as I had to yesterday when simply loading the dirty dishes into the dishwasher. There was one dish cloth casualty, and our bedroom ended up being the new home base for the clean yet unfolded laundry. My bedroom is now officially my least favorite room in the house. Clearly that's a challenge for another day. The three and a half hours I got to sit and talk with my husband over dinner last night while my sweet friend Brittany and her beau watched my little ones made all of the gagging and frantic vacuuming of dog hair tumbleweeds worth it.
I think our impromptu date night was important for two reasons. One, because every couple should find a way to connect as people and not just as parents. You fell in love before you were responsible for little people, and it's nice to remember who your partner is other than Dad or Mom. Two, because every parent needs to realize it's okay to need a break from your kids. I was a wreck on Thursday, and part of it was guilt over needing a break from my kids. However, I guarantee you my babies are much happier today because Mom isn't an emotional train wreck simply because she had a few hours to regroup.
There is no job more important to me than being a mom. Sometimes being a mom is about taking care of myself and connecting with my husband, and sometimes being a mom is about spending time with my kids and finding new and exciting ways to connect as a family. Every component is important to the delicate art of balance. Now I'm off to bathe some kids and venture off on an exciting journey to a magical land called Wal Mart. See you soon!
When Camden yelled in my face, I had to gently remind him of the new policy. When Hudson giggled as I redirected him, I had to try not to lose my cool over his lack of interest in following the rules. When Lawson demanded something to drink with a loud, disrespectful tone....yep, you guessed it. Reinforce, reinforce, reinforce, hold hubby accountable, be held accountable by hubby in return. The first week has gone as well as I could have hoped, but it has been exhausting. When Camden and Hudson chose to ignore me when I asked them to stop wrestling on Thursday, I lost hold of my control and burst into tears. It was time for a break, which meant it was time for a clean house.
To be honest I would almost rather cry when redirecting my kids than try to clean my house in the state that it was in yesterday. No one should have to fight the urge to gag as much as I had to yesterday when simply loading the dirty dishes into the dishwasher. There was one dish cloth casualty, and our bedroom ended up being the new home base for the clean yet unfolded laundry. My bedroom is now officially my least favorite room in the house. Clearly that's a challenge for another day. The three and a half hours I got to sit and talk with my husband over dinner last night while my sweet friend Brittany and her beau watched my little ones made all of the gagging and frantic vacuuming of dog hair tumbleweeds worth it.
I think our impromptu date night was important for two reasons. One, because every couple should find a way to connect as people and not just as parents. You fell in love before you were responsible for little people, and it's nice to remember who your partner is other than Dad or Mom. Two, because every parent needs to realize it's okay to need a break from your kids. I was a wreck on Thursday, and part of it was guilt over needing a break from my kids. However, I guarantee you my babies are much happier today because Mom isn't an emotional train wreck simply because she had a few hours to regroup.
There is no job more important to me than being a mom. Sometimes being a mom is about taking care of myself and connecting with my husband, and sometimes being a mom is about spending time with my kids and finding new and exciting ways to connect as a family. Every component is important to the delicate art of balance. Now I'm off to bathe some kids and venture off on an exciting journey to a magical land called Wal Mart. See you soon!
Thursday, January 26, 2012
To My Husband on His 39th Birthday
Today my kids and I are celebrating the birth of a man who I'm not even sure truly grasps just how wonderful he is. He is the love of my life and my husband, Mr. Jason Jones. When we began dating almost eleven years ago, I knew I was in trouble. He was everything I was looking for and COMPLETELY unprepared for. Sure, I'd had a girlish crush on him since I was fifteen, but this was something totally different. I was twenty-three, fresh off an excruciating breakup, and ready to sow a few wild oats in the big city of Atlanta before I gave a second thought to things like marriage and family.
For almost a year, I put him through the ringer, first refusing to date him exclusively and then backing away every time I felt we were getting too serious. I even sulked when he took a job at a law firm in Roswell, and we ultimately ended up living in Atlanta at the same time in apartment complexes that were next door to each other.
When waiting for him to show up for a double date with my best friend and her boyfriend, I warned them not to get too attached to him.
"We're not going to end up being some fabulous foursome," I believe were my exact words.
Those were words I would ultimately have to eat when we got married two years later with both my best friend and her boyfriend turned husband in our wedding party. That day as I stood looking into Jason's big brown eyes, I wondered what I had been so afraid of and counted my blessings he waited for me to come around.
He is the joy of my life, and he has given me four of the most amazing blessings alive. I'm not saying every day is easy--far from it. In fact, every day we have to wake up ready to greet the challenges and stress of four kids, two working parents, a dog, a cat, and a house that is normally screaming for a good vacuuming. We have to work at our marriage and take time to remember who we are as a couple without our kids around. You see, we're two different people, and we don't always see eye to eye on things like the most efficient way to get out the door in the morning, who washes the most clothes, and whose turn it is to put Scout back in the bed.
What I do know is that at the end of the day, he is the one I want to cuddle with to regroup for tomorrow. He's the one I want to run with on a pretty day. He's the one I want to crack up laughing with when we New Girl is on. He's the one I want to talk to about the sweet little Jones kid stories that pop up throughout the day. He's even the one I want to pick a fight with when I'm grumpy because I know he's a worthy adversary.
He's my partner, my friend, and the perfect quiet balance to my Too Much Information approach to life. I love that he's a wonderful father and that he holds me accountable. Even though he drives me nuts sometimes, I love that I am the lucky one who gets to know all the annoying and endearing nuances about him. What a privilege to know someone on the level that we know each other and how lucky I feel that he lets me into his world the way he does.
For his birthday, I'd like to promise him that I will do a better job helping him make up the bed at night, especially since he loathes the feather bed I insist I need for my back. I promise to try and use my big kid words during a disagreement and respect his requests for space when he needs it. I promise to feed the dog more often and to ask for his keys to lock the front door before he climbs under the covers and gets comfortable. I promise to keep believing in his innate goodness and to support him in his endeavors. Most of all, I promise to love him unconditionally for the rest of my life and to wake up each morning ready to take on every day God brings our way. Happy birthday, Jason!
For almost a year, I put him through the ringer, first refusing to date him exclusively and then backing away every time I felt we were getting too serious. I even sulked when he took a job at a law firm in Roswell, and we ultimately ended up living in Atlanta at the same time in apartment complexes that were next door to each other.
When waiting for him to show up for a double date with my best friend and her boyfriend, I warned them not to get too attached to him.
"We're not going to end up being some fabulous foursome," I believe were my exact words.
Those were words I would ultimately have to eat when we got married two years later with both my best friend and her boyfriend turned husband in our wedding party. That day as I stood looking into Jason's big brown eyes, I wondered what I had been so afraid of and counted my blessings he waited for me to come around.
He is the joy of my life, and he has given me four of the most amazing blessings alive. I'm not saying every day is easy--far from it. In fact, every day we have to wake up ready to greet the challenges and stress of four kids, two working parents, a dog, a cat, and a house that is normally screaming for a good vacuuming. We have to work at our marriage and take time to remember who we are as a couple without our kids around. You see, we're two different people, and we don't always see eye to eye on things like the most efficient way to get out the door in the morning, who washes the most clothes, and whose turn it is to put Scout back in the bed.
What I do know is that at the end of the day, he is the one I want to cuddle with to regroup for tomorrow. He's the one I want to run with on a pretty day. He's the one I want to crack up laughing with when we New Girl is on. He's the one I want to talk to about the sweet little Jones kid stories that pop up throughout the day. He's even the one I want to pick a fight with when I'm grumpy because I know he's a worthy adversary.
He's my partner, my friend, and the perfect quiet balance to my Too Much Information approach to life. I love that he's a wonderful father and that he holds me accountable. Even though he drives me nuts sometimes, I love that I am the lucky one who gets to know all the annoying and endearing nuances about him. What a privilege to know someone on the level that we know each other and how lucky I feel that he lets me into his world the way he does.
For his birthday, I'd like to promise him that I will do a better job helping him make up the bed at night, especially since he loathes the feather bed I insist I need for my back. I promise to try and use my big kid words during a disagreement and respect his requests for space when he needs it. I promise to feed the dog more often and to ask for his keys to lock the front door before he climbs under the covers and gets comfortable. I promise to keep believing in his innate goodness and to support him in his endeavors. Most of all, I promise to love him unconditionally for the rest of my life and to wake up each morning ready to take on every day God brings our way. Happy birthday, Jason!
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