Teach Me

I knew it in the back recesses of my mind. I knew little children changed, had bad days, and tried to test authority. I was thinking they did this when they were two....or three.....or heck, thirteen. I didn't know at eleven months I would see the disobedient and sinful heart of a child emerge.

Don't get me wrong, a sinful heart is natural in a fallen world. But to hold a small little boy, who can't even walk, in your arms and pray over his heart as he pitches a major fit due to having his nails clipped makes you stop and realize that the parenting conferences were right: the heart is wicked wicked wicked. 

Last week I saw our "perfect" little boy collapse in the floor to scream because I didn't pick him up immediately. I watched as he spat his peas from his mouth again and again no matter the consequence. I observed as he tried to push our hands away when we moved a fork of undesirable food toward his face. I worried as his little rebellion led to repeats of the same meal on his tray--and his responses of refusal and anger made us go an entire day without him eating. 

I finally saw my little boy for who he is: the little boy I adore with all my heart, but the one who was indeed "born into trouble as surely as the sparks fly upward" (Job 5:7). I had battled this little attitude all day and finally reached the breaking point late one evening. 

Kyle was working late and I decided to go ahead and feed G supper. Supper was the same meal as lunch...and there were green beans involved. Lunch had been a disaster of screaming, and I had ended the meal early saying "Ok, son, if you won't eat now you can have this for supper." 

Supper quickly swirled down the drain. He spat out the green bean. Using my stern voice and my index finger and thump, I flicked his lip. "NO. We do NOT spit out our food." Of course, that sent him into fit mode and he refused to take another bite. So I tried putting the bean in his mouth. That obviously didn't work. After 10 minutes of his loud refusals, and a few swats to his diapered bottom, I buried my head in my hands and wept. Of course, at this exact moment, when my mascara was running down my face, my chest was heaving in sobs, and our son was trying to crawl from his highchair, my husband walked in. 

Bless him, that wasn't the welcome he expected. I knew the door opened, but I didn't see him. All I heard was his backpack hitting the floor, his boots slowly walking toward the table, and then I felt two strong hands on my shoulders. 

"Move. Let me have him." 

I don't think any declarations of love or bouquets of roses could have said "I love you" more than those saving words. I didn't actually do either of those things--I had been crying so hard I went to the bathroom and threw up. It's a problem I have in pregnancy...crying till I can't breathe and then vomiting. 

After I tossed whatever food was on my stomach, I went back to the table where my husband was having no better luck than I had experienced. But he was an iron wall with no exhausted tears. A battle of wills was taking place. Kyle's voice was soft, but firm. Gracin was beyond angry and after several minutes of crying, refusing to eat, and receiving quick corrections, Kyle removed him from the table and took him directly to bed. 

at 6:30. 

I sat on the couch, trying to deep-breathe, hiccuping, and blowing my nose. My heart was hurt. When did our little boy stop liking whatever I put in front of him? He had eaten green beans so many times before! When did he stop being obedient and eating the food in his mouth? When did he start trying to control us by pushing us away? 

Parenting suddenly hit me in the face: this isn't a fun game of "mommy and daddy" we play everyday. This is work. This is painful. It truly does, "hurt me more than it hurts you." Wow. My mom was right. 

Being a mama isn't just about reading books, wiping noses, kissing boo-boos, curling up to watch cartoons, or singing songs. It's about training little adults. Yes, Gracin is small, but my focus is on raising him to be a strong man--not a baby. It didn't matter if he ate the darn green beans. It was the heart of disobedience that was the problem. Being parents means we guide and correct the heart,  after all, "A good man brings good things out of the good stored up in his heart, and an evil man brings evil things out of the evil stored up in his heart. For the mouth speaks what the heart is full of" (Luke 6:45). 

G did eat the green beans again for breakfast. I baked some fish and fed him meat with each bite of green veggie. He knew the veggie was there, and tried to spit it back a time or two, but after correction decided to eat the food anyway. I was so happy he ate, but my heart was crying out to the Father the entire time, "teach me how to teach him." 

I feel like that is the cry of my heart each morning as I pick him up from his crib, bounce down the stairs, tickle his tummy, pour him a cup of milk, and change his wet diaper....."teach me, God, teach me how to teach him." 

Parenting is so precious and yet so difficult. In it I am brought to my knees begging for wisdom. "If any of you lacks wisdom, he should ask God, who gives generously to all without finding fault. But when he asks, he must believe and not doubt, because he who doubts is like a wave of the sea, blown and tossed by the wind" (James 1:5-6). 

I'm asking for wisdom. I'm believing too. 

Never Boring

Greetings!! It has been weeks since I sat down and blogged. I don't feel like I do a lot of my favorite things right now. I haven't spent much time on my makeup in weeks. I haven't sat down to blog since forever ago....forget shopping. I have become depressed upon walking through cute "normal" people clothes. At 32 weeks of pregnancy, everything must stretch. stretch. stretch. stretch. over my lucious curves. We only have 8 more weeks to survive and prepare for our little one to arrive!

Some days I just feel blessed to cook food and fall asleep during a conversation with my husband. I'm hormonal, and we have a very busy, inquisitive 11 month old. Don't believe me? Let me catch you up with a few pictures from the past few weeks.....

busy throwing things from his crib

being ornery while I organized the closet

discovering the tupperware cabinet

trying to get into the bathroom while Daddy was "busy"

playing with Dad's guitar. 

Proving to me how dumb the idea was to give him frozen fruit. Obviously, it thawed. 

that is more fruit on his ankle.....not blood like it appears. 

practicing our resting in the big boy bed in preparation for little brother's need of the crib

Mom was busy for a few minutes so he......explored. This was after the hands were in the potty. 

Yes, that's Mr. Potato Head's ear. 

 Today has driven me to laughter and near tears. It's hard to be 11 months old and feeling the pain of 3-4 teeth trying to come in at once, apparently. G slept very late due to fussiness late last night and the inability to adjust easily to the time change. He woke up about 10:00, threw a few fits, received reprimands to his diapered bottom, and went back to bed for "time out." He was up again by 12:30 and ate lunch.....which was a very very messy ordeal. His fruit was followed by peas and chicken--the peas had to be disguised with the chicken because little green orbs were being spit out in his chair. Fruit juice was all over his body and stained into his chubby creases. Bath time was immediately necessary.

Post bath was spent with a few minutes of forced rest time on his big bed with Curious George as I rubbed his back and reassured him that this strange change was going to be "ok." After resting he explored the bedroom while I tried to finish cleaning out the closet. I heard splashing and caught him wet-handed. Lovely. I soaped his hands, dried him off, and put him back in our bedroom to play. From the closet I heard him jabbering and sought him out. The bathroom floor was covered in toilet paper and he was chewing on the toilet brush handle with his little hands all over the disgusting bristles.

Heaven help me.

He is down for a nap.

And I'm having a Dr. Pepper.

I think I've earned the caffeine. Don't judge.

Ten Months of Lying to Myself

Ten Months, ya'll. Ten months of lying to myself and believing our son doesn't pee in the bathtub. I don't know what put that thought into my head. Maybe because I hadn't actually seen him do it? Maybe because  I expected there to be hard proof? 

I thought my kid was awesome. 

Yeah, awesome-er than all those kids who peed in the water. 

This morning I turned on the faucet and watched our little one squeal, pull himself to a standing position beside the tub, knock his soap into the pooling water, and try to lift his naked leg in an attempt to crawl over the much-too-high wall. 

I lifted him in, settled his bottom in the warm liquid, and then watched has be began to laugh and splash, reaching for the bath rag we use to wash his body. Bliss. He's so precious.

Then, he grew still. 

Curious, I investigated. Yep, I saw it happen. 

I saw him peeing just under the shallow water. As he added liquid to the water in the tub, I felt my heart drop. Oh, he DOES do it. 

I noted that, of course, in stellar boy aim, he hit a perfect bullseye on the bath rag floating near his chubby legs. 

Horror was my reaction when he finished his "business," reached, picked up the rag, and happily shoved it in his mouth. 

I should have congratulated his aim. Instead I sat, dumbfounded, thinking, "NOW what do I do?"

I didn't drain the water. Instead, after a few minutes of staring at my happy child, I pulled the rag from his mouth, looked at it, squeezed the water from it, and started washing his hair. Apparently he's been peeing in his bathwater for a long time....fresh water wasn't going to fix the problem now. 

He's clean. The day has started well with happy moods. But there were floaties in the tub when we finished. I suppose he's been making those too. 

I can't believe I was duped by big, innocent baby eyes! Ten months of believing my kid was "above" peeing in the water. Sorry I held you to that standard, Son. Guess I better clean the bathtub more often.