Rocks In My Dryer

Works For Me: Organizing Bedroom Clutter

As I mentioned before, the last week has been The Week Of Bedroom Reorganization in the Dryer household.  Corrie's nursery was turned into a big-girl room (and it's adorable, truly; pictures to follow, at some point).  And my three boys decided they wanted to sleep in the same room.  Before, Adam (9) had his own room, while Stephen (8) and Joseph (5) shared.  But they have begged and pleaded and played the Mom-I-Want-To-Spend-More-Time-With-My-Brother card, which gets me every time.  It's not true, of course; they really just think if I reshuffle bedrooms they'll have a shot at new SpongeBob bedding.  But a mother can dream. 

So, all of this to say, we now have three boys sharing one room (the extra room is now the playroom).  I explained to them that we can only manage all this togetherness under very specific conditions.  I've always tried to keep a handle on all the "stuff" that my kids accumulate, with little success.  But I told them that the Days Of Packrat-ed-ness were over.  Beginning now.  So we implemented a rule that we previously only had in place for Stephen (Packrat King of the Family).  It's worked so well for him, I'm hopeful it will help everyone.

Each boy now has his own treasure box, about twice the size of a shoe box.  All of their treasures (rocks from the playground, a letter from their beloved uncle, unused Chuck E. Cheese tickets and anything else they CAN'T POSSIBLY throw away) belong in the box.  When the box gets so full that the lid won't close, it means it's time to go through and throw some things away.

I love this, because it teaches them to prioritize and to understand that some things (a postcard from Yosemite) are treasures, while other things (an empty wrapper from their favorite candy bar) are really not.  It helps keep loose pieces of clutter contained.  And the best part?  With their permission, I like to poke through their treasure box.  Seeing what they hold dear helps me know them a little better.

And no, the little dears didn't get their SpongeBob bedding.  They mercifully agreed to this instead.  Oh, the cuteness!  And the bargain-ness! 

Have an idea you'd like to share with all of Bloggityville?  Leave your tip below (guidelines for participation can be found here, including instructions on how to delete your link if you mess up.)

OH!  LAST THING!  Don't forget that next Wednesday, February 7, is the Love, Sweet Love edition of WFMW.  Details here. 

It Gets Easier

My first two babies were born 17 months apart.

One morning, when Adam was one and a half and Stephen was a newborn, I was leaving ladies' Bible study after having picked them up at the nursery.  In my left arm was Stephen and his 14-ton baby carrier, two diaper bags and a tote bag.  In my right arm were my car keys, three coats and the pudgy hand of little Adam.  Just as we exited the building, Adam exploded into a tantrum over something--I can't remember what--and I carried all 25 pounds of screaming boy, dangling from my right hand, his feet refusing to touch the ground.  A woman saw me struggling, and with sympathy in her eyes said, "It gets easier."

I went to my car and cried.

Fast forward a few years.  Adam had just turned four, Stephen was two and a half, and Joseph was a newborn.  It was the end of the day, just before Hubs was supposed to return home.  Things had fallen apart.  All three of them needed me at once, and all three of them were crying.  I sat on the couch, rocking the baby back and forth, a preschooler weeping on each shoulder, and I felt more overpoweringly inadequate than I'd ever felt in my life.  I can't do this, I thought, as I focused, quite simply, on breathing in and out.  In and out.

Surely, I thought, it must get easier.

This time, I was too spent even to cry.

Those moments, and hundreds more like them, are seared into my heart.  As much as I treasured parenting my little pack of preschoolers, the extreme exhaustion and mental drain that comes from that season of life nearly did me in more than once.  I look back on those recent years, and I wish I could give the "me back then" a whisper of encouragement from the "me today".

It gets easier, I'd whisper to my bleary-eyed self.  They sleep and they reason and they take charge of their own bodily fluids.  They make you laugh and they feed the dog and they remember where you put the car keys.  They become functioning, delightful little people who can read the notes you leave them.  It gets easier.  It really does.

Since I can't go back in time to share it with "me back then", let me happily share it with you moms of little ones.  You know who you are.  I pop in on your blog sometimes and see that precious, frantic season of life you're in.  You're sitting there at the computer, right now, and you may have crusty spit up in your hair.  You may have assembled 364 miles of Thomas the Tank Engine track today.  You may have sung the Dora the Explorer theme song until your head is ready to explode.  You have little ones, really little ones, and they need you so very much.  And, oh my friend, I know you're tired.

So yes, I tell you, it really does get easier.  Sure, you inherit a different set of parenting challenges as they age, but at least everyone can cut his own meat.  You will get through this time.

And if that's not encouragement enough for you, let me share with you something a friend shared with me during a particularly trying episode of Young Mommy Fatigue.  She e-mailed me the following verse (Isaiah 40:11):

He tends his flock like a shepherd: He gathers the lambs in his arms and carries them close to his heart; he gently leads those that have young.  [emphasis mine]

Never have I felt as loved as I felt the moment I first read those words.  The God of the universe, the Master Creator, stopped in the middle of telling The Greatest Story Ever Told for just a brief moment to whisper, "Moms, I know it's hard.  But I will lead you.  And I will lead you gently." 

As I read it, I laughed and cried altogether, speechless with thanks at a God who could express such specific tenderness to His creation.  I wasn't alone.

And neither are you, moms of those precious little ones.  You may be up to your ankles in pureed carrots, but many, many of us have gone before and lived to laugh about it, urged on by the gentlest Shepherd.  Take all our word for it.  It gets easier.  And it gets good. 

The Epic Tale of the Flesh-Eating Ladybugs and Their Untimely Demise

It's fruit-basket-turnover in our house this week as we turn Corrie's nursery into a "big girl room", and the boys (not wanting to miss out on the action) have decided this is the week to rearrange their rooms as well.  And I, being in a winter rut and therefore eager for any excuse to rearrange furniture, have agreed.  So our upstairs is a disaster:  mattresses in the halls, toys pushed up against the walls, hang-up clothes stacked on beds...lovely.  If I can find my way back to the computer on Monday, I'll resume normal posting then.  Until then...another day, another post from the archives. 

The following was originally posted on February 27, 2006.

My four-year-old son Joseph received a lady bug farm for Christmas this year.  The day after Christmas we mailed in his certificate for the ladybugs that would fill it up, and he eagerly checked the mailbox every day.  A couple of weeks later, a bulky package arrived bearing a huge stamp on the front:  "Live Larvae Enclosed:  OPEN IMMEDIATELY."  (It's not everyday you find larvae in your mailbox--good times, I'm tellin' you.)

We carefully followed the enclosed instructions to the letter.  The ladybugs were teeny little larvae; the booklet told us we could expect them to become pupa in a couple of weeks, then full-fledged lady bugs a few days after that.  My son, whose heart is extra-tender toward any living thing, checked his larvae many times a day for progress, sleeping with the farm under his bed for protection.  And I breathed many little prayers:  Please let them live, please let them live...

And they lived.  Just as the instruction booklet promised, they shortly turned into pupa, then dramatically, in a few hours, little lady bugs.  Joseph was beyond overjoyed.  But here is something you probably didn't know about adorable little ladybugs:  they're cannibals.  Only about half the larvae made it to full-grown ladybugs, so the grown ones crawled around and ate the dead bodies of their peers who weren't so lucky.  And thankfully, my sensitive boy just said, "Look, they're playing!" as the carcass feast ensued.

And here's another, um, interesting little factoid about ladybugs:  they poop in enormous quanitity.  I mean, they're tiny little poops, but they are everywhere.  You don't notice this when they're outside crawling around your flower pots, but when they're in an enclosed little farm on your kitchen table where you feed your family--trust me, you notice.

So, the other day, Joseph was carrying his ladybug farm across our entryway.  But he had opened the top, for some reason. He slipped on a rug and fell, and the lady bug farm flew across the room, landing upside down on the floor.  Thousands of little ladybug poops, and dozens of half-eaten carcasses, scattered all over the floor.  The wood floor.  The brown, hard-to-make-out-where-the-bugs-and-poops-and-corpses-are floor.  The floor my baby daughter crawls around on all day.  You see where this is going.

Big brother Stephen came to the rescue and searched out as many live ladybugs as we could find, which wasn't many.  But Wicked Mommy had to get out the vacuum cleaner and suck up the poops and the carcasses (remember, he had no idea they were dead because I didn't have the heart to tell him), and yes, a few live ladybugs, while my sensitive boy wailed in the background, "Mommy, NOOOOOOOO!"  Now there is a moment for the therapy couch someday. 

The moral of this story?  Perhaps there is a profound one, but I'm at a loss.  I'm coping with the fact that there is likely still much ladybug poop in my entry way, tucked into nooks and crannies.  And a traumatized four-year-old boy living under my roof.  This motherhood business isn't always pretty, is it? 

Works For Me: DVD Case

I think there's a good chance that every mom in America is already doing what I'm about to tell you, and you're all going to look at me and wonder, "Does she really think that's innovative?," and in fact no, I do not, but I'm tired and temporarily running out of WFMW tips so I'll go ahead and tell you anyway.

We keep all the kids' DVDs in a regular CD case.  This keeps them from scattering the plastic DVD jackets all over the living room when they're looking for a particular disc.  It's also quite handy when we're leaving on a long car trip.  We can grab the whole DVD collection and dash.

So, here's hoping that your tip is considerably more creative than mine--link away, below!  Guidelines for WFMW can be found here.

(Oh, and by the way, last week the overwhelming majority of you thought that we should have a mix of "themed" WFMWs mixed in with the "free-for-all" version.  So here's the plan: from now on the FIRST WEDNESDAY OF THE MONTH will be a themed variety.  I'll give you plenty of notice what the theme is, don't worry.  Speaking of which, if you have any brilliant theme ideas, e-mail me at the address on my sidebar.  Remember, we need to keep the theme fairly broad and appealing to a large group of people.  For example, something relating only to parents of preschoolers, or vegetarians, or lactose-intolerant astronauts, or claustrophobic Swedes might be a tad too specific.)

You Know It's Bad When I Resort To Cleaning Out Drawers

Nary a creative thought this weekend.  Nope, not a one. 

Thinking I might as well use this snowbound time for something productive, I was inspired by the Organizing Junkie herself to completely clean out my desk drawers. 

Y'all, it was bad.  I found coupons that had expired in 2004, and a free pizza award my son won in kindergarten.  He's in the third grade now.

So I ruthlessly tossed whatever I could, emptied the drawers, VACUUMED THEM OUT (yes, it was that dirty, and I'm that bored), and then I neatly re-loaded them.  Because Laura coaches us that before/after pictures are an important inspiration, I shall share them below.  Because I know you must be riveted to find out what my, um, desk drawers look like, right?  Trust me, after seven days snowbound, it's interesting. 

I give you drawer #1, which was in the worst shape of them all, at first.  It is now the drawer that is 100% off limits to anyone but ME.  Okay, maybe Hubs, but only if he's very good.

Drawer #2 was formerly used to hold three-year-old Christmas cards and other vitally important trash.  Now, it's the drawer that contains things the kids and I both might need:

Yes, I know that's a lot of Scotch tape.  I tend to buy it in bulk.  We may run out of milk, diapers and toilet paper, but oh my stars we will always have clear adhesive.

Drawer #3 is now for mailing supplies ONLY:  stamps, envelopes and address labels.  Anyone who breaks this rule will himself be packaged up and shipped away:

And there you go.  I know your life is much richer with this knowledge. 

Thanks to Laura for the inspiration! 

Works For Me: Cloth Napkins

Before I get started, let me point you in this direction if you missed it earlier. 

Moving right along....

Here's a fun little thing I've done for years.  Instead of barreling through paper napkins (since goodness knows this family generates enough trash already), I made these simple little cloth napkins out of gingham.  There's no sewing involved--just cut 11x11 squares of gingham (available anywhere you can buy fabric, and it's usually very inexpensive).  Fringe the edges by pulling out horizontal strands starting at the top of the cloth; you only need to pull out 5-6 strands.  That's it! 

I was even able to find a cheap little basket at Hobby Lobby to store them in on our table's center.  We use them for regular, everyday napkin needs--when they become stained with spaghetti sauce they are cheap and easy to replace.  It saves a few trees and makes regular meals seem a little more special.

If you have a tip you'd like to share with all of Bloggityville, please leave your tip below.  Instructions for participation in WFMW can be found here.  Please remember to link back to this post so that your readers can find all the other tips. 

Oh, and one more thing--I've gotten quite a bit of feedback that the "themed" WFMWs (like last week's) are a real hit.  Would you like to see these more often?  Or do you prefer doing your own thing?  Please answer the poll below so I can get a feel for your preferences.

 

Reason #729 Why I Love Having Boys

Today five-year-old Joseph greedily swigged several gulps of root beer, sat back in his chair, and sighed happily as he announced, "Now I can't wait for the burp!"

Ice, Ice Baby

Here's the shrub just outside my front door:

In an effort to wear them out, I had my boys work on shoveling the glacier sidewalk.  After fifteen minutes of hacking away at it, their efforts looked like this (don't ask me what they thought they'd accomplish with the brooms):

All that stuff on the ground is not snow, it's solid ice.  When you step on it, your foot doesn't crunch down to the ground, like you'd expect.  Instead, there's no give--kind of like stepping onto an ice rink.  Though it's hard to tell from this picture, my beloved Razorback flag is frozen solid in this position:

   

We  are SOCKED in, with no meltage in sight.  School is already canceled for tomorrow.  Many, many people in my state are without power, though thankfully my family is toasty warm and wearing out the DVD player. 

And today, my five year old tried to convince me that the best cure for his headache would be a bowl of Cheetos.  That has absolutely nothing to do with the ice, I just thought it was funny.

Be warm!

On Eating Well And Losing Weight And Being Hungry Enough To Eat a Plate Full of Nails

We're now 15 days into the Year O' Eating Healthy in the Dryer household, and so far, so good.  I've managed to lose five pounds so far, without even giving much thought to exercise yet.  Baby steps, people.  (And no, that nice little photo to the right isn't me, it's a file photo, so stop trying to scrunch up your eyes to read the numbers on the scale.  You're totally busted.)

By the way, why is it that when a person first loses weight, they dismiss it by saying, "Oh, it's just water weight."  Like that's a bad thing that the weight is made of water.  I don't care if it's made of brain tissue, I just want it off my body.

For one of our meals this weekend, we ate turkey burgers on whole wheat buns, with sweet potato french fries.  It was was surprisingly non-horrible, and considerably healthier than the alternative.  I thought about putting tofu on the burger, just so I could include it in this blog post, but then I decided that bloggability was a really bad reason to buy tofu.  Come to think of it, has there ever been a good reason to buy tofu?

Another bizarre little trick is working for me right now, and it will demonstrate to you just how bizarre the innerworkings of my head is are is are...oh, shoot, whatever.  Anyway, I bought those little spiral bound index cards, and on each one I've written something to motivate me about losing weight:

Think about swimsuits this summer!

You don't want to get diabetes, do you?

If you stop eating when you're full, then when you're hungry again you CAN eat.

Corny, I know, but it's actually helping me.  I have two little booklets--one in my purse, and one in my kitchen, and I'm referring to them very often.  I'm trying to re-train my brain to think this way.  I'm thinking it will be especially helpful when I hit the I-lost-ten-pounds mark, because that's where I always fall off the wagon.

Lastly, these little jobbers are making this whole thing possible.  If I can have ice cream, I can do it.  And carrots?  CARROTS ARE MY FRIEND. 

Thus conclues the most disjointed blog post I've ever written.  Maybe it was five pounds of brain tissue after all...

Old Man Winter Has An Axe To Grind

If winter comes, can Spring be far behind?

--Percy Bysshe Shelley

I hope not, because we could use a little Spring right about now.  It has iced (not "snowed", it has actually "iced") nearly non-stop since yesterday afternoon, and the roads are like an ice rink.  Hubs and the boys are about to get out and see what essentials remain at the grocery store.  Our power has flickered a couple of times, and my boys have spent the morning in the back yard sliding on their sleds and smashing into lawn furniture.  It's a good day.

This weather shows no sign of letting up soon, so I've pre-posted a few things in case we lose power. 

Stay warm, wherever you are!

*UPDATED* The Momma Code

A few months ago, out on a walk with my kids, I met a woman in our neighborhood who, it turned out, lives almost directly behind us.  Kerry has two little boys; the youngest is only a couple of weeks older than my daughter Corrie.  She and her husband had only moved to the area recently, and we were both glad to meet another mom in the neighborhood.  We talked about schools and pediatricians and all the other stuff moms are required to discuss on their first meeting--then we traded phone numbers and went back to our respective houses. 

I called Kerry a couple of weeks later to meet up for lunch at a Burger King with a play place.  We had a nice--albeit loud--visit while our two year olds played.  Actually, her two year old played;, my two year old (who has three big brothers, and therefore thinks that all human interaction involves fists) attempted to drop-kick, body-slam and otherwise tackle my friend's little boy the entire time.  I was mortified and apologetic and mumbled every few minutes about how she wasn't sleeping well lately, or some other lame excuse.  Kerry was completely gracious, of course.  We parted, and I hoped my new friend would want to get together again with That Strange Family That Is Raising a Mean Girl.

The flurry of the holidays kept us from getting together, though our kids squealed at each other a few times from their respective backyard forts.  Early this week, I was so pleased when Kerry called to invite us to her house for a play date.  I dressed Corrie in her frilly best (if she was going to act like a bully again, at least she wouldn't look like one), and we headed around the block for our second meeting with our new friends. 

We arrived to find Kerry at the door, face white, on the phone with the doctor.  Her older son had a bad fall in the garage moments before and immediately wanted to sleep--she was scared he had a concussion.  She hung up and told me that the nurse said her son was fine as long as he didn't vomit, at which point he (of course) promptly vomited.  I immediately offered to take her little one home with me so that she could take her son to the doctor, and I brought him back to my house with Corrie.  As we pulled out of the driveway, Kerry looked at me, folded her hands and mouthed the words thank you with a look of desperation.  No problem, I mouthed back. 

As I write this, Corrie and her little friend are playing happily in the next room (so far only one body-slam, I might add), and I've been praying for my new friend and her older son at the doctor's office.  Our friendship consists of about 15 minutes-worth of conversation at this point, and yet we've both already had the chance to see each other at a particularly low moment.  It's the reason, I believe, why "momma friendships" seem to be such deep ones, and why we bond so quickly.  We're all on the same roller-coaster, after all.  It's as if there's an unspoken Momma Code that hangs in the air between us at all times:  This-is-hard-please-help-me.

In a society where asking for help is sometimes seen as a sign of weakness, motherhood forces us to reach out for others--it's simply too much for one person, sometimes.  It's the reason you watch a friend's child so she can take another one to the doctor, because you know how hard that is.  It's the reason you intercept a wandering toddler in the produce section, because the wild-eyed look of terror on the face of the mom two aisles away looks all too familar.  And it's the reason you take a meal to a friend who has morning sickness, because you've tried to fix a casserole between dashes to the bathroom.  You do it with the assurance that you will likely be needing such kindness yourself soon. 

So if things are smooth at your house today--if no one is sick or bleeding or fighting or grounded or has soccer/karate/dance/piano lessons--you can be quite sure that somewhere near you things are not smooth for another mom.  Find her, and do something. 

And if you're the one up to your eyeballs, reach out and ask for help.  Any mom worth her salt would sympathize and come to your rescue.  She has to.  It's part of The Code.

*UPDATED TO ADD*  Thanks for your thoughts of concern for my friend.  She called this morning to say her son is doing MUCH better today. 

Works For Me: Eating Well

I've told you that I'm trying to shed a few pounds this year, as is my Hubs, and I confess that I don't know much about healthy cooking.  I'm from the South--we dip it in butter, roll it in white flour, and fry the heck out of it.  And then we cover it in cheese. 

So, I'm counting on you to share some healthy recipes with us all, in this themed edition of Works-For-Me Wednesday: Eating Well.

My tip?  It's not exactly a recipe, but it's working for me right now.  I take a whole-wheat pita, cut it in half, and cut it in strips.  I heat it in the microwave (or oven, if you want it crispy) until warm.  When it comes out, I spray with it with canola cooking spray and sprinkle dry ranch dressing mix on it.  It sort of feels like I'm eating chips, or bread.  Sort of.  If you're doing Weight Watchers, this is only 1 point (if you use half a pita). 

For more recipes, Christy at The Abundant Life has started an eating healthy carnival, which I will be checking often for good ideas--you should too!  You can read about her idea here.  Also, my good friend MomRN2 is launching a new site today called Motivation Moments--it's all about exercise and healthy living.  Go check it out!

Please, share your healthy recipes with all of Bloggityville below!  WFMW guidelines can be found here.  If you don't have a blog, please share your recipe in my comments section!

Ew. Just...Ew.

In the category of Sentences I Actually Heard Today and Hope Never To Hear Again, here's this one from eight-year-old Stephen:

"Cool, Mom, LOOK!  It's half a bat!"

Yes, that's bat as in "winged mammal", not "wooden sports equipment". 

And yes, half of one.

Don't ask. 

Works For Me: A Big Box of Kleenex and a Sudafed Cocktail

I'm down with a nasty cold today and am a little too Sudafed-drunk to think of a clever tip to share.  So I'll pass today, but please, share your own WFMW tips below.  Any tips on how to kick a cold to the curb would be much appreciated.

WFMW guidelines can be found here.

Note:  I've been told that some of you are having trouble viewing the Mr. Linky columns properly.  If you're having this problem, just leave a comment and let me know.  I'll try to get it figured out.  Thanks.

Who Needs Cardio When You Have Jack Bauer?

I forgot to mention earlier that the biggest part of my 2007 weight-loss plan is FINALLY to join with the rest of America and begin watching 24.  Hubs and I rented the first season on DVD and began watching it over the holidays. 

OH. MY. WORD.  That has to be the most intense television ever made.  I remarked to Hubs that we can sit on the couch and watch this show and have our heartrate elevated to cardio levels.  Seriously. 

Feel free to leave a comment if you're a 24-lover, but don't you dare give anything away.  We're only on season one, episode nine!