Remnants

Sometimes life passes by so quickly that all I see are the remnants of what has recently transpired right under my nose. 

Other times, I am hiding in the other room and eventually must face the consequences.

{remnants of a clean car}

We seldom get the car washed, so  Craig took advantage of a local high school fundraiser 

and took the car to get hand washed on Saturday. 3 hours later, it looked like this.

And, it still does.

{remnants of a zoo}

Sunday morning play involved creating animal enclosures all 

over the house (and I mean all over) along with awesome zoo maps. Sadly, 

this one had to be cleaned up in a hurry before our home teacher came over.

{remnants of a weekend}

Found this beauty outside my bedroom door on a Monday morning.

Not sure what was happening here...stuffed animal toboggan, perhaps?

Anything is possible with these chickies.

{remnants of breakfast}

I love that Lexa pulled out the big guns to get to the milk at the bottom 

of her cereal bowl. I mean, she may not have been able to reach it otherwise...

We've Got Spirit (Yes We Do...)

Spirit Week at the girls' school this week. Long socks, crazy hair, and pajamas abounded. Oh, and there was also "dress like a hero" day. Julia chose to dress like me; very flattering I know, but I suspect it might be because she wanted to wear my clothes and earrings to school. Lex got in on the action and dressed up, too. It's par for the course for little Miss Actress, who usually has 1-3 costume changes a day, so she was definitely in her element. (As you can see below, she is perfecting her rapper pose. You never know what kind of role she might be auditioning for next.)

In other news:

 Craig continues to brave the summer heat, spending his mornings digging holes, planting trees, and installing irrigation lines in our barren backyard. I tell you, it sure is lovely to see a little bit of green out the back windows instead of desert brown covering every single inch.

I hit the Goodwill half-off sale like a maniac yesterday, searching for materials for a top-secret holiday project I'm working on. 3 trips to two Goodwill stores in one day. Now that's what I call a Saturday. (If the project doesn't turn out the way I want, it can just stay secret, too. That's the beauty of not spilling the beans, friends.)

Lexa asked me today, while she was putting the silverware away and I was cleaning in the other room, "So, you want the kids to do ALL the work?" It's so wonderful to be appreciated.

After I told Julia that I had just said something that wasn't meant for her ears, she goes, "You should always expect my ears to be listening." (This is true...and I should also always expect her to read my text messages.)

Mornings are cooling off just the tiniest bit, but the mugginess has got to go. Oh, and also the mosquitoes that are eating us alive every time we go outside.

Looking forward to putting the kids to bed as soon as possible (thank you, earlier sunsets!) and secret projecting the night away...if I can convince Craig to lend me a hand, that is. Hope your weekend was beautiful!

Friday Confessions (The "Sometimes" Edition)

Sometimes, in the interest of eliminating clutter, saving time, and/or preserving my sanity, I throw things away. You know...other people's things. Crayons. Polly Pocket shoes. Batteries that may or may not work. Half empty snack bags. Art projects. Errant tubes of lip gloss. Peter Piper trinkets. Abandoned toothbrushes. Rocks. (Yes, there are a lot if those around here, and some of them even have names).

Sometimes I feel bad about the above. And then no one notices or misses any of it. So then I do it some more.

Sometimes I wish I could throw Husband's stuff away, too. But then I think of the time that I gave the girls our entire packet of insurance paperwork to use for scratch paper because I thought we had cancelled the policy. (We hadn't. They had to send the paperwork again.) And so now I don't throw his stuff away anymore...because he just might notice.

Sometimes I go to Target for diaper cream and I buy diaper cream and also three shirts for myself. (Only when they are only $3 on the clearance rack, though, I promise.) Because...

Sometimes I just want to look cute.

Sometimes I chew a piece of gum when I should brush my teeth instead.

Sometimes I tell my kids "no" even before they have the chance to spout off their question and/or request. As in, "Hmm-mm, it doesn't matter what you want right now. Just...no."

Sometimes I don't make the kids eat any vegetables with their dinner.

Sometimes I make myself a peanut butter and honey sandwich for lunch even when the kids aren't having one. With chocolate milk. And Pirate's Booty.

Sometimes my obsession with Pirate's Booty reaches the point of eating it out of the bottom of the toy bag where it has tragically spilled. (It's good stuff, matey...that thar be the truth.)

Sometimes I bring a bag of Pirate's Booty in the car with me when I pick the girls up from school.

Sometimes I share it with them.

Sometimes I don't.

Sometimes I realize at 5:00 pm that I am out of the tomato sauce that I need to make Spanish rice with dinner.

So, sometimes we use our Burger King coupons instead.

Okay, I think that I have made sufficient confessions for today.

Because sometimes Craig reads this. And I don't want to give away all my secrets. 

If It Ain't Broke...

Well, I knew that it would happen eventually; one of our kids would probably break a bone. What I wasn't prepared for was that my baby would be the first to do it.

Yep. Spencer fell off the bunk bed steps on Friday afternoon and landed awkwardly on his arm. He has probably fallen hundreds of times in his short little life, but has never had any issues until now. He was pretty fussy over the weekend, so we decided to take him in to his regular doctor on Monday morning just to be sure everything was okay. Even as I was making the appointment, I was certain that he was fine, (I mean, the kid never stops!) and his doctor even thought that he had probably just bruised his collarbone or something. She ordered x-rays anyway, because she is super thorough (which is just one reason why I love her) and called later that day to let us know there was an actual fracture. It's in his cute little upper arm. (Because everything on Spencer is cute and little, in case you didn't know.)

We didn't even get a sling for him until Wednesday when we went and saw a pediatric orthopedic doctor. (No cast, though...the fracture doesn't go all the way through the bone and should be completely healed in a couple of weeks, thank goodness.) He hates the sling. In fact, the worst part about that appointment (besides trying to entertain a busy baby for almost an hour while waiting in an exam room) was trying to get that thing on him. (Oh, and also the part where I wouldn't let him climb on the chair and turn the lights off while the doctor was in the room. He was pretty upset about that, too.) (Spencer, not the doctor).

Yesterday he only wore the sling for half the day, but I was better about making him keep it on all day today. He still cries and runs when he sees me coming towards him with it, but once it's on, he does okay. And, he is slightly more careful with it on, not using that arm quite as much as when he has it off. (He still uses that arm more than I would like, though.) (You know, 'cause he's kind of a maniac.)

Hopefully in a couple of weeks, he will be completely better and this month of falling and x-rays will be behind us.

(I wonder if our insurance is wondering about all of these "accidents" that are going on at our house these days...)

On Perfection

Today I read this wonderful post on my sister's blog. (Shameless plug, I know, but if you read it, you will be glad you did.) She lists five reasons why you are a good enough parent. You. Me. All of us.  It made me laugh, nod heartily in agreement, cry, and then laugh some more. It got me thinking about our obsessions with perfection (both individually and as a society) and how hard we are on ourselves when we don't achieve what we imagine to be perfection: a perfect life, the perfect home, perfect hair, a perfect body, perfect talents, (insert insecurities here.) You name it, we wish we had it, or did it, or looked it, and when we realize, or remember that we don't, somehow we see ourselves as deficient, perhaps even undeserving of love, or a wonderful life.

So, I say to us:

Stop.

Stop now.

Because yes, the Lord asks us to be perfect, but not to set us up for failure. Not so that we can look in the mirror and scrutinize every sag, wrinkle, and stretch mark. Not so that we glance around our messy, or small, or undecorated homes and shudder with embarrassment. Not so that when we consider our child-rearing missteps we declare ourselves the worst parents in the world. In fact, I'm pretty certain that most of the things that we obsess about are things that really don't matter at all in the scheme of things. I've never read one scripture deriding crumbs on kitchen counters, or choosing a bad paint color, or cellulite. (But maybe there's one out there, in which case I'm in BIG trouble.)

No, the reason He asks us to be perfect is because He wants us to try. He wants us to try hard. To have a good life. To be kind. To reach out to others. To love without judgment. To help someone in need. To support and sustain. And He wants us to remember that we need help, that we cannot do the things that He has asked us to do without Him being part of the deal, without allowing Him to be the partner He has promised us He will be if we let Him.

There will be bad days, where there are dishes in the sink and crumbs on the floor, and something that smells bad in the fridge that we don't have time to root out and toss. There will be days when the Patient Parent we would love to be takes a backseat to CrazyRantingLunatic Mommy or Daddy. Days when we watch too much TV, or don't answer the phone, or aren't there for a friend. There will be days when we are so sad, or anxious, or tired, that we are certain we will not be able to function at all.

And that's okay.

Because each moment, each day, we are granted another chance. And even if we can't do better right then, or even in the next moment, there will always be another second and minute and hour after that for us to keep trying.

So, I say, carry on. Know that you do amazing things. Know that you are loved, that you fulfill a unique role that can never be replaced.

(Spencerkins, who cannot walk perfectly in high heels but loves himself and keeps trying anyway.)

And, well, if none of that helps you, then think of this: reaching for perfection and falling short sure seems a whole lot better than attempting mediocrity and missing entirely.

Boy, do we fall short. But that's just fine.