Archives for August 2006

While Alex seems to have mastered the, um, liquid aspect of potty training, the, um, other aspect is proving a bit more challenging. And of course by “challenging” I mean “I could pull out every single increasingly gray hair in my head from frustration.”

As I nearly did yesterday afternoon.

And since A. generally gets terribly upset when he has an accident – resulting in your basic teeth-gnashing and garden-variety wailing – I usually have to calm him down a bit before I can inspect the, well, severity of the accident “site,” as it were.

Which I will not be describing in detail. Because I care about you.

So after yesterday’s sobbing subsided, I told A. to stand right. where. he. was. I was fearful that if he started to walk, the contents would, er, dislodge, and I’d have an entirely different kind of mess on my hands (not to mention my floors). I managed to move A. over to a towel I’d spread out while I gently – gently! – pulled off his underwear.

Underwear safely removed, I gently – gently! – made my way toward the bathroom. To, you know, dispose of some stuff. I was cradling those underoos like I was carrying fine china on a silver tray, and I can say in all honesty that I’ve never been so intent on not touching “china” in my life.

But it probably won’t surprise you, given my long history of grace and poise, that I tripped about two feet away the commode.

It never ceases to amaze me that, in times of duress, seconds seem to stretch on for hours, and the human brain can process several – lo, many – pieces of information in a very short span of time.

My brain, as it turned out, honed in on three critical facts:

1) Oh sweet lordy, I tripped.
2) Oh sweet lordy, I’m carrying poo.
3) Oh sweet lordy, WHAT IF I DROP IT? WHAT IF I DROP THE POO?

And in a moment that would certainly be featured on SportsCenter if cameras had been in place and if I hadn’t been juggling, you know, DOO-DOO, I recovered in such a way that I in fact propelled the substance in question straight into the commode.

Like a lay-up. Or something.

You would probably feel really sorry for me if I told you that the flushing sounded like wild applause, so I won’t tell you that part. But I think you would’ve clapped if you had seen my mad skillz in action.

By the way, as I was “taking it to the hoop,” the underwear never left my hands and protected me from the poo like a shield, which probably had something to do with the fact that Batman’s picture was all over them. Poo-repelling is one of Batman’s lesser-known powers, apparently.

And thus concludes Episode #3,293 of Things I Never Experienced Before Motherhood.

The joy, it would seem, is unending.

Since several people mentioned that they liked the recipe for the easiest casserole in the free world last week, I thought that this week I’d share a salad recipe that I use a lot. It takes about 5 minutes to put together, and it looks really, really pretty when you serve it.

2 hearts of romaine, chopped coarsely
1/4 cup diced red onion (cut off a quarter of the onion, run it through your vegetable chopper, throw it on the lettuce)
1 cup broccoli florets (buy them in a bag if you’re in a pinch time-wise)
2 cans mandarin oranges, chilled and drained (I keep my mandarin oranges in the refrigerator so they’re always at the ready)
1 1/2 cups chow mein noodles (I use LaChoy)

(This apparently is the post of Many Parentheses.)

(You don’t have to use the parentheses when you make the salad.)

(Ahem.)

Anyway, the colors are beautiful next to each other, and if I’m taking the salad somewhere I’ll arrange the oranges and chow mein noodles all pretty-like. :-)

Best of all, this salad is great with any dressing – Ranch, vinaigrette, Italian, etc. – you can use whatever you have on hand.

Works for me!

For more great WFMW ideas, go see Shannon at Rocks In My Dryer.

Jeana is asking some really interesting questions about people’s perceptions of and reactions to homeschooling (with some strong observations about people’s reactions to large families, too). The discussion starts here and continues here.

Great bloggy food for thought over there. I love how Jeana takes on topics that don’t have easy answers, and she does so with grace and sensitivity and humor.

Go look. You’ll like. I surely do.

The little man has developed a new trick!

Arguing!

I’m so not ready for it.

I’ve only noticed it in the last week or so, though he may have been arguing long before that, but it’s been so hot that I have struggled being, you know, observant. Because, I mean, if it’s a matter of staying cool or paying attention to my child’s behavioral trends, I don’t think it’s a big shock to any of us that I’ll just be nudging that thermostat down a little bit if you don’t mind ’cause it’s getting a little stuffy in here.

So yes, back to the arguing. Basically (and seriously, now), here’s the drill: about six times out of ten, if I say, “no,” – to anything, really – his reply is, “But I say ‘yes’!”

And then my head spins on its axis four times before the fury of middle earth erupts and I hiss dementedly that as inconvenient as a trip to time out might be, it’s far better than remaining in the room with me. Who’s about to lose it.

I’ll explain.

You know how there are some people who can’t take the sound of a crying baby? For whatever reason, that never bothered me. I have some strange ability to block out the crying, to not even notice it, really, unless it’s 3 in the morning. Because if it’s 3 in the morning, a feather could fall from one of Alex’s pillows and hit the carpet in his bedroom ever-so-gently and I’d pop out of the bed like a cannon. It’s a funny thing, the sensory experience of motherhood.

But just like some people can’t handle repetitive high-pitched wailing, I can’t handle sass. CANNOT. So this whole Talking Back Adventure – it makes me crazy. It shoots my blood pressure into the stratosphere, and I suddenly find that those people who suggest that you count to 10 before correcting your child’s behavior – well, they’re pretty much genius smarty pants people. Or something. Because if I DIDN’T count? If I just jumped straight into the disciplinary waters? It wouldn’t be pretty, my friends. What it would be is Meltdown Central, ALL DAY LONG.

For me. Not the child.

But wait! There’s a lesson!

A couple of days ago, after Time Out #14, after I was up to my ears in frustration because the child, he would not listen, it occurred to me, in a Big Gigantor Moment-O-Humility, that I’m really no different. That while I may have gotten to an age where I don’t talk back to my parents, necessarily, I do talk back to God all the time.

All the time.

Only with me, it’s not so much rebellious words – it’s rebellious actions. It’s selfishness. It’s my arrogant belief that even though God is clearly moving me in a certain direction, even though I know and trust that He has my best interest at heart, even though I’m 36 years old and totally get the concept that obedience brings blessing – I (figuratively) stomp my foot, put my hands on my hips, and say, “NO! I’ll do it this way! THIS WAY!”

And I wonder if maybe that’s one reason why A.’s behavior of late bothers me so much, if maybe that’s one reason why his defiance shoots my pulse rate up to 492. Because really, when I see him acting like that, it’s sort of like looking in the mirror. And not liking what I see.

There’s probably more truth in those last two sentences than I care to admit.

But you know what? There’s a little hope in that analogy, at least for me. Because I know in my heart of hearts that God’s grace and mercy know no limits. They’re boundless. Free for the asking. And knowing that truth convicts me of the fact that I need to be on my knees, every single day, asking God for the strength and the wisdom to parent with intention, so that when Alex looks at his daddy and me, he sees the same picture: two people who want for his heart to be obedient, for his will to be lined up with ours, and for him to see – so clearly – that we love him deeply, endlessly, unconditionally. For A. to see two people who have grace and mercy to spare – and who extend it, liberally, to him.

That’s not to say that Alex’s behavior won’t require discipline. Of course it will. Sometimes consequences are our greatest teachers. But I need to remember – so I’m reminding myself right now – that there is absolutely no reason that those consequences can’t be administered with grace and mercy and patience and love. Because, quite honestly, I can’t think of a single instance in my life when God has handled me any differently – stubborn though I may be.

And the trip down the long road to humility, it continues….

It’s long, granted – but oh, Sweeneys – how I miss thee.

p.s. Sorry if y’all subscribe via a feedreader and got a “missing post” error – I was trying to post another video, but ultimately decided it might not be “family friendly” enough. :-) Just FYI.

Here in the South we’re pretty big on manners. You can call us old-fashioned, and that’s okay – because we are. And we like it that way.

When I was growing up, there were, as far as my mama was concerned, some hard and fast etiquette non-negotiables: saying “yes ma’am” and “no ma’am,” greeting people – especially elders – with a smile and a “how are you,” and writing thank you notes that not only mentioned the specific gift but also enumerated all possible uses of it. You know, something like this:

“Dear Mrs. Vandingham –

Thank you so much for the beautiful Eternal salad plate that you gave D. and me for our wedding. I cannot wait to use it to serve my mama’s great broccoli salad, and who knows? I may even get daring and try a homemade Caesar. And with all the baking I do, I know your gift will be used to serve countless pieces of homemade lemon pound cake. We are so grateful for your thoughtfulness, and we appreciate you sharing in our joy during this most memorable time.

Love, S.

Side note: when D. and I got married, I actually got a thank you note for a thank you note I’d written. I don’t think D.’s mother has ever been more proud.

Over the last four or five weeks I’ve had a lot of people ask me if I have been “freaked out” by the increase in readers here at my blawg. And initially, yeah, I was. If you can imagine having a certain amount of people stop by for six or seven months, and then suddenly, over the course of a couple of days, you have that traffic times ten – and it doesn’t go away – it’s a little overwhelming. It’s one thing to put your life and your family’s life “out there” when you have a pretty good idea of who all is reading. It feels different somehow when you don’t necessarily know everybody and – here’s the strangest but nicest part for me – those people you don’t know start saying really kind things about what you’re writing. I’d gotten pretty used to the notion that no one would ever find my blog unless I was the one to tell them about it – so the very idea that you’re sitting there right now, reading this – well, it blows my mind just a little bit.

Because did nobody bother to tell you that I’m a GOOB?

All that to say: I’m okay with the numbers now. I really am. It doesn’t even freak me out anymore. And if people stop reading, that’ll be okay, too. Because, really, the blogging thing has been good at every single stage – even back when I was begging people to comment.

And also to say that, given my Southern tradition, I’ve been a little remiss with something:

Dear Stranger Friend – (hey. that’s you.)

Thank you so much for taking time out of your day to stop by my little corner of the interweb. I should probably apologize in advance for my excessive use of coordinating conjunctions, my dependency on sentence fragments for effect, and the inexact nature of my diction (see “stuff,” “a lot,” “things,” etc.). Which reminds me: I can’t promise that you’ll always read the most finely crafted sentences when you visit here, but you will always see my heart.

It’s sort of a work-in-progress, the BLAWG, and there’s probably way too much talk of pickles and catfish for anyone’s taste, but, well, it’s home. Virtually, of course. So put your feet up. Have a diet Coke. Sit a spell. And know that you’re welcome anytime.

I pray Philippians 2:1-11 will always be the order of the day ’round here. And I’m grateful – SO grateful – for the privilege of sharing in just a little bitty part of your life. You know, the bloggy part. :-)

Love, S.

Happy Monday, everybody!