Valentine's Day

Irelynn, my six-year-old, brought home a letter for me that she wrote in school.  Instead of telling you about it, I will just post a picture:

  In case you can't read it, it says:

"Dear Mom,
You are my valentine. Did you now i love you so moch?  More then anething exept JB! Owen looks like he's five or six right mommy?
love your chield
sencerlly Irelynn"

For anyone who doesn't know, JB stands for "Justin Bieber."  She is completely obsessed with him, and I will take it as an extreme honor to be loved more than anything EXCEPT Justin Bieber.  And yes, Owen is looking older these days.

Allowance Day

I have decided that it is time to get the younger kids to help out more at home.  My goal is to at least get them to pick up their own toys...and not poop in their pants.  I would say that is another story, but I have actually included "going pee and poop in the potty" as one of the daily chores for the boys on their new chore charts.  Unfortunately, I did not think that one through...the first time they use the potty they will happily check off that chore...and then later in the day have an "accident."  I use the term "accident" loosely, as they are now four years old and perfectly capable of making it to the bathroom on time.  As you can probably tell...I'm getting very frustrated with the potty-training thing, envisioning my boys accepting their high school diplomas in Pull-Ups, and have succumbed to pure bribery in an attempt to put an end to accidents.  I am literally paying them to poop in the proper place.

But I digress.  Back to chores and an actual allowance.  I've gone back and forth on the idea of allowance for years.  On one hand, I understand the benefit of teaching children to earn and spend their own money.  On the other hand, I also think that they should be expected to help out and be a part of the family...without the need to pay them to do so.  As you can probably guess, that hasn't been working so well.  Chores rarely get done...and when they do, it's only part way and often times somehow manages to make more work for me in the end.  I'm determined to change things...I have five children...I should be able to expect some help around the house, even if it means I have to pay them, right?

Irelynn is very excited.  She helped me create the chore charts.  She does all of her chores and then asks if she can do more.

Connor and Owen are excited, too.  The like to color all over their chore charts and sometimes erase Irelynn's chores.  They like brushing their teeth (one of the chores.)  They do not like picking up their toys.  This is usually a battle as one won't do it if the other one isn't "doing his part."  They pick up one toy and want to go mark it off on the chart.  And then go brush their teeth again.

Somehow we muddled through this week...and though they didn't do everything perfectly, I decided to award all of the kids allowance just to give them incentive to do better next week with the warning that NEXT time they need to actually do all of their chores.  I gave Irelynn two dollars.  She proudly carried them around, waving them in the air.  Then she lost one.

The boys wanted to know how much a dollar was (they each received one.)  Then Connor wanted to know who the funny-looking guy was on his dollar.  I finally told them to go put their money someplace safe.  Then Owen came up to me, crying.

"Connor ripped my dollar!"  He held up two pieces of a one dollar bill.

Connor just grinned.  I then made him give Owen HIS dollar.

That evening I put to bed two unhappy kids.  Owen was fine, because in the end, he had a dollar.  I didn't have the heart to explain to him that his dollar was not, in fact, going to buy another Wii game.  Connor was crying because he felt that ripping Owen's dollar was not just cause for taking away his dollar.  Irelynn was devastated that she worked so hard for her money and then lost it. (We did find it the next day, so all is currently well.)

I obviously have a lot to learn about children and allowance.  This was an epic Mommy Fail.  And I don't even have a clean house to show for it.  Perhaps I should start more simple by keeping envelopes or jars or something for each kid that I keep track of...or just forget it and give the boys chocolate coins for allowance.    

I wonder if I can still spend it if I tape the dollar back together.  If so, it is totally going into the beer fund.

Look Out, Jackie Chan...

We have signed our family up for Tae Kwon Do.  The whole family.  We thought it would be a great idea for exercise, discipline, and to just have something we could all learn and do together.  The kids were all very excited, (outside of the teenage girl, who went back and forth between being very excited to hating us for "forcing" her to do a sport.)  Our oldest was starting at a yellow belt because he had taken it before...and has made sure we are all well aware of his skills.

The youngest three take class very seriously.  Irelynn is a proud Tiny Tiger, and tries to execute every move with precision.  She has earned several stars in class already.  What Owen lacks in skill, he more than makes up for in enthusiasm and charm.  He has charmed his way into earning stars after class is over...even though his front kicks involve running forward, kicking so hard he nearly lands on his bottom, and letting out a warrior yell each time.  I'm not sure Irelynn appreciates that he can flash the instructor one of his smiles and convince her that he deserves a star, too.

(Owen and Connor taking the moves seriously)

(Irelynn taking it seriously, Owen and Connor not so much)

Bruce and I are taking the adult class with the older kids.  The class is very physically challenging for us older out-of-shape people.  Honestly, I think I can do the forms much better than the warm-up, which involves jumping jacks and push ups.  However, I did have a shining moment when it came time to spar.  I had to go against our oldest son, neither of us having any protective gear.  He was trying to look impressive, sending kicks toward my head and starting each move with a stance that looked like something out of a Kung Fu movie.  After the third kick toward the head, I got irritated and grabbed his leg, mid-air, and tripped his standing leg, bringing him to the ground.  Twice I ended up taking him down, and the instructor said (quite loudly, I might add,) "Dude...your mom's kicking your ASS!"  Damn straight.

Better yet was the fact that apparently the instructors all thought this was pretty funny...the next class we went to another instructor came up and said that he heard I had "kicked his ass."  Poor Jay.  I think he took it all in stride...for the most part, anyway.

We will be testing for our next belts at the end of the month.  Hopefully that will go well, and I won't find Owen trying to charm his instructor after testing.  I'm still waiting for the instructor to correct Connor at the end of class, where the class is supposed to say, "Sabum-nim, Kam-sa-ham-ni-da."  Connor says, "Sabun-nim, Feliz Navidad."

Of course, the instructors are probably more concerned about the time Owen peed on the mat in the middle of class.  Or the time Connor licked the windows while waiting for us to order gear in the office.  Or that the mother of this family of seven takes out her aggression on her children during sparring...

Candy, Puppies and Pee

I have three glorious hours with no children Tuesday through Friday, as the boys are into their second year of preschool.  I would like to tell you that I spend this time being constructive...cleaning or organizing.  I would even like to tell you I spend this time selfishly...sleeping or reading.  However, due to the new baby in the house, I have been pretty busy.  Onyx, (don't worry...it is a puppy, not another child that I let my husband name,) is a ball of fuzz with eyes that melt you into forgiving him for pooping in the laundry room...and then eating the poop.

Halloween was cold and rainy, leaving us with plenty of leftover candy.  Bailey and Onyx have been taking advantage of this fact.

Bailey will grab suckers from the bowl...and bat them down to the floor.

Then Onyx will unwrap the sucker...and lick it.

Needless to say, the candy has been moved.  I wasn't smart enough to move it, however, until about the third sucker.  

Luckily he has been good about going in his crate when I have to go pick the boys up from school...because I'm not sure I could have handled coming home to something disgusting after the boys showed me their project from school today.  The letter of the week is "H," so they do various activities that incorporate the letter and letter sound.  I would describe the project...but I think it would be best to just post a picture:

Yes...those are "Hairy H's."  No, I do not know where they got the hair from...and I'm not sure I want to know.  I think that these might skip the refrigerator and go straight to the circular file.  

I thought that this might be the most unsettling thing I would encounter today...but as anyone with children knows, never, ever think that things could not get worse.

I walked down the hallway, talking to my mother on the phone, and noticed a puddle on the floor...that looked like it was coming from under the door to the bathroom.  My first thought was puppy pee.  Upon closer inspection, I realized that even the puppy could not pee that much...and the door was closed, and I could tell the light was on in the bathroom.  I knocked on the door.  Owen answered.

"Mommy...my pee came out."

"In the potty?"

"No...on the floor."

I tried to open the door, but it was locked.  

"Owen...," I said, "open the door."

"I can't...it's locked."

"Can you unlock it?"

"Um, no."

My mom asked if I needed to go, trying not to laugh.  I told her good-bye, and tried to convince Owen that he could unlock the door.  I finally gave up, and ran to look for the little metal key that unlocks all the doors in the house.  In the meantime, Owen was getting frantic.

"MOMMY!!!  I CAN'T GET OUT!!  MY PEE-PEE IS ON MY FEET!"

I finally found the key, and opened the door, to see Owen standing in the middle of his puddle of pee.  

"Just...stay there.  Hold on...don't go anywhere!"  I was imagining wet footprints up and down the hallway.

As I ran to find some paper towels, I heard a crash.  I ran back to find Owen sitting in his puddle of pee.

"Mommy, I slipped on my pee!"

Onyx came running around the corner to see what the fuss was about and skidded across the floor...and into the wall.  Before I could catch him, he was already running off, leaving little pee paw prints all over the kitchen floor.  

I'm not sure which is worse to clean...a puppy or a preschooler.  

I definitely think I will be taking a nice, long bath tonight as I try not to think about hairy H's and puddle-skating puppies.  

Fractured

I  have managed to survive the summer.  I'm not sure how...some of it is actually kind of a blur...but I am here, and another school year has begun.

There are several things I could write about...so much has happened.  I could write about how we got a new puppy.  Or how the other day, when I had the puppy outside, the boys locked me out of the house.  I could write about many of the boys' antics...but I think I will take a moment to write about something more serious.  Something that has been weighing heavily on my mind, and something I have not written about before.  While those close to me know that the older two kids are not biologically mine, most people either think that I look young for my age...or probably, more likely, that I got pregnant at sixteen.  The older two have been in our custody for several years now, due to abuse and neglect on their biological mother's part.  While we try not to remember the past...there are always echoes and shadows...things that cannot be erased.  The biggest lesson I have learned throughout raising children is that those former years really are the most important...everything you do and say leaves imprints.  Some wounds do not heal.

When Marissa was little she had blond hair that would curl at the ends.  She had big, blue eyes, and perfect little lips.

"You are my 'Rissa, my only 'Rissa
You make me happy, when sky's are gray.
You'll never know, dear, how much I love you.
Please don't take...my 'Rissa...away."

I remember singing that to her.  She called me her "Mo Mo," because her mother would hit her if she called me "Mom."  Whenever we had to send her back to their mother's house...I would silently sing that song to myself.  I kept a binder, filled with notes and pictures, throughout the custody battle.  I would cry every time they came home with another story that they couldn't tell Daddy, because Mama warned them not to talk.

I remember crying myself to sleep every night...wondering what it would take before the children would be taken away from that situation.  How far would things go before the court decided that, hey, maybe that house isn't safe after all?

Please don't take my 'Rissa away.

They finally did get taken away...from their bio mom.  I was overcome with relief.  They were safe now.  They had two parents who loved them, and would protect them.  Everything would get better.  What I didn't realize is how much that would affect who they would become, and how they would deal with life.  I feel like those years fractured them...and I scramble to gather all the pieces...to glue them together...but I've never really been good at putting things back together.

She took my 'Rissa away.

The little girl that is now turning into a woman is angry.  She's angry at the world...and I don't blame her.  She's angry at me.  I try to be strong, and put up a wall to protect myself from the hurt...but it's difficult.  She doesn't know about everything we went through.  She doesn't know that I fell in love with her and her brother before I even fell in love with her daddy.  She thinks my words now are hollow.  Her words are filled with hatred.

I look at my younger three and hope that someday they will understand why their older siblings are upset all the time.  I hope that they will always know our love, and never have to feel that way.  I wish the older two would accept our love...and not feel that way ever again.

Hold your children.  Tell them "I love you," every single day.  Even when they are old enough to roll their eyes...because they need to know and feel that love.  I just hope, that maybe when they are adults, all those eye rolls will be worth it because they will have realized, all along, how much they were loved.  Until then, I need to brace myself...I need to ride out the storm.

Hopefully one day the skies will clear...and on the other side, I will find my 'Rissa again.

I will always wait for her.

Baby-sitting

I have been very bad about updating my blog.  I have no excuse other than the craziness of settling into a new house and the end of the school year paperwork and events sending me into a downward spiral of guilt and shame as I cannot keep up with it all.  The good news is that school is almost over this year...which will be a huge relief for about a week.  Then it will transform into a frustrating attempt to keep my children busy and entertained so I don't have to hear five voices echoing, "I'M BORED!"  I'm sure that by the end of June I will be counting down the days until school starts again.

I think I will write this post about adventures in baby-sitting.  No, not the movie, which is quite entertaining...but the mishaps that happened one evening when I left Jaylond in charge of all three younger kids.  I will just start with what we encountered upon our arrival home.

There was water, everywhere.  The boys had been taking turns filling cups up with water...and spilling them.  On the floor.  On the counter.  On the couch. Things were strewn all over the living room.  A Japanese glass box was broken.  The boys were missing.  Jay was busy trying to wipe up puddles in the kitchen.  I went upstairs, and walked into the boys' bedroom.  What I saw next was something I can honestly say, I have never, ever seen before in my life.

The dog had pooped on the floor.  The boys had picked up the poop...with their hands...and had thrown it at the wall.  There were clumps of DOG SHIT on their wall...and in their HANDS.

When I asked the 6-year-old what Jay had been doing when all of this happened, she said he had been on the phone and the computer the whole time.

Needless to say, he was not only responsible for cleaning the mess...but he was also grounded from the phone and computer.  (Facebook also ratted him out, as there was a posting, by him, during the time he was supposed to be baby-sitting.)

I don't know who I was more disgusted with:  Jay, the dog, or the twins.  The boys, once again, prove to me that I should NEVER put anything past them.  All of those horror stories you hear about toddlers doing...my boys have done them.  And invented more.  The good thing about school starting next fall is that they will be in preschool four days a week, for a few hours each day.  I'm not sure what I will do with myself.  I just hope I don't receive any phone calls from the school.

Date Night

My husband and I have not had a date since our anniversary.  We have also not watched anything rated above PG since...was "National Treasure" rated PG13?  Yeah.  So...I decided to be spontaneous.  I bought a bottle of cheap wine, and rented the movie, "Date Night" with Tina Fey and Steve Carell.  My husband humored me in my feeble attempt to create a "grown-up" night.

The night started off well.  The children all went to bed without too much trouble.  We poured the wine, and nestled ourselves down on the floor, using the wooden box of off-brand Lincoln Logs for a place to set our mismatched holiday wine glasses that we purchased years ago from Arby's (I think.)  We opened a bag of tortilla chips...the ones we have forbidden to let the kids eat because they are the good, expensive kind that we reserve for ourselves.  (Don't judge...the kids get most of the good stuff...this is the only food item we strictly reserve for just the two of us.)  The movie was okay...and had more swear words than I've heard Owen utter in the last week, mimicking his father.

Bruce put his arm around me.  I slowly turned around to see the silhouette of a small child standing silently behind him.  I gasped and jumped.  Bruce looked at me like I was crazy.

"What's the matter with..." he turned slowly.  "Holy Shit!!!"

Connor giggled.

He walked around, plopped himself down in Bruce's lap, and shoved his little hand into our bag of chips.  He began laughing at Steven Carell, who was repeatedly using the word, "whore."

((sigh))

The good news is that we were watching "Date Night," and not some scary horror flick.  Mainly because I would have had extreme nightmares of some ghost child standing behind me, watching me silently.  Oh...and that Connor would probably have been traumatized for life walking in on some horror flick.  But mostly me with the whole ghost child thing.  Seriously...that freaks me out.

Perhaps we will try again someday.  Perhaps we will have some loving family member offer to baby-sit so we can watch an adult film in the theater, where one does not have to worry about a child creeping up on them.  Or try to steal their popcorn.  Or say "EEWWWWW" if we try to kiss.

Until then, we will have to rent old movies that are new to us every rare once in awhile and anticipate the creepy ghost children...who turn out to be really cute and make it hard to be truly upset about "Date Night' being ruined.