What would you do?

This letter was taped to my door tonight. It's from Jacob in regard to his brother. In case you can't read it I will rewrite it here:

Dear Mom,
Why won't you let me beat up Joseph? Push-ups are way too easy now that we're older. Besides when you give him the punishment he doesn't get the idea to stop. But when you let me get him he learns to be afraid of me and to actually stop. It's your choice if you want fighting to stop. My ways best.

Love, Jacob

Sometimes I feel like I'm constantly refereeing these two boys trying to keep the peace in our home. Joseph loves to aggravate and irritate Jacob and usually Jacob is very good about controlling his anger but sometimes he loses it and will take off after his brother with me intervening before any harm is done. Aaron suggested recently that I should let Jacob beat him up one time so that Joseph would learn to respect his older brother and stop "provoking him to wrath." So recently, I decided to give this method a try. One evening after repeated provoking I didn't intervene when Jacob lost his temper and chased after his brother. It wasn't long before he caught up to him, pinned him down and started punching him in the back and face while Joseph yelled out for me to "call him off."

Reluctantly, I held back trying not to intervene. I felt unsure about this new approach but I was at my wits end. I let him continue for no more than a minute or two until I saw a pool of blood spilling out of his nose onto the hardwood floor. I told Jacob to stop and came running to Joseph's rescue. There was so much blood I started shaking and crying as we cleaned it up. "What have I done, " I thought.

I can't handle that approach so I guess I'll just go back to my previous approach of trying to teach Joseph to stop provoking his brother and teach Jacob patience and longsuffering. Jacob is right though, giving his brother push-ups for bad behavior is not leading to any less fighting in our home and I'm still left wondering what to do.

Suggestions anyone?

Motherhood

Yesterday Lauren walked into the room with her toy phone wanting to have a pretend conversation.

"Pretend I'm at college Mama,"she said.

"Okay," I replied holding my hand up to my ear.

After a few exchanges about her "classes" and "missing home" I wondered about what she might want to study in college...

"What do you want to be when you grow up Lauren?" I asked.

After a big sigh (apparently I should have known the answer), she wrapped her little arms around my neck and said decidedly....

"I want to be a Mommy."

Her answer reminded me of a poem I found years ago when my children were very young:

I'd rather be a mother than anyone on earth,

Bringing up a child or two of unpretentious birth...

I'd rather tuck a little child all safe and sound in bed,

than twine a chain of diamonds about my carefree head.

I'd rather wash a smudgy face with round, bright, baby eyes,

Than paint the pageantry of fame or walk among the wise.

-- Meredith Gray

Although my little one's faces are not quite as smudgy or pudgy as they used to be and their infant cries have now grown into quarrels and contention. I still count myself lucky each night to tuck them in bed and kiss them goodnight. It's still with pride and great pleasure that I fill in the blank under "occupation" with the word "Mother."

These thoughts were fresh on my mind when I spent the afternoon this week in Joseph's 2nd grade class sorting through hand drawn self portraits of what the kids had said they wanted to be when they grew up. They were adorable. As I flipped through each one I couldn't help but smile at the diversity in each child's dream. I've known many of these kids for years and so it was fun to see them imagining themselves in future careers that seemed incredibly fitting to their little personalities, even at this young age.

Another observation I noted was that none of the little girls had said that they wanted to be a mother. I found this very interesting and frankly a little sad. It made me reflect upon our modern world. Being a mother and homemaker seem to be a dying art. Many people today don't view motherhood & homemaking as an acceptable occupation simply because there is no monetary gain. I worry that the joy and beauty found in motherhood will never be realized by many women because they are trained to think that there is no value in doing something that doesn't earn them a paycheck.

The greatest joys in life cannot be measured in monetary ways. Who can put a price on the joy received during a tender moment with your child or pay you for the satisfaction you feel when you see your children learning such lessons as kindness, courage and perseverance? Money cannot buy that sense of accomplishment you feel when you see your children growing into leaders among their peers or watching their talents grow and develop as a result of your personal efforts on their behalf. There is nothing like the joy that comes when you are able to offer comfort and guidance to your children as they struggle to overcome their day to day challenges.

Not only do you benefit from watching them grow but in seeing yourself change and transform in the process. I've learned more about my own weaknesses and shortcomings by being a mother than I ever thought I would. It has been a humbling and sometimes painful experience to see your children bring out the worst in you. I used to think that I had the patience of Job, until I had children and was humbled into realizing how very far I had to go.

But they also bring out the best in you including the deepest levels of our your most human emotions. I used to think that I knew what love and sacrifice was until I held my first child in my arms and realized that without hesitation I'd give my life to protect him. I've learned about going without in order that my children might have more. More of me, more of my love and more of the comfort and security that each child craves within the walls of their home. And sometimes this means there's less time and energy to do the things that I want to do but its that sacrifice that strengthens my love for them and teaches me about priorities and what's really important. Giving up my portion of ice cream so that there is more to add to their bowls has never left me feeling deprived but surprisingly fulfilled as I see the joy that my sacrifice has given them.

I've learned more about God and have become closer to Him in the process. I've learned how much I need him to do my best and be my best. I've learned that on my own I fail miserably and that I don't like myself very much when I'm left to my own strength. I've learned about the kind of love that God has for all of us and the importance of treating others with the same kindness and respect that we wish our children would treat their brothers and sisters. I've learned about how it must hurt our Father in Heaven to see us treating each other unkindly as it hurts my heart to see my children inflicting pain on each other.

I've learned of the importance of trusting in God and being obedient to his counsel and guidance because he knows much more than I do and wants what's best for me just as I want what's best for my children.

I used to think that being a mother was all about what I could teach my children. Little did I how much I would learn from them. The lessons are hard and often ongoing but the daily struggles and experiences provide me with an array of opportunities to learn sacrifice, patience and unconditional love. These lessons and what they have done for me could never be measured in a monetary way, nor could the joy that they bring ever be equated to temporal wealth but they are nonetheless something of a treasure to me as I continue in my lifelong career as a Mother.

Life with Boys...

You know you have sons when you look up at the clock to see the time and can hardly read the numbers for all the bullets stuck to its face. Apparently our clock is more useful to them as a bulls-eye than anything else.

Not Lucky, just Clever

Wonder tickets are all the rage in Ms. Janes' First grade class.

She passes them out to unsuspecting students when she sees them staying on task or doing good deeds. When you get a wonder ticket you write your name on the back then drop it in a box on the teachers desk. At the end of the day she pulls 1 or 2 tickets from the box and the chosen students get to pick something from her treat bucket.


Every time I volunteer in Ben's class he is one of the "lucky ones" whose wonder ticket is picked.

"This kid is so stinking lucky," I thought to myself today. "There has to be at least 50 wonder tickets in there. How does he always get picked?"

On a side note, I'm convinced that there is such thing as a "luck gene," although it's most definitely NOT in my DNA. I've suspected for a while now that my oldest son inherited it from his father and I was beginning to think that Ben had it too, but not anymore.

Today, Ben let me in on his wonder ticket winning strategy.

"Mom, " he whispered in my ear at the end of class.

"You wanna know how I always get picked to do the treat bucket?"

I looked at him in wonder. He went on...

"I save up my tickets for a whole week. Then I put them in,......... all at the same time,..... right on top."

Of course!

Just then Ms. Jane announced it was time to pull wonder tickets before heading to the buses.

Ben gave me a knowing look.

"Benjamin!" said Ms. Jane, holding his ticket high in the air.

Ben shot me a smile with a twinkle in his eye.

"You're such a lucky boy Ben, you got picked again!" said his teacher.

I suppressed a smile as he walked to the front of the class to pick his treat.

He's not lucky, I thought.
He's just clever.

I love my little Ben.

Ben showing me his "Square One Art" picture he drew of himself at the beach.
(I love the snorkel nose)

Busted

This morning at breakfast Lauren was ratted out by her brother. I'd just given the kids their vitamins when I overheard Joseph telling his brothers some very interesting information:

"Hey guys,.... Lauren has a collection of these up in her room." he said.

"What?" Jacob replied.

"Yeah, I was up in her room yesterday and she has a whole pile of vitamins in a basket under her vanity!"

I looked at Lauren for her response to this accusation but she'd cleverly stuffed a spoonful of oatmeal in her mouth. Perfect timing. She chewed and chewed as I patiently waited for her response. Her big eyes looked straight ahead, a guilty smile spread over her face.

Her brothers busted up with laughter.

I was trying not to laugh too.

I went up to her room to confirm the story and sure enough on the corner of her pink little vanity sat 6 partially sucked on multi-vitamins.

Busted.

So Frustrated

Imagine a certain 7 year old boy (almost 8) yelling these phrases at you as he storms upstairs to his room after being asked to get his pajamas on 5 times (within a 5 minute time frame). Let the record show that the first 2 times were asked nicely, the third with frustration, the 4th or 5th time I totally lost it yelling at him like some crazy lady. Now, be sure to picture him saying these things with a great deal of emotion in his voice and tears streaming down his face.


"You hate me!"

"I feel like I want to run away!"

"Just kill me, kill me please!"

"I want a different family!"

"Just sell me, put a 'For Sale' sign on me!"


Okay, so tonight he didn't use all of these phrases. He actually used the 3rd, but I guarantee if I'd been recording him today you'd have heard at least 2 of the other ones too.

The above phrases have become Josephs fallback lines anytime he is scolded, corrected, reprimanded or "unfairly punished."

Tonight when I tucked him in bed he rolled away from me as I leaned in to kiss him goodnight.

Inside I silently groaned, frustrated that suddenly I'm the bad guy because I yelled at him instead of him having a single rational thought like, "Maybe if I had gotten my pajamas on the first or even second or third time she asked I wouldn't have been yelled at."

I'm not justifying my behavior, I know I shouldn't have yelled. Maybe if I was a better person I could handle the amount of annoying things he does in a 24 hour span and always keep my cool, always be patient, and never be irritated. But I'm not and I can't.

Aaron's at basketball right now so unfortunately I have no one to vent to. I'll probably end up deleting this post anyway so what the heck, I'm going to say it like it is....

He is the center of almost all fights/contention in our home. He has to be asked multiple times to do things, all the time. He is annoying like you would not believe. He cuts his siblings off verbally with comments that he knows will irritate them or make them mad. He intentionally torments and teases his younger siblings almost as if he takes pleasure in it. He takes FOREVER to do things......I could add more to this list but that's the gist of it.

Right now I'm feeling two things. Anger and sadness.

I'm sad because when he uses his "fallback phrases" it reminds me of my own childhood and how I similarly felt like no one loved me and I wanted to run away. I seriously thought about it a few times. When I think about him feeling this way too (which he genuinely does- he is not manipulating me) it makes me so sad.

I feel angry because he's so irrational in his thinking that he fails to make the connection that his choices and his behavior are what's leading him to being scolded, reprimanded, corrected or punished. I am not picking on him, I am not a mean Mom, and I do not love his brothers more than him. Yes, sometimes I yell at him, sometimes I lose my temper with him. I'm not proud of that. It makes me angry that I can't keep it together all the time. But seriously for him to use his fallback phrases and say those things when I do slip up? It's just not fair.

He has no idea how annoying he is and how hard I try. How much I've improved with biting my tongue and letting things go...
But it doesn't matter. None of it matters because he's genuinely hurt and in his little boy head I am picking on him, I am a mean Mom and I don't love him.

That is the worst part about all of this: He doesn't feel like I love him. It doesn't matter that I do love him or how many tender moments we can share or all the nice, sweet things I say and do for him. In his mind, I don't love him.

I'm reading a book right now because of him, it's entitled: How to really love your Child. It talks about kids who are loved not feeling that they are loved and how parents can better show their children their love.

I'm hoping it will help.

I'm tired. I'm going to bed.

A Lovers Poem

I have a wonderful friend that planned a special Valentines day gathering for all of us friends with our significant others. "A sophisticated night of Fondue and Poetry" she promised.

Everyone was asked to bring a love poem to share. One you'd written or one of your favorites. Aaron wrote me a poem that afternoon, he was was working from home. (He's not typically a poet). In fact it was his first poem ever and it was very cute.

And so, I figured I'd better write one too.

I'll share his later when I have more time to explain his innuendos. (: There were a lot of things that only I understood. I'd like to blog some of those stories at another time so we'll always remember what inspired his rhymes.

But here is the poem that I wrote for him. The picture is from one of our favorite beaches on Oahu. Makapu'u. Once Aaron wanted to go there late one night on a full moon to swim. It was this scene in my minds eye that I thought of when writing these words. Well,.... that and my husbands love....

Thanks Mary for giving me a reason to pen my feelings for him.



Your Love

Your love, like an ocean, pulled at my heart
as the tide pulls upon the shore.
Constant and steady, persistent melody,
Your love waited at my door.

A full moon, a quiet lagoon,
your waters drew me in.
I approached your shore; wanting but unsure.
I couldn’t resist diving in.

Immersed in your warmth
I swam in your waters looking up at the starry night.
You pulled me under beneath your waves,
Fear seized my unknowing heart.

I held my breath enjoying the stillness
of your underwater realm.
Swimming deeply, so peacefully,
I felt that I’d come home.

I came up for breath and gazed at the shore,
where a moment ago I’d been.
Then swam out deeper, and dove back under
holding my breath for him.

Returning to your waters, you pulled me under
and I swam in your depths again.
Only this time I chose to stay down under,
I chose to breath you in.

You filled me inside with a new kind of life,
breathing your love into me.
Drowned in the depths of your unyielding devotion
I finally began to see.

The beauty of, your tender love
within your warmest deep.
You flowed into the heart of me
and I never wanted to leave.

Your love like an ocean still pulls at my heart
as the tide pulls upon the shore.
Constant and steady a persistent melody.
I’ll be yours forever more.

-Andria Laws
2-11-11