I wrote the beginning of this post last year at Halloween time.
It is time...for my annual Halloween rant.
Autumn is my favoritist favorite time of the year. Always has been. Wood smoke, golden leaves glowing in the sunlight and standing out vibrant against the grey, the crackle crunch of crisp walks in cheek brightening breezes.
I am not one for the scare, the gore, the darkness of Halloween. Instead I relish the sweet scarecrows, classic jack o lanterns, adorable animal costumes, and candy corn crafts. Basically if your 3-5 year old enjoys it, so will I. Otherwise I will pass.
I miss the old days, where you could roam the streets with a pillow case and come home with bunches of candy. Actual candy - with the occasional spider ring. I was never actually allowed to use a pillow case, and my parents kept a fairly close eye on me (something I begrudged as my friends ran freely about with reckless abandon ) My parents also carefully screened my candy, never allowing gum, popcorn balls, unwrapped candy, apples, and other such things to be consumed.
Truthfully we live in a nice town. People leave bowls of candy out on their porches and trust people to take the designated amount - and for the most part it is followed. This blows my mind after living years in city of pillage and plunder. But there aren't that many bowls, or that many lights.
Trunk or treats are a nice concept. Adults can visit instead of being isolated and it creates a safe environment for the children to score their sugar highs. But they shouldn't be the only option.
I do not want my daughters dressed in cheaply made hooker costumes. Manufactures need to remember clothing size does not correspond with age, and even if my daughter was that age, she still wouldn't be dressed like that. A rant for another day on why are teen girls now sold as sex...another time.
I do not want my son in a flimsy costume so that when he inevitably brushes against something sharp - twig, branch, porch railing, Halloween decoration, sibling - his much desired costume will be reduced to shreds forcing us to say when people ask what he is " Oh, this is after the apocalypse super dude" or "this is zombie revenge super dude" or "this is post battle with ultimate villian x super dude, where super dude was a little worse for ware but victorious"
I despise that in either gender the costumes are so thin that I have to pray for a miracle on Halloween. It snows on Halloween people, in more states than one. This year we almost let Snickers wear his pajama replica of super dude so that he could be warm.
It wouldn't be quite so bad if the prices weren't so high. $52.99 for a child's Halloween costume? Are you kidding me? You know that Christmas décor that you have displayed right next to the costume, along with the aisles you are already stocking with cheaply made plastic toys? If I am going to buy any of that, I need to NOT spend $52.99 on a costume that due to previous mentioned events, may not make it past that night. Even if it did, two of my children grew almost three inches over the summer, and all but one has grown over five inches in the past six months. No one is going to fit it afterwards.
So next year I will make the costumes. If I hammer out who is being what in July, and start in August, I should be done by the last hour of trick or treating.
Now it is the afore mentioned August where I should theoretically be sewing like an animated fairy tale mouse in order to get five costumes done before the time that they must be worn. Yeah, nope. I have 3 storage tube - large ones where more than one child fits inside when they empty them onto the floor and use them as train cars - of costumes and dress up. They can find something suitable in there I am fairly certain. Or fake it. We actually do have one costume completed, chosen by Starlet, to go as Little Red Riding Hood, due to that the role of the wolf will be played by the dog. That is only four more costumes to go. Though Songbird is trying to goad me into making 7 costumes for the Renaissance Festival and then 4 additional costumes for Halloween, it is not going to happen. Unless they all want to go as skeletons. I am pretty sure I have enough energy to cut out all the white felt bones and hot glue them to black sweat sets. Better yet, they can cut out the bones. Think about all those gross motor skills they will sharpen. I will just bribe them with glow in the dark puffy paint stitch marks. That they will also do....this just might work.
Friday, August 30, 2013
I do not want my son in a flimsy costume so that when he inevitably brushes against something sharp - twig, branch, porch railing, Halloween decoration, sibling - his much desired costume will be reduced to shreds forcing us to say when people ask what he is " Oh, this is after the apocalypse super dude" or "this is zombie revenge super dude" or "this is post battle with ultimate villian x super dude, where super dude was a little worse for ware but victorious"
Get the picture - follow up
So how is my camera avoidance going?
I am doing better. It is always shocking to see myself in pictures, because somehow in my mind - despite daily mirror checks - I am still a size 12, have cheek bones, and a discernible waistline. Then I see the picture on the digital display and am like "whuck?" But I am trying anyway. I have not mastered the art of the selfie. I take them, but always end up looking like on of Spock's long lost descendants. (Though chronologically I would be one of his ancestors - who knows - maybe Spock's mom is one of my great great granddaughters...anyways...)
Though the theme of the "get the picture" was similar to what many other bloggers were posting around the same time - the moments we mommies are missing being included in, though we were there, because we are the behind the scenes operators, I have learned that "getting in the picture" is also about "getting" me.
Being a teenager is harder than it was when I was a teenager. I agree. And parenting a teenager is harder as well. But you know what has gotten really hard? Being a mom.
Being a mom used to mean that you got relegated to the ranks of frumpiness. That after you had birthed x amount of children in y amount of years, you were free to have a standard hair cut, elastic waist jeans, and a variety of t shirt and sweat shirts with cute animals on the front. You could be softer, with a poochy tummy, grey hairs, and lines at the corners of your eyes and lips. You smelled like baby powder and baking.
You also got to spend time indoors while the children sweated and sweltered outside, keeping a watchful eye on the children from a window while you "baked dinner" or "did chores" whilst you took lovely moments to breath deep and maintain your sanity. Children were free to roam the neighborhood within a given set of boundaries, and your mind could be at reasonable ease.
Now you must be MOM on steroids. You can no longer be soft, but must be fit and firm and wear the same clothes your teenage daughter does (because that is ever appropriate?) in a seductive and attractive manner that still allows you to breastfeed and maintain your standing at church. In heels.
You must hover over your children and be involved and stimulating and interesting to them - making sure they are using up every single spare second in some enriching either educationally or spiritually activity, otherwise they will never be able to measure up to Johnny-do-good down the street.
Don't raise your voice or spank. Be interested in everything they say and do. Respond with self esteem boosters that aren't generic.
What I see more than the grey hair, the extra 125 lbs, the forced smile, and the Spock eyebrow is such much worry and burden - how can I be that perfect mommy I am always falling short of being? Smash doesn't even know his colors yet! We are behind! Songbird questions everything from gender preference to God's existence - where have I failed?
Why do I not look fabulous? How can I let myself look like this? There are grey hairs, hairs on my chin - I am turning into the goat woman! 125 lbs overweight!!!! That is a whole person.
Whole person.
I am a whole person.
And Jesus loves me. That whole person. Not for the parent that I "should be" according to the "experts." Not for the way I "should" look. Not for the effort and strides I take at becoming that long list of "should" thrown out there by media, experts, and myself. But for who I am, this very moment, as I am. Jesus loves me.
And my kids love me too.
I am not going to loose anyone's love, or not be good enough to love, because Smash speaks in a variety of caveman grunts and points at the same age that his siblings spoke in sentences. Or because Starlet doesn't read entire books on her own yet. Or because Snickers still wets the bed sometimes. Or because they haven't been enrolled in any extra curricular activities in over a year, and I have liked not having to run around so much I may just keep it that way.
I am not going to loose anyone's love because I am pillow soft. I run with my children, dance with the dog, and go on walks holding hands with my husband. I can outwork any of them in an endurance test - except the dog, but that is rather unfair because he is supposed to work. Sort of like a Clydesdale horse. And if someone quits loving me because I more apple dumpling than apple bottom jeans, than that wasn't the love I deserve.
And you know what?
The same is true for every mother out there. Those burdens of not being the perfect mommy. Of falling short. Short tempered, short patience, short attention span (is that child still talking??) Of all the things you didn't do. Of all those things that make you feel that you aren't enough. That you aren't whole. Jesus wants you to forget those. To quit letting yourself think you are lesser because of them, and let His love fill those empty spots, until you are full. Be whole.
I am doing better. It is always shocking to see myself in pictures, because somehow in my mind - despite daily mirror checks - I am still a size 12, have cheek bones, and a discernible waistline. Then I see the picture on the digital display and am like "whuck?" But I am trying anyway. I have not mastered the art of the selfie. I take them, but always end up looking like on of Spock's long lost descendants. (Though chronologically I would be one of his ancestors - who knows - maybe Spock's mom is one of my great great granddaughters...anyways...)
Though the theme of the "get the picture" was similar to what many other bloggers were posting around the same time - the moments we mommies are missing being included in, though we were there, because we are the behind the scenes operators, I have learned that "getting in the picture" is also about "getting" me.
Being a teenager is harder than it was when I was a teenager. I agree. And parenting a teenager is harder as well. But you know what has gotten really hard? Being a mom.
Being a mom used to mean that you got relegated to the ranks of frumpiness. That after you had birthed x amount of children in y amount of years, you were free to have a standard hair cut, elastic waist jeans, and a variety of t shirt and sweat shirts with cute animals on the front. You could be softer, with a poochy tummy, grey hairs, and lines at the corners of your eyes and lips. You smelled like baby powder and baking.
You also got to spend time indoors while the children sweated and sweltered outside, keeping a watchful eye on the children from a window while you "baked dinner" or "did chores" whilst you took lovely moments to breath deep and maintain your sanity. Children were free to roam the neighborhood within a given set of boundaries, and your mind could be at reasonable ease.
Now you must be MOM on steroids. You can no longer be soft, but must be fit and firm and wear the same clothes your teenage daughter does (because that is ever appropriate?) in a seductive and attractive manner that still allows you to breastfeed and maintain your standing at church. In heels.
You must hover over your children and be involved and stimulating and interesting to them - making sure they are using up every single spare second in some enriching either educationally or spiritually activity, otherwise they will never be able to measure up to Johnny-do-good down the street.
Don't raise your voice or spank. Be interested in everything they say and do. Respond with self esteem boosters that aren't generic.
What I see more than the grey hair, the extra 125 lbs, the forced smile, and the Spock eyebrow is such much worry and burden - how can I be that perfect mommy I am always falling short of being? Smash doesn't even know his colors yet! We are behind! Songbird questions everything from gender preference to God's existence - where have I failed?
Why do I not look fabulous? How can I let myself look like this? There are grey hairs, hairs on my chin - I am turning into the goat woman! 125 lbs overweight!!!! That is a whole person.
Whole person.
I am a whole person.
And Jesus loves me. That whole person. Not for the parent that I "should be" according to the "experts." Not for the way I "should" look. Not for the effort and strides I take at becoming that long list of "should" thrown out there by media, experts, and myself. But for who I am, this very moment, as I am. Jesus loves me.
And my kids love me too.
I am not going to loose anyone's love, or not be good enough to love, because Smash speaks in a variety of caveman grunts and points at the same age that his siblings spoke in sentences. Or because Starlet doesn't read entire books on her own yet. Or because Snickers still wets the bed sometimes. Or because they haven't been enrolled in any extra curricular activities in over a year, and I have liked not having to run around so much I may just keep it that way.
I am not going to loose anyone's love because I am pillow soft. I run with my children, dance with the dog, and go on walks holding hands with my husband. I can outwork any of them in an endurance test - except the dog, but that is rather unfair because he is supposed to work. Sort of like a Clydesdale horse. And if someone quits loving me because I more apple dumpling than apple bottom jeans, than that wasn't the love I deserve.
And you know what?
The same is true for every mother out there. Those burdens of not being the perfect mommy. Of falling short. Short tempered, short patience, short attention span (is that child still talking??) Of all the things you didn't do. Of all those things that make you feel that you aren't enough. That you aren't whole. Jesus wants you to forget those. To quit letting yourself think you are lesser because of them, and let His love fill those empty spots, until you are full. Be whole.
Summer
In the eyes of many people, my children's summer has sucked. A lot. Like rotten eggs sucking - whatever that means. We didn't go on vacation anywhere, we didn't go to any theme parks, we didn't even go to a public pool - which was a regular occurrence several times a week for years in most of the children's cognizant memories.
So what did we do?
We grilled in our front yard - where they ran from the table to their outdoor toys and back to consume an entire jar of pickles in one sitting. Because everyone knows when you are eating outside the "Stay at the table until you have finished your food" and "Leave your food at the table" rules are no longer applicable. So you can run, and dance, and spit watermelon seeds from the top of the slide.
We chased chickens. A lot. We never intended to free range the chickens but it is what happened
* - and the chickens are adventurous and sassy and want to EXPLORE the world around them. So they (the chickens) have been hopping of fences, and climbing through hedges and thorns and subject occasional periods confinement due to lack of willingness to herd them. The term "chicken chaser" was coined and utilized with great frequency.
They picked blackberries. And ate them. Then they ate some more, staining their fingers and cheeks purple. And used them as paint to make pretty pictures. And used them as body paint to depict their internal organs. Strangely accurately with realistic coloring.
They weeded gardens
They planted trees
They rode bikes without helmets on a dirt road. They have helmets - more than one. They even occasionally wear the helmets without ever even getting near a bike.
We went to the library for activities and read lots of books - though somehow I missed signing them up for the summer reading program for the first time ever.
We went to the Children's Museum
They camped outside in a tent with the dog
They got a dog. Who came to us in dog form, not puppy form, and outweighs three of them put together. And is the best toy ever. EVER EVER.
They colored. I think I have gone through 2 reams of paper and 8 boxes of crayons. Not all the art work was saved due to a propensity of throwing it under the table they eat on instead of in a nice folder, but it happened and was joy for the moment of creating
They played in a plastic kiddie pool underneath a lilac bush by herb garden - so that their splashing scents were of lilac and mint
They got covered in dirt. I am not even sure that it is possible to see their original skin color anymore
They had bonfires and roasted marshmallows and cheap hot dogs. Some of which they even got to eat before the dog snatched them.
We stayed up late giggling, slept in, and watched too much tv.
And it is okay.
*The chickens are now FINALLY corralled properly in the coopaganza in the property we own across the street. The property that with any luck, and a lot more skill and patience, will someday be "the orchard" and "the berry patch" and house "the gazebo" with lawn décor making it "the story book land of enchantment." Oh yes, we are dreamers. But we have planted 6 trees and 8 berry bushes, so we have started.
So what did we do?
We grilled in our front yard - where they ran from the table to their outdoor toys and back to consume an entire jar of pickles in one sitting. Because everyone knows when you are eating outside the "Stay at the table until you have finished your food" and "Leave your food at the table" rules are no longer applicable. So you can run, and dance, and spit watermelon seeds from the top of the slide.
We chased chickens. A lot. We never intended to free range the chickens but it is what happened
* - and the chickens are adventurous and sassy and want to EXPLORE the world around them. So they (the chickens) have been hopping of fences, and climbing through hedges and thorns and subject occasional periods confinement due to lack of willingness to herd them. The term "chicken chaser" was coined and utilized with great frequency.
They picked blackberries. And ate them. Then they ate some more, staining their fingers and cheeks purple. And used them as paint to make pretty pictures. And used them as body paint to depict their internal organs. Strangely accurately with realistic coloring.
They weeded gardens
They planted trees
They rode bikes without helmets on a dirt road. They have helmets - more than one. They even occasionally wear the helmets without ever even getting near a bike.
We went to the library for activities and read lots of books - though somehow I missed signing them up for the summer reading program for the first time ever.
We went to the Children's Museum
They camped outside in a tent with the dog
They got a dog. Who came to us in dog form, not puppy form, and outweighs three of them put together. And is the best toy ever. EVER EVER.
They colored. I think I have gone through 2 reams of paper and 8 boxes of crayons. Not all the art work was saved due to a propensity of throwing it under the table they eat on instead of in a nice folder, but it happened and was joy for the moment of creating
They played in a plastic kiddie pool underneath a lilac bush by herb garden - so that their splashing scents were of lilac and mint
They got covered in dirt. I am not even sure that it is possible to see their original skin color anymore
They had bonfires and roasted marshmallows and cheap hot dogs. Some of which they even got to eat before the dog snatched them.
We stayed up late giggling, slept in, and watched too much tv.
And it is okay.
*The chickens are now FINALLY corralled properly in the coopaganza in the property we own across the street. The property that with any luck, and a lot more skill and patience, will someday be "the orchard" and "the berry patch" and house "the gazebo" with lawn décor making it "the story book land of enchantment." Oh yes, we are dreamers. But we have planted 6 trees and 8 berry bushes, so we have started.
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