Freak Out

All right, I'm coming clean.

Again.

I'm a control freak.

Seems like every few months I have to make this cathartic little announcement in order to function in a life that absolutely does NOT allow for controlling everything.

I've long been known as "The Plotter" amongst my friends. There's nothing I like better than planning some huge things and having it come off perfectly (i.e. surprise parties, dinners for 50+, etc). This is a good use of my controlling-type skills because while I might go a little crazy in the planning phases, things do tend to com off beautifully. And if they don't, I have no one to blame but myself.

There's also nothing I like better than planning out every minute of every day with my two beautiful girls and my Dear Boy.

I think you can guess how good a use of my skills that is.

Just this morning, I had plans to sleep in after a very disrupted night's rest before calling the doctor's office, taking the girls in, bringing them home for lunch, and spending naptime doing something important like hanging my last few pictures in the new house. When the phone rang at 6 a.m., however, I knew it had to be the bus barn calling Dear Boy to come in and drive that morning and that if it was, all my plans would be ruined. As DB jumped out of bed to get the phone before it woke the (finally sleeping) kiddies, I prayed I was wrong. I told God quite plainly that He had no right to do this to me, I WAS sleeping in, and that had BETTER not be the bus barn because, gosh darn it, I wouldn't stand for it!

It was. And I did.

But not until after I moaned and pouted and guilted DB into calling back to see if anyone else could come. They couldn't.

Thank goodness.

See, I needed this kick in the pants. After I dragged myself out of bed and started moving, I realized how childish I was being. DB deserved some extra sleep, too. The kids were sick--it's not like they were plotting against me (though it did feel like it). I realized that, frankly, if I wanted to insist on being a sour puss about this whole thing I could and then everyone would be miserable.

I've been behaving this way for a week or two now: Trying to force everything to go my way. Suddenly, though, I feel like a huge weight has been lifted off my chest. I can't control it; it's not in my hands. The best I can do is adapt to the cards I'm given and, let's face it, it's a lot easier to do that than it is to be in charge, once you humble yourself.

So I thank God today for crying babies and early morning phone calls. One of these days I'll learn to separate useful controlling with useless controlling. Until then He, at least, has enough patience to put up with me and wait.

Thank God.

Parenthood's a Punk

A few weeks ago, I began feeling like I really had this two kid thing down. Routines were going nicely, Ladybug was being extremely well-behaved, StrawBee was sleeping longer, and Dear Boy and I had more time for each other than we had had in a while. I began thinking, "Man, this isn't nearly as hard as I would've thought." I'd also been reading MckMama's blog and telling myself, "Hey, maybe I could do that. Many small children all in a row would be fun!" I was surprised and impressed with my ability to handle my small brood, and just generally cheerfully pleased with my life.

Parenthood, however, is a punk.

Within a few days, all of my smug self-satisfaction lay in pieces around my feet. Ladybug had shown a sudden penchant for picking on her sister and pitching screaming fits 10 times a day. StrawBee caught a nasty cold and wasn't (still isn't) sleeping at night. Dear Boy tried to help me with the suddenly out-of-control kiddies and fell behind at school, forcing him to turn all of our "us" time into "DB and studying" time.

I exerienced a 180 in my attitude towards my children and the possibility of more. (More?! Are you kidding?! I'm ready to sell these ones to the highest bidder!) I looked in the mirror and realized that for the first time since LadyBug had been born, I was happy with my non-pregnant body (I always love my pregnant body--post-partum not so much; an attitude I'm working on) and thinking maybe I don't really want to stretch it out again.

Fascinating, isn't it, how just a few days can completely change one's outlook? Fortunately I've learned not to take any outlook changes that occur on less than 4 hours of sleep seriously. While frustrated, out-of-sorts, and exhausted, I keep telling myself that just as the calm couldn't last forever, neither can the craziness.

Right?

Brag and Blog Friday!

And it's here again! Your chance to talk about what you (or your loved ones... or your enemies, I suppose, for that matter) have been up to that's absolutely amazing. Let me know what you've been up to, or leave a link to your blog post discussing the same thing!

My brag this week is on a dear friend of mine whose current moniker is The Half-Mad Housewife (that's H. H. for short). She's started a new blog this week and though she hasn't gotten any full posts up yet, I am VERY excited. Her dry sense of humor and clever insights are exactly the kind of thing I want to read in a blog. Check out her blog here!

Way to go, H. H. And tell T. N. O. that I'm so glad he managed to think of such a clever nickname for himself. =)

Flirting

...with my husband.

Dear Boy and I have a game going. The objective: To see who can render the other completely speechless. The rules: Making the other speechless with anger doesn't count.

Darn. And that was my specialty. (Just kidding, really. DB doesn't get angry. And no, I'm not kidding about that.)

I was winning, and doing a fine job of it, too. Being of a literary bent, shocking one-liners tend to come to me a little more easily. DB gets some good ones, but only if I shut my mouth long enough for them to come out. And since I usually suffer from diarrhea of the mouth (i.e. I cannot hold my tongue to save my life), this doesn't often happen.

Yesterday, however, he won a great victory. In the midst of our regular banter, I asked him jokingly if he needed to go take a cold shower. He just laughed and didn't have an answer (score for me!), then wandered off.

"Hey, where're you going?" I called after him. He didn't answer. So, being the curious girl I am, I followed him.

Only to find him standing in the shower. Sopping wet. Completely clothed. And freezing.

I think I snorted because he looked at me, his eyes innocently wide, started to step out of the shower, inquiring kindly, "Would you like a nice, cold hug?"

I completely lost it and laughed for 5 minutes without stopping (while running from his nice cold hug, I might add). I'm still giggling now.

He won that round, but he better watch out. The stakes are getting higher and I smell some (harmless) pranks in his future if I can't re-secure my lead. Any suggestions are welcome, bwa ha ha...

...with pregnancy.

No, this isn't an announcement (sorry, Mom!). Just slightly philosophical drivel.

I took a pregnancy test this morning, for myriad reasons. We weren't looking for a positive right at the moment. Frankly, with the two kids, the new house, the missionaries moving in, Devin's school, and my attempts at business, we've got our hands full enough!

So why, then, was I disappointed not to get that positive? Because I thought I would? Because we've had problems getting those positives in the past? Because I'm insane?

Probably in the morning, when I'm weighing myself again, I'll be grateful. At the moment, I just want to curl up and... blog.

...with disaster.

Ladybug has been a real challenge the last ten days. It's like she realized, all at once, that StrawBee really isn't going to go away. Suddenly, she's been hitting, pushing, and generally tormenting her sister as well as screaming, kicking, pouting, and generally tormenting her parents. In desperation, we've instituted The Stamp Book. Ladybug can earn up to three stamps a day through good behavior. If she earns three stamps by the end of dinner, she can have a cupcake.

Since this new system seemed to be going reasonably well, I chose to take her with me to Walmart this morning to buy ice cream, cookies, hot cocoa, and candy for my latest church and family projects (happy wedding cake, David!). Obviously a dangerous plan. Despite all temptations, however, Ladybug did amazingly well at the store and earned herself her first stamp for the day!

It wasn't until we got to Nana's house to drop off a few things that it went downhill.

First of all, I had to use the lady's room (remember the pregnancy test?). I decided to lock her out because, on occasion, I have a sudden urge for privacy. She took serious offense at such a thing and immediately stormed into Nana's room to pull out all the wrapping paper she could find and walk all over it.

You can imagine I wasn't too happy with her when I found out what she'd been up to. I told her (in a fairly reasonable way, I thought) that this was unacceptable and she needed to leave Nana's room. She did, and I re-rolled the wrapping paper.

This completed, I tried to find her. It took me a couple minutes. She had closed herself in my mom's office closet and was trying to scale the shelves to get at the treat jar. When she saw me standing there, she stared at the ground and refused to move. I told her absolutely no more sweets (being slightly less reasonable, I admit) and moved her myself.

She didn't want to come with me to the car (no surprise there, I guess), but did follow me to the living room. So I went out to move the car into the garage, leaving her happily pulling a bunch of toys out.

When I returned, she had closed herself in that closet again.

When she saw me, she bolted. I followed her at a leisurely pace, as I found my patience was wearing thin (have mercy; this all happened in about 5 minutes). When I came out to the garage, it was to find that she had not only beaten me to the car, but had climbed into the driver's seat and was trying to put on the seat belt. We've been telling her for a long time she can't get into the front seat because "everyone needs their own seat and their own seat belt." Apparently she thought this meant that if she put her seat belt on, she was good to drive.

If it hadn't terrified me, I would've laughed.

Instead, I hauled her bodily out of the seat, placed her in her car seat, buckled her in, and got myself in, all while scolding her in one looooooong breath.

The drama continued through lunch, but DB was there to spell me. And, actually, when it was naptime she went down like an angel.

Sigh.

There has got to be a better way to handle these situations. But until I figure out what it is, I'm just going to repeat my mantra: You're going to miss this.

Really. I will.

Brag and Blog Friday!

Ah... Another week, another brag!

Today's brag is actually one myself: For two weeks straight, I have managed to go to bed every night (okay, minus one) with the house clean. All the floors picked up. Dishes rinsed or the washer. Clothes not laid all over the foot of my bed.

I am so proud.

Dear Boy has done his share too, I would like to note. However, since I'm the one who compulsively insists on having the house clean I figure it's only fair I straighten up before bed.

Next goal: Learn not to mind the mess during the day.

What do you have to brag about this week, for yourself or someone else? Post a comment telling me about it, or share a link to your blog. Happy bragging!