No one remains quite what he was when he recognizes himself. ~Thomas Mann

Things are still going incredibly, often overwhelmingly (meaning bringing-me-to-heart-bursting-tears) well at church. Every single week, I hear something that I needed, desperately, to hear. I wish I could explain this church in words, but I can't.

(However, you can go watch a podcast if you feel inclined. Go here and take your pick. I would encourage you start with one by our lead pastor, Greg. Most are by him unless otherwise noted in parentheses. You won't get the positive energy vibe of the building, but you can at least see for yourself how great the sermons are.)

Once again, this week was no exception. The associate pastor was preaching about Jacob, through which he discussed forgiveness, and wrestling with God over hard choices, among other things. But something he said really struck me and B. He asked if we considered what kind of messages we are sending our children. What do we say to them over and over? What do they feel about themselves? B and I both jotted this down.

My summer with the boys is coming to a close, and I've spent all day every day with them. My mixed feelings on the end of this summer is another post for another day, but I've been reflecting about the last several weeks.

I'd been wondering why L has been so, SO good lately. I mean, he's sweet. He's sensitive. He's loving and protective, and a good-hearted kid. I write about him enough that you all know that.

But. He's still a 4 (and 1/2!) year old boy. He gets mad. He throws temper tantrums. He demonstrates attention-seeking behavior. He pushes G down when he thinks I'm not looking. He even is a little sneaky from time to time. And oh, is he manipulative.

But lately? He's been really, really, really good. When the pastor asked that question, it hit me. Call it a God moment or what you will, but it hit me. I realized that I've been telling L just how good he is a lot lately. We spent a good thirty minutes in the post office last week and he was perfect. Looking back, I believe that it had to have something, at least, to do with the fact that I kept praising him for being so good. Then, when we went to the grocery store afterwards, and we were all sweaty and tired and hungry, I'd have expected a disasterous whining-for-fruit-snacks-culminating-in-me-yelling-at-him-to-knock-it-off trip. But it wasn't.

I chuckled as I remembered something else. As often as I'd told L in the last week what a good boy he is, he has said, "You are such a good mommy," almost as many times. And if I'm going to be really honest, I'll admit that I think that's why I've gone a bit above and beyond for him and had more patience.

I've talked on here before about my belief that you only have to hear something a certain number of times until you start to believe it. Things about you are the most powerful example of this. When I was in my abusive marriage, I believed that I was the cause of the abuse. That he had to push me around because I was crazy. Why? Because I heard it day in and day out.

So what do you believe about yourself based on what you've been told? What about your kids? Your husband? Your friends?

For the longest time, I believed that I was unathletic and had a terribly low pain tolerance and that I couldn't even think about wearing yellow. Those things were drilled into my head from everyone for years and years. Now? I rock out some fierce yoga poses, work through mega pain while lifting weights at the gym, and just bought a very cute yellow plaid dress last week, thankyouverymuch.

What beliefs do you need to stop hearing?

Now if you'll excuse me, I'm off to tell G how much he loves sleeping through the night and to write my husband a letter about his adoration of reloading the paper towel roll.

Namaste.

He'll do it when he's ready.

When we were trying to potty-train L, everyone said, "He'll do it when he's ready." Finally, I gave up and quit trying to bribe, reward, and basically force him. Sure enough, the following week, he was completely potty-trained, even overnight.

At 38 weeks pregnant, I did everything in my power to get G to arrive. I went so far as to walk lap upon lap around the school during my plan time. Everyone told me, "He'll come when he's ready." Sure enough, he arrived on his schedule, not mine.

Once again, I'm learning that lesson with G. As a speech-language pathologist, I focus a lot on my kids' ability to talk, as you can imagine. I've been signing with G since he was a newborn. When he didn't say "mama" like L did at five months, I was a teensy bit disappointed. The fact that he still calls me "Nana" drives me a little crazy. I am constantly down the poor kid's throat with signing and talking and monologues about what I'm doing. In the last two weeks, he's taught me the whole "he'll do it when he's ready" lesson.

Typically, before I get G out of his high chair, I spend a few minutes doing the whole, " All done! G, say all done! All done! Here, let me help you show me all done." He laughs at me, and allows me to help him sign hand-over-hand 'all done.' The other day, we were rushing to get ready for a playdate, so I just started to get him out of his chair before going through the whole 'all done' rigamarole. Suddenly, I realized that he was trying, very hard, to tell me something. He was saying something over and over, getting increasingly louder.

"Ah-duh! AH-DUH! AH-DUH!" He was yelling it by the time I noticed.

I gasped. "Are you saying, 'all done?'" I asked, shocked.

G smiled. "Ah-duh," he said, and signed it. I was equally proud and exasperated.

Today, it happened again. I was changing his diaper and handed him a ball to occupy him. Usually, I'd do the whole, "Ball! Ball! B-b-b-b-ball! Say, 'ball,' G!" Today, I just handed it to him and began changing him. Suddenly, I heard him saying, "Bah! Bah! Bah!" as he looked at the ball and at me. I shouted, "Yes! Ball!" and was clearly so thrilled that L came running into G's room to find out what all the excitement was about.

So obviously, he will do things when he's ready. I still gotta work on this "mama" thing though. I just can't give up control on that one.

What "when they're ready" lesson have you learned?

Thank you, Milton Bradley.

Yesterday, Land I were playing Chutes and Ladders. As we played, we discussed the cause-effect scenarios on the board.

"Oh, look, L, that boy ate his vegetables, so he got bigger."

"Uh-oh, he skated where it wasn't safe, so he got hurt."

L commented on each one but the one that really got his attention was the picture of the little boy who broke a window, then had to pay for it with money from his piggy bank.

"Why'd he hafta take money out of his bank?"

L is a bit money-obsessed at the moment. He knows his coins, and is learning their values. He's a human metal detector, able to spot coins from across the room, and will wrap his little fingers around them with lightning speed, opening his green eyes wide while asking, "Can I have deez?" He has two piggy banks and takes great care in stashing his money in them.

While L perseveres in his money-making skills, his stubbornness also is evident when he chooses not to listen to me. That whole "selective hearing" thing? L is a master of it. So when he was kicking a ball inside the house after my asking him not to do so for the 3958th time, I sighed. Before I could begin to chastise him, I heard it. Boom-crash! A picture frame had fallen victim to L's mischief, and shattered all over the floor.

B sent him to "bedroom time," ala Love and Logic. Breaking a Love and Logic rule, I called him out to discuss his infraction.

"L, listen," I started, the idea forming as the words were passing my lips. "Remember how that little boy on Chutes and Ladders had to pay for that window?"

"Yeah," L answered,oblivious about where I was headed.

"Well, you made a sad choice to kick the ball inside the house, and now you have to pay for the frame you broke."

Over my head, B's eyes met mine, and he mouthed, "You are a genius."

"Go get your piggy bank, L," I instructed him, feeling equal parts guilty and victorious.

Sobbing, L walked toward his room. As soon as he was out of earshot, B said, "How much should we take...like two bucks?"

"I was thinking more like fifty cents," I answered. "Honestly, I don't think the amount matters. I..."

I was interrupted by a crying L, walking back in the room, piggy bank in his hands.

As B took the stopper out of the bottom, L started screaming. Thank goodness he handed the bank to my husband, because I would have folded.

"Here you go," B said, loudly, to me, handing me two quarters, a dime, and a nickel. "That should cover the cost of the frame."

Turning to L, B handed him his bank and directed, "Now go put that back in your room."

Still wailing, L hurried off to carry his precious pig to safety. B whispered to me, "Now that will mean something to him."

L came back out of his room, still sniffling a bit, but surprisingly calm. I gave him a big hug and a kiss and tried to shake the guilt of taking his money. I'm still hoping that this was one of the instances where a decision made blindly and with a hope and a prayer doesn't screw him up even more. If it works as well as I hope, I'm going to write Milton Bradley a thank-you letter.

Squeezing in one more mom-fail in 2010

On Friday afternoon, I realized that I hadn't gotten Christmas outfits for the boys.

And we had our Christmas party with B's dad's family in two days.

B had a really bad cold. I knew he'd rather I dig his eyeballs out with spoons than ask him to come shop, at the mall, for clothes for the boys.

I figured I could do it. I could take both boys to the mall. After picking G up from the sitter's, I took a deep breath and mustered my courage. I had G in my pouch sling and L by the hand. We started in JCPenney and were unsuccessful in finding Christmas shirts, but L found a Lightning McQueen shirt that he had to have. I bribed rewarded him for good behavior by buying it for him.

You have to understand. I had worked all day. I was physically and emotionally tired, and I braved the mall, which I hate, alone. In Penney's, L announced that he had to poop, so we hit the bathroom. He insisted on getting on the toilet independently, which required him taking off his pants, and therefore his shoes. In a public bathroom. If I hadn't been wearing G, I might have fought him on it.

When we finally got into the mall, L loudly declared that he had to poop again, so I had to hurry him all the way down to the end of the wing.

There, he decided that the urge had passed. The relief not to deal with the shoes/pants issue was greater than my frustration at that point.

However. we ended up with adorable matching shirts for half off, so all the craziness was worth it. And therefore, L was, ahem, rewarded, with his new Lightning McQueen shirt (which was also on clearance, thankyouverymuch). I quickly checked the size on the hanger and away we went, shirt in hand.

He tried it on for B when we got home. B asked if it was pajamas and said something about it being small. As usual , I was distracted and blew him off, going about my merry way.

Today, L asked if he could wear his cool new shirt to school. Of course I let him. Thankfully, I put a hoodie over said shirt and he wore it all day at school. When B got home, he said, "You let him wear that to school??"

I finally took a moment to look at L.

Huh.

The shirt was quite snug.

And short.

The sleeves appeared to be of the three-quarter length variety.

L typically wears a 5T. I checked the tag, and burst out laughing.

"Is it a 4t?" B asked.

I kept laughing.

"A 3T???"

My cheeks began to hurt from giggling so hard.

I sent my kid to school, on Christmas party day, when several other kids were in their cute holiday outfits, in a 2T shirt...three sizes too small.

(Please excuse the pile of cardboard behind L...it's waiting to go into the now-full recycle bin)

The good news is that G is going to get an almost brand-new shirt soon. And L's teachers probably feel so much pity for him that he'll get some extra special attention.

I'll shoot for Mother of the Year in 2011. Something tells me I'm out of the running this year.

A confession

Yesterday, one of my twitter friends tweeted a link to this post.

And oh my goodness...it made me cry. Because I have a confession to make that I haven't felt overly comfortable making until I read her post.

This newborn stage? It's totally not my favorite. Don't get me wrong...I love my little man more than I ever thought possible. I was worried about how I could ever love another little boy like I love L, and it's amazing how your heart splits in two when you have a new baby. I love both my boys more every single day and I wouldn't give up one second of what I am experiencing with them.

However.

I'm not the mom who cries when her baby starts crawling. Or when he turns one. And part of that is because I am happier the older they get.

This newborn stage? It's really, really hard.

There are nights that by 4 am, I just can't change another diaper even though I keep the baskets of diapers, wipes, and a changing pad next to my bed so I don't have to get up. I actually make my husband wake up and change him.

There are days that when my colicky G cries and cries and cries and cries and all I want is to be able to put him down so I can eat one meal without holding him.

There are evenings when B gets home from work and I hand G over, only to have him scream because he wants me. And although I adore the bond we've created, sometimes I do need a break, but I sigh and say, "I'll take him," and I do. And I drool over the rum and Coke he holds instead and smile sweetly because if I even say I'd love a drink, he might feel guilty.

There are car trips when G screams and I don't want to listen to Jay-Z anymore. And L asks for the 395th time, "Why is he crying? I don't like it when he cries!" I know I should give him yet another explanation of why babies cry because they can't talk. But sometimes, fighting back my own tears, I say, "I don't like it either! I wish I knew why he was crying!"

There are afternoons when G is fed and changed and he still cries. And I ask him, in a not-so-patient way, what he wants, like he can explain.

There are days when visitors come over and I babble on and on and on before they are through the door because I have been dying for adult conversation. When they leave, I realize I completely monopolized the conversation for the entire visit.

There are mornings that B reminds me that he is going to work late and I want to kick my feet and say, "No, you can't work late! It's hard enough being alone for eleven hours. It's not fair!!!"

There are evenings that I read blogs or tweets about my friends' perfect babies who sleep through the night at 2 weeks or who have no problems breastfeeding or pumping or getting themselves or their babies bathed. And I am more jealous than I'd like to admit.

But then.

Then, I wake up after a terrible night of sleep, to be greeted by this:


....and when I sleepily smile back at him, he rewards me with an even bigger grin.

That's when I say a prayer of thanksgiving for the gift I've been given.

And another prayer for all of my friends who would give anything for the sleepless nights. For the hundred diaper changes. For the sore nipples.

Because, while it's okay to cry tears of pain, of exhaustion, of frustration, and admit to it, I am blessed.

Beyond belief.

Does it take a village?

I've noticed something lately. It should make me feel incompetent as a mother, but it's really just left me a little confused.

Lately, people have been trying to help me discipline L when we are out and about. For the most part, I think I'm fairly good at discipline. B is much more strict than I am, but thanks to Love and Logic classes, I'm pretty consistent and fair. And I like to think I keep my kid in line, both in public and in private.

But twice in the last month, people have stepped in to discipline my child.

About a month ago, we were at Fed-Ex, and I was waiting to fax something. It was h-o-t that day. I'm talking heat warnings. I actually posted about this day...it had been long and crazy and by the time I got to Fed Ex, I was beyond exhausted. I wasn't really watching L as closely as I normally do, I admit. But there's not a ton of things he can destroy there, and he was literally just going around touching things.

Suddenly, the woman behind me said, "Honey, don't touch those candy bars," and I snapped to attention.

"C'mere, L," I called, and he did, burying his face in my belly, embarrassed.

I turned around to thank her and she smiled. "It takes a village," she commented.

(I figured she had good intentions but honestly, I don't think he was hurting the candy by touching them...it was keeping him busy and quiet.)

Then, last week, we were at Marshalls. L was running running running around a rack in a small circle while I was looking at shoes. The store was basically empty at 9 am and again, he wasn't hurting anything. While, yes, I'd have loved for him to sit silently and still for 15 minutes while I found a pair of shoes, I know he's a very energetic 3 year old boy, so I pick my battles.

He started to run a little farther, and a little farther.

I told him he was making a sad choice and needed to stay where I could see him. He was in that stage where he was deciding whether it was worth it to listen to me or if he should just enjoy the glee of running in the store.

A woman walking between us turned to him and said, "L, listen to your mommy. My little boy ran away one time and got scared and it was very sad."

She spoke to him in a very strict voice and he immediately ran to me, again burying his face in my side, and started crying. She glanced at us and walked away.

Does it bother me that random moms discipline my kid? Eh...not really. Does it make me wonder if I look like I can't do it myself? Sometimes. Do I think that most likely, it's because I am enormously pregnant and obviously tired and it's a mama trying to help out another mama? Yeah.

I talked to B about this, and he doesn't think anything of it. In fact, he said that once, he stepped in to redirect someone's kid and I didn't think it was the right thing to do. (I have absolutely no recollection of this.)

Do you step in to discipline other people's kids? Have you ever had the experience of other moms...or dads...jumping in to redirect yours?