I am the winner!

Have you heard about the meanest mom competition? It is an ongoing battle between all moms to be the meanest most awful and horrible mother on the face of the planet. At least this is what I tell my kids every time they complain about something I am making them do/not letting them do.

The conversation always seems to go something like this:

Connor/Sophia: But, that't not fair. You are being really mean.
Me: I am trying to win the meanest mom competition. How do you expect me to win if I treat you fairly all the time?
Connor/Sophia: You aren't the meanest mom! You take care of us and that is really nice. You are never going to win.

A while back Connor and Sophia were playing one of their favorite games. It's called "Let's see who can scream the loudest at each other and in general be completely obnoxious!" This is not my favorite game. We were in the car on the way to the grocery store and there was a promise of ice cream in the works.

We stopped the car and I gently explained to them that because they decided to scream at each other at the top of their lungs, there would be no ice cream. I wasn't rewarding this kind of behavior with treats.

The tears came, the pleas of give us one more chance, the promises of doing better.

And yet, I was unmoved.

The next day we had a conversation like this:

Connor: It was really mean yesterday when you took away our ice cream. You didn't even give us a warning that you would take it away if we didn't quit.  You just did it.
Me: I don't have to give you a warning to stop screaming at each other. It is never an okay behavior.
Connor: You really are the meanest mom.
Me: Finally.

This kid has it rough. 

Can't you tell?

The Go Boat.

It started about three months ago with one simple phrase. Elinor was just learning how to talk, she had mastered Mama and Dada and the rest was pretty much gibberish. One should never assume, however, that a seven year old won't try to make sense of that gibberish. Especially when that seven year old is Connor. Since that day, it has become an obsession with he and Sophia. The Go Boat. Or...more aptly, the Go Boat trip.

As Elinor was talking in that mysterious language that only babies know and as Connor was listening he heard her say something that sounded like "go boat". When he asked her where she was going to go on the boat, she responded with "go boat I." That is his version of the story and the source of late night whispers between he and Sophia. The source of giant holes in my back yard. And, the source of me forever finding bags packed with clothing, stuffed animals, shoes, and toys around the house.

You see, when Connor heard Elinor say "go boat I" he drew the obvious conclusion that Elinor had a secret plan for them to take a trip on a boat that Elinor had created and named the Go Boat to a country that begins with the letter I. He explained this to Sophia and she was more than happy to climb aboard the crazy train and start planning for their world wide adventure.

Connor immediately made the assumption that when she said "I", Elinor was indicating that she wanted to take her boat to one of four places: Iceland, Ireland, Italy, or the Ivory Coast. After careful consideration, they decided that Italy was most likely the place. The reasoning behind this: Italy is shaped like a boot and Elinor does seem to like shoes (she truly does).

Then the preparation began.

Phase I:
They began packing bags and planning for the things they would need in Italy. Sunglasses, extra underwear, a nice sailor dress for Sophia and Elinor, and their favorite animals were shoved into bags and stowed in places like under the bed and in corners of the playroom.

Phase II:
Connor began studying my various cookbooks to find travel friendly recipes and also recipes that involved fish. He also began to ask me questions regarding the best way to store water.

Phase III:
Connor told me not to worry if I woke up one morning and they were all gone. It would just mean that they had left for the Go Boat trip and they would be back in a few weeks or months. (He was quite serious).

Phase III part b.:
I explained to Connor that if he so much as stepped outside in the middle of the night or tried to take his sisters with him that he would be grounded until the end of eternity and would never get to do anything fun ever again. I strictly forbid him to take the Go Boat trip until he was at least 18. (He begrudgingly agreed).

Phase IV:
Connor then began to try to figure out where Elinor had hidden her Go Boat. She indicated it was outside (one of her favorite words) and down (another favorite). So...he and Sophia did what any normal kids would do when looking for a giant boat meant to travel across the ocean...they began to dig holes in my back yard trying to locate it. I told them to stop digging holes and took away their shovels. They then concluded that Elinor must have already taken it to the Mississippi River (that is their selected point of origin for the trip).

Phase V:
This is our current phase. This is the phase where every time we get a box of any kind it is immediately transformed into a boat, filled with clothes, stuffed animals, bottled water, and sunglasses. The kids sit in the boat and study a map - searching to find the best route to Italy or Hawaii. They are thinking that it may be more fun to go there now. Plus, Connor figures that when Elinor said "Go Boat I" at the beginning of summer, she may have just meant that she wanted to come on the Go Boat and wasn't so particular about where they were going.

If you see Connor and Sophia whispering to each other in the corner and listen very closely, I can almost assure you that at some point you'll hear the phrase "the Go Boat." And, if you happen to see my seven year old, three year old, eighteen month old, and baby heading towards the Mississippi, please send them back home.

My budding investigatory reporter.

I'm not sure if it was from Sunday School or preschool, but somewhere Sophia was given a very small spiral notepad. Since that fortuitous moment, she has taken to walking around with it while taking all sorts of notes. 

This means that I now get to asked to explain in full detail every single thing that I am doing all day long. 

And, when she gets sick of asking me questions, she typically starts reporting back to me the notes she has taken. They are full of very helpful information including things like "girls should brush their teeth," "Connor is at school right now," "Violet is a girl," "cows say moo and sheep always say baa," and "babies wear diapers." 

Her notes also consist of all the television shows we have watched and which ones we are allowed to watch again. 

 Taking notes.

 And, if it makes her this happy, who am I to complain?

Plus, these notes definitely look like they might come in handy some day...like later this afternoon when I need to know if babies wear diapers and what television program we are ready for. 

The Sunday Shuffle

Sundays. Sundays can be rough, especially for this pastor's wife.

Preparation for Sunday morning begins on Saturday night. Clothes are laid out, bags are packed with carefully selected non messy snacks and quiet toys, and I always tell myself that this time I am going to get up just that much earlier so that I have more time to get ready in the morning.

Then Sunday morning hits and I don't want to get up. I never got as much sleep as I had planned. The kids (except Sophia) are sleeping quietly and it seems a shame to wake them until I absolutely have to. Eventually, I get up, wake the children up and then hurriedly try to make sure they have breakfast and are dressed.

My walk to church is ridiculous. We live across the street from the church. I mean...literally...if you are at the church, cross the street, and walk past one house you are at our house. This walk should take no more than three minutes. At most. For some reason it takes us at least ten. That ten minutes is spent herding my troop in the right direction all the while shouting things like "watch for cars," "don't you dare chase that squirrel," "don't eat those rocks," and "we aren't taking bugs into church!"

Once we are finally seated in the pew I realize that I have spit up all over my shirt or that I totally forgot to brush Sophia's hair (and you can tell), and worst of all, that I probably should have gone to the bathroom before I made that harrowing journey across the street.

The church service isn't much easier than the walk to church. Although, the commands have changed. Instead of shouting at the kids about bugs, rocks, and cars, I am quietly whispering things like "sit up," "shhhh," "don't color in your hymnal," "shhhhh," "you can't go to the bathroom right now," "shhhh."

Every Sunday morning I get a glimpse into the life of a single parent. And, every Sunday morning I think "Wow, I don't ever want to have to do this parenting thing alone."

Sundays are indeed rough, but they are also amazingly humbling. Each Sunday morning I am humbled by the kindness of our congregation. Each Sunday I am blessed with the knowledge that I am in a room full of people that pray for my family daily, that love to watch my children grow, that don't care that Sophie's hair isn't brushed, and that Connor has oatmeal all over his shirt. They will gladly help watch my kids for me or give me an encouraging smile when my kids are being especially ornery.

Sundays are rough, but they are also full of joy. Each Sunday morning I get to see my husband do the one thing that he has worked for over the past four years. The one thing he is called to do. He loves these people and has been called to be their shepherd. It is amazing to see and truly does bring me so much joy.

I look forward to the time when my kids are old enough that Sunday mornings become a bit easier. And yet, I think I might miss the chaos some day. It is a constant reminder of how blessed we are to have these four little monsters in our life and how blessed we are to have been placed in a church where they kind of like our monsters too.

One Decade Down.

Ten years ago today I said "I do" to Benjamin Ockree and we began our life as husband and wife. It is amazing how quickly these last ten years have passed and also how much it seems like I've been married to Ben for much longer than a mere decade.

These last ten years have taught me a great many things about being married and I am certain that the next ten will teach me a great deal more. I've learned that marriage is hard work, but incredibly rewarding. I've learned to forgive my spouse when he disappoints me or when I feel he has wronged me. I've been humbled by my husband's ability to forgive me when I have wronged him, disappointed him, and failed him. I think that after ten years both Ben and I would agree that our commitment to our marriage and the love we hold for each other is much greater than we ever thought it could be on that lovely day ten years ago.

Ten years down and hopefully many many more to go.

The best birthday plans.

May 30th was Ben's birthday and I was going to make it amazing.

For the first time ever I was going to make fried chicken. And then I was going to make coconut ice cream. And then I was going to hire clowns and get a bounce house and pony rides...and you get the idea.

Really, it just involved homemade fried chicken and coconut ice cream. Neither of which worked out.

So instead, this happened....

And the ice cream? Well, our machine stopped turning the paddle inside and the ice cream wouldn't set up. So I put it in a Pyrex bowl and set it in the freezer. It was really delicious...the next day. 

Birthday fail. 

Violet Marie