If I Can Remember That...

Every time I turn around you are there. If I leave a room you find me. If you are forced to go up to bed without me you scream my name as you are carried away. There are days that I think you are over this fear, days that I believe that you finally understand that I will always be here for you. There are days that I can actually walk to the bathroom, go inside, close the door, and enjoy a few minutes of privacy without you trying to break in. I can hear you out there, you know. I hear you asking "Where is Mommy?" and then I hear you walking towards the closed bathroom door. Your footsteps unmistakable, I double check that the door is locked and then call out to you. "I'm right here, baby. Give me a few minutes. I'll be right out." You don't give me a few minutes. You turn the knob, testing it. You stick your fingers under the door. You talk to me as though I am not in the bathroom, as though you have no concept of privacy.

There are days that I can now be in the kitchen while you are in the family room. You wander in every so often, ask for a hug, get a drink, and wander back out. I watch you still, you know, even when you are in the next room. I value my time alone, but I watch you nonetheless, your past behavior having instilled in me a type of hyper vigilance of my own. I always need to know what you are doing, where you are. So in a way, I get it.

Sometimes I can get too comfortable with you. Sometimes I think you are "over it". That maybe, just maybe, we have accomplished something here, you and I, and you have finally learned to trust.

The other night you and I were alone. Your dad had collected your older brother from the tree out front and took him off to run errands, leaving you and I alone. I pulled out the fruit for the frozen fruit salad you wanted to make, and gave you a big bowl. You were so calm and thoughtful. You poured the cans of fruit into the bowl, adding the frozen strawberries that you and your brother had picked earlier in the summer. You chopped bananas with your kid knife and mixed everything perfectly. You gathered the plastic containers and carefully spooned the fruit mixture into each bowl, snapping the lids on proudly. You were calm, thoughtful, and 100% focused.

As you stood on your little stool at the counter I moved around behind you, cleaning up the kitchen. We chatted about the day we picked the strawberries. We talked about how long it might take for the fruit salad to freeze. I moved from the kitchen to the laundry room, putting towels in the washer and hanging up a stray set of car keys I had found on the kitchen counter. I was gone maybe 20 seconds. As I turned around I nearly tripped over you. You stood in the hallway, your hands sticky, still holding the spoon you were using to fill the bowls. "Where are you going?", you ask me. "'I'm not going anywhere.", I respond. "I heard the keys.", you say. I explain that I was just hanging them up. You look up at them, eying them suspiciously. "You and I are home alone, kiddo. I can't go anywhere without you!", I remind you.

You stand there, in the hallway, sticky fingers and dripping spoon, until I finish what I am doing and move back into the kitchen. For the next hour, until your daddy comes home, you stick right by my side. And then, at bedtime, I decide not to leave the house, and you scream my name as Daddy carries you up the stairs. My heart breaks, again.

Here I was, starting to relax. Here I was, thinking that you were having a great night. Calm, thoughtful, focused. You were having fun, cooking and spending one on one time with Mommy. But there it was. Your hyper vigilance. There it was, just hanging out there right under the surface, where it must always be. The moments of calm trick me into thinking that you have finally caught on, that you truly understand that we are a family. And maybe you do, but you are still that same scared little boy I held close to my heart in that hot orphanage, day after day.

A few days later I mentioned your hyper vigilant key moment to my husband. "That is so sad.", he said. And it is, sad. But it is also a good reminder to me. A reminder that you are not yet there, not yet ready to be pulled away from me. You get on the school bus happily each morning, following your older brother up the steps and sitting in your assigned seat. But then, on most days, you cause havoc in your kindergarten room. You settle down and go to bed easily if I am not in the house, but if you know I am home you scream and carry on as though you may never see me again. What are you thinking? What goes through your mind when you act out in school? What are you thinking when you are being carried off to bed? I cannot fill you up, despite how much time I give you. I give you all I can, giving until I feel depleted. You are literally stalking me, and there are days that I just want to hide from you. There are days that I actually do hide from you. (shhhh...) But when that happens, I simply need to remember that day in the laundry room, with the keys. I need to remember that look in your eyes when you thought I was leaving the house. I need to remember how you can go from calm and focused to scared in a heart beat. I need to remember that you have two years of hyper vigilance practice on me. I have only been doing this dance with you for three years. You have been doing it your entire life.  I need to remember that even a simple activity like cooking together in the kitchen can end in a reminder of your abandonment fears. If I remember that, then I can get up tomorrow, early early, when you wake me up at the crack of dawn, and I can hug you tight. If I remember that I can take a deep breath the next time you rattle the locked bathroom door, your questions continuing even though I am not even in front of you any longer. If I remember that I can smile as I talk to your principal on the phone, listening to notes from your school day. If I remember that I can take each moment as it comes, which, it seems, is what you do. If I remember that, I can stop and love you where you are. Wherever you are, every day.

Do Your Clipboard!

we keep our clipboards on the dryer- within easy reach of both boys 

I am a busy working mom. Just like so many of you out there. Whether you work outside the home, or telecommute, whether you are a stay at home mom, (who WORK the hardest, in my opinion), you are busy. Busy busy busy. I have a great daily schedule, and believe me, I know how very lucky I am. My youngest son gets up with me in the morning and has breakfast with my sweet husband and I. The quiet of morning is usually the best time of day for my little guy's moods, so this calm and sleepy breakfast date is something I treasure. After my husband leaves for work my youngest and I head upstairs to get dressed for school. And this is where his clipboard makes it's first appearance of the day.

If you are a follower of this blog, you have heard about these clipboards. If you have spent any time with me in the past few months you have heard about these clipboards. I am always talking about these clipboards!

The first item on my youngest son's morning clipboard is "get dressed on your own". I make sure that he has clothes ready to go in his tomorrow drawer, and he needs to go to his room and get himself dressed. This is a child who wants me to physically take off his pajamas and help him step into his undies- and while I love our time together, I don't always have time to be holding undies while my perfectly capable almost 5 year old steps into them like a little prince.

After he gets dressed he tidies up his bed. He doesn't make his bed, because he sleeps on top of the bedspread and because he just isn't ready to be making beds. So he pulls up his blanket and arranges his stuffed animals in a tidy little row. He then moves on to brushing his teeth. He brings me his toothbrush and toothpaste and I get him all set up and send him back to his bathroom, where he completes the job. All of this responsibility on his part allows me time to get myself dressed and ready for the day. Because here's the thing- I can't get up ahead of my kid. All the books tell you to wake up before your children so you can be all ready for your day when your little bundles of joy hop out of bed. Um, no thank you. I could get myself out of bed at 4am and somehow my youngest would know. And he would be by my side, with his "Hey Mommy!"

And the day progresses from there. Each child has a clipboard in the morning and evening. They check off each item as they complete it. If they complete their entire list and put the clipboard back where they live, in a basket on the dryer, they will find a little treat attached the next time they grab it. So if my youngest son completes all of his morning tasks he will have a little treat waiting for him when he comes home from school.

This system grew from lots of trial and error on my part. I have tried many chore systems and just could not find one that didn't take a huge amount of effort on my part to complete. Each boy has a small clipboard of their own. I have created a Morning, Evening, Sunday Church, and No School Day list. I slipped the lists into a plastic sheet cover so that each child can simply check off their tasks with a dry erase marker. I keep the morning and evening lists back to back in the page protector, so all I need to do is flip the chart over in the middle of the day. Easy peasy!

The tasks my boys have on their lists are the jobs I found myself hounding them about every.sing.day. Getting shoes on for school. Helping to set the dinner table. Putting backpacks and coats away. Getting through the morning without a time out. You know, whatever the kid needs. That's the great thing about this system- it is very easy to add a task or to change up the list. If I have additional chores that need done, which I try to assign to each child at least 4 times a week, I simply add it to their clipboard. Two minutes of planning on my part every day and I get all those chores done that I need help with. Well, usually. Like any system, it doesn't always work. But I have found that 90% of the time the stuff I need done gets done, and I am not longer driving myself crazy and repeating myself a thousand times. Plus, with two kids on the system, if one gets a treat and the other doesn't, things can get ugly, which means the next time? Clipboard done.

Now that we have been using the system for a few months all I need to do is say "Clipboards!" or "Do your clipboard!" and I leave it at that. Because let's face it- if our children don't do what we ask them to, all those jobs still need done, right? So if they neglect their clipboard, I do what needs done, because I would have to do it anyways. But they don't get their treat. And they feel that pain, believe me.

Before I had children I was one of those people who would say crazy stupid things like, "I will never pay my kids to do chores. They will do them because they are a part of the family!" Um, nope. So I get it, I know it may sound crazy to reward my child for doing things like getting dressed and putting on his shoes. And yes, I agree. But my youngest child has sensory and trauma issues and needs routine, lists, and rewards. If it costs me a cookie or a quarter to have a calm morning, I will gladly cough it up. Don't tell my kids, but I would gladly cough up way more than that!

 

 

 

While many of the tasks on their clipboards are routine chores or daily "musts", such as brushing teeth, I have also included other important work that I feel is a must for my family. My oldest straight A student son has "Do Your Homework, No Complaining!" on his evening list. He also has "Read or Do Oneline Math For 15 Minutes" on his evening list, because I was fighting with him about this every night. No more. Prayers, devotions, behaving in the car, taking much needed sensory breaks, sharing what was learned in Sunday School- it's all there.

 

The treats that my boys receive range from candy, dollars, quarters, small toys or stickers. Usually the treat is something very small, but every so often I surprise them with a larger treat, such as a dollar or a big cookie. Again, my sanity is worth the price of the treat. Plus, the boys are saving their money, which is a good lesson to learn. Do you think they'll use any of their hard earned money to buy their momma an awesome Mother's Day gift?

 



I want to be like them when I grow up!

Over the past few weeks my sweet husband and I have been working on completing admission paperwork to the Attachment and Bonding Center of Ohio. This extensive process has us creating narratives of our entire journey with our persevering preschooler. Starting at the beginning, in that dated hotel room in Russia, we began to lay out every step. Every step forward, every step backwards, every misstep.

These narratives include mainly our concerns and issues, and very little of our successes. Which we have done purposely, because we know our little guy needs help and we want him to get it. We know our entire family needs help. Despite our leaps and bounds we still have a long way to go.

And so we have been remembering the chaos, the sad, the am I the only parent who feels this way questions. Not fun, for sure. But because of this forced trip down memory lane we have also found ourselves pointing out how far we have all come since those fateful days in that musty Russian hotel room. And I do mean how far we have all come, because this journey does not just belong to our youngest son. We have all been on the rocky road, sometimes together, sometimes standing alone.

My sweet husband keeps saying things like, "Remember that next time Alex flips out."

And I do remember. This weekend alone my sweet baby worked through so many of his issues and emerged triumphant on Sunday evening. He did manage to get himself, his brother, and his grandparents thrown out of a childrens' museum, but really, that is nothing for my little guy.

He handled a busy weekend - a large Easter egg hunt filled with bustling children, competition, and, of course, candy. Attendance at a church he is unfamiliar with and where he spent time in both the sanctuary and the childrens' area.  Again, more bustling children, which is one of his triggers. He cheered his older brother on at the first Spring flag football game of the season. He spent two nights with his grandparents, without his usual bedtime rituals. He was an amazing Sensory and Trauma success! And yes, I am ignoring the Great Childrens' Museum Incident of 2014. His misdeed occurred during free play with other children, one of his biggest triggers. My sweet husband and I learned that lesson the hard way, and now so have the in-laws.

Late last week my persevering preschooler and I were reading a book that his bus aide gave him. (I know, right? What a sweet woman this aide is!) The main character in this book was a blanket, and the story was about how the little boy was never going to leave the blanket. Just like Mommy will never leave Alex. After we read the book my young son asked why he didn't have a blanket. Now before you get all upset that my sweet little baby doesn't have a blanket, let me put your mind at ease. He does have blankets. LOTS of blankets. But he really doesn't have a small one that can travel with him. He did, but he never used them, and now Lord only knows where they are. Still packed in a box, probably. But now, now he wants a blanket. "Like my brother's", he tells me.

His brother overheard this request. "He can have one of my Brown's blankets, because I have two." Wow. Just WOW.

The conversation ended and the boys went to Grandma's for the weekend. Frankly, I forgot about this simple request. But my smart seven year old didn't forget. This morning my oldest son showed up in the living room much earlier than needed, trailing his pillow, stuffed animals, and two Brown's blankets.  I watched as he handed one over to his little brother. "Are you sure?", I whispered to my brave son. "I have two. And he wants one."

There was a time when my oldest son would never had dreamed of sharing any of his precious belongings, especially not with his demanding and confusing little brother. There was  a time when his younger brother's antics would make him angry and frustrated. There was a time when he couldn't see the positive changes in his growing brother.

So we still have little to no eye contact. We still have stilted conversations and lots of melt downs. We still have refusal to learn, well, anything from me. We still have oh so many issues. But we also have more smiles from our youngest than blank stares. More joy. More participation in family. More understanding. And more brotherly love. My boys, they are right on track. They are getting it right. And I am in awe of them. I want to be like them when I grow up!

Better Living Through Electronics

I can hear my boys in the backyard, giggling and shouting to one another. Every so often I hear my husband's voice, raised to be heard over the boys own noise. They are out there in the snow, dragging the BBQ grill and the toddler play set to the front of the house, so that it can be thrown away this week. We are moving next month, to a bigger house, but yet my goal is to downsize to exactly only what we need and use on a regular basis.

The neighborhood is quiet. The snow that has been falling since last night has turned to rain and our neighbors with half a brain are tucked inside their cozy homes. Not us. My boys need to be outside. They  need to run and play and jump and scream. This need is so strong in them that they will accomplish it wherever they happen to be. And inside the house is no place for their particular brand of craziness. So this outdoor job, in the wet and the cold and rain, is perfect for them.

They finish up and I hear the garage door closing. The house shakes as they stomp inside and I can hear them talking as they take off their coats. "ALEX! Hang your coat up!", says my Super Six Year Old, in a slightly raised voice. "It DOES NOT belong on the floor." Well, he's right. I hear my Persevering Preschooler stomping around, his wet shoes clearly still on his feet as they pound the wood floors below my office. I hear loud giggling and what sounds like wrestling. Eventually I hear my husband's voice again, again raised to be heard over the clamour of these young boys. Orders are given. The TV is turned on. More orders. Then quiet. I feel my shoulders relax a little as my brain takes in the quiet. It is this peace and quiet that I yearn for, but yet what I get so very little of. If we are lucky the little one might fall asleep on the living room floor while watching a Christmas show, and the older one might find himself wrapped up in a game on his dad's iPhone. Peace. Better living through electronics.

Earlier today we were at the local mall. Last year we managed to miss the mall all together during the Christmas season, finding presents and photos with Santa elsewhere. This year my sweet husband needed a few new shirts for the new job he starts this week, so we loaded the family into the Equinator and headed to the mall. Always the planner, I brought snacks and the stroller, in the hopes of keeping the Persevering Preschooler entertained and tied down. We checked out refrigerators, as we will need one when we move. We looked at new TVs, as we will need an additional one of those too. Finally the shopping got to all of us and we headed to the play area. As my husband wandered off to buy his shirts I sat on a bench and watched my boys. Other mom's were talking to friends or scrolling their phones, but not me. I was hyper vigilant, as always, watching for signs that my youngest might decide to push an unsuspecting child down or punch someone in stomach. He doesn't do these things to be mean. No. His brain is wired differently than most kids and when he gets over stimulated he lashes out. So, why, you might ask, would I take him to this very noisy, very busy play area? Because he doesn't get over stimulated by what you'd think he would. The lights, the noise, the busyness- all of that is fine. He goes over the top when too many other kids touch him, or when he has too much "free play" time, where he gets to run and jump and spin. He can be alone in a room and wind himself up to the point of no return. So play areas like this are fine, as long as we take "sensory breaks". Try explaining that to the parent of the child he might hit, though. So I watch. I stand at attention, ready to jump in and drag my son away before anyone gets hurt. It's exhausting. But he deserves to be able to play like the other kids.

Today he doesn't hit a strange kid. Today his sensory overload pushes him to knock down his older brother and sit on him. I drag him off and bring him to my bench, whispering slowly into his ear. Begging him to complete a few sensory break activities with me. He struggles to get away. Who can blame him? The play area is much more enticing than his mother's boring exercises. I pray that someday he will understand why we do this and then he will be more willing to participate. He likes the way he feels when he is going over the top, so he is reluctant to participate in anything that will harsh his groove. I apply pressure in all the right spots and we rock slowly left to right for a few minutes before I finally give up and release him back into the fray.

Even though this play area is buzzing with noise, I notice, the parents are quiet. No one is calling out to their kids. As we wait on the curb for Daddy to pick us up I look around. There are other families also waiting, trying to stay dry in the rain and snow. I hush my four year old so I can hear my six year old speak. I ask him, for what feels like the 100th time, to repeat himself. His younger brother simply starts talking louder, making it impossible, once again, for me to hear my oldest son. All three of our voices are gaining speed, as if they have broken free of our bodies and are racing up a mountain. Louder, faster, louder faster we all speak. My multi- tasking brain notices that no one else around us is making this much noise.

In the car I turn off the radio and close my eyes. I have given each boy a phone- a bribe, really, to just.be.quiet.

We stop for lunch at our favorite place- BW3's. We love this restaurant because it is already loud. No one really notices our chaos rolling in the door. At least 300 times during the meal I say, "Alex, lower your voice. Please speak in a quieter tone."

Any requests or orders given in our home are done in a loud voice. And this used to bother me. This used to make me feel "less than". After all, all of the parenting books speak to having a peaceful, quiet home. Parenting experts are constantly telling us to whisper. To force our children to listen to us, speak more quietly, not more loudly. And I know that this works. When I am alone with my Super Six Year Old, it works. But when we toss in the Persevering Preschooler, all advice and rules go out the window. His brain does not process whispers. He simply does not hear me. And he is usually making so much noise that voices must be raised just to be heard over his din. And I felt bad about this for a long time. But one day it hit me. We are not one of those families. We are loud. We are chaotic. We are well behaved when it counts, usually. We are respectful, most of the time. We do not yell at each other or treat each other in a negative way. I had to learn the difference between yelling and being loud. When we are all together we are a loud family. And that is different than a family who yells at each other.

We have so many rules and routines in our home, all of them needed. Homework is done. Rooms are picked up. Toys are put away. Each boy has chores and they are trained to take off shoes, hang up coats and back packs and put lunch boxes on the counter before they run off to play. Bedtimes are strictly adhered to and helmets are always worn. But sometimes, you need a little chaos. Sometimes I just need to crank up my music, pop in my ear buds and forget the noise around me. After all, if they are really screaming, believe me, I would be able to hear it.

Today Was Different

I heard you this morning, opening your bedroom door, testing the waters, seeing who was awake for you to play with. I heard you sneak to the top of the stairs, whispering to Marley puppy, who was probably half asleep on her bed in the hallway. After discovering that no one was awake I heard you tip toe back down the hall to your room. Your bed creaked as you dumped half your toy box into it and the lights on the baby monitor lit up as you started pressing buttons on toys that sing and beep. I lay in bed, half awake, thinking how far you have come, little one. There was a time that you wouldn't have thought twice about flinging open your door, letting it slam into the wall. You would have run down the hallway and jumped into bed with me, with mere seconds between me and an angry meltdown. No matter how early in the day it would be, no amount of cajoling or redirection would get you out of my bed and back into your own. A tired momma running on not enough sleep and a young child always one inch away from a meltdown- a recipe for certain disaster for sure.

This morning was different. You are learning. Learning to trust. Learning to self regulate. Learning to be patient.

I saw that patience again later in the morning, as you sat in the grocery cart, letting me wheel you about the store. You happily filled your cart seat with lettuce and grapes, cereal and fruit snacks. You didn't whine or throw items out of the cart. You didn't kick me or spit at me. In fact, you made me smile, over and over again. I watched you stick out your tongue as you puzzled out how to rearrange your items to make them all fit up front in your little seat in the cart. I remember a time when you would have screamed and thrown the items out in a fit of anger. I parked the cart and walked away from you to read labels and you played with the bags of lettuce and grapes. There was a time when not only could I not walk away from you, but I would have to shop with one hand on you at all times, holding your hands or your feet down to prevent the constant hitting and kicking.

This morning was different. I am learning to trust you. I am learning to let you regulate. I am learning to be patient right along with you.

You hopped up into the booth at lunch, thrilled to have been allowed to choose the restaurant. You chose B.C. Roosters, because you like the chicken on the sign. You asked for my iPhone and then asked me to play with you. How could I refuse?  You sat still, and halfway through the meal I realized that I had not bothered to move the box of condiments away from your little hands. usually this is my first job, done without even thinking. But not this time. You ate, a little, and you talked, a lot. You made me laugh with your silly faces and your thousands of questions. You even let me take you  the bathroom before we sat down, understanding that even if you had to wait for a few minutes, you were, in fact, going to get to eat. Overcoming that fight or flight instinct has not been easy, but you are doing so great.

You helped me carry in the groceries and then you played, by yourself. You dressed yourself up in a winter hat and gloves and took the dog to the back yard. I caught glimpses of you as I moved about the kitchen putting away the groceries. You smiled as you ran around the yard, screaming happily as the puppy chased you. When you came inside you asked to play a game, and then you waited until I was ready to play. You didn't scream or throw the game. You sat down on our new kitchen floor and waited. And talked. And asked a thousand more questions. And then we played, together.

This afternoon was different. You are learning to relax in your own home. You are learning to be  a part of a family.

Later in the day we made cookies, and you watched my fingers as I folded up the dough and pinched it tight. Your fingers did the same. Slow, thoughtful fingers, folding the dough up over the apple filling. You did not get frustrated. You asked for some of the apple filling to eat and you carried your bowl of sweet goodness so carefully across the kitchen to the table. To your chair, to your spot at the table. I heard you say to yourself, "This is my chair. Alex's chair."

You asked to turn on the TV so you could watch Curious George. You sat down on the floor as the light on the TV flickered on. A few minutes into the show you came to sit next to me on the sofa. You do this a lot- always sitting near me, but not close enough to touch. Even if you are on my lap you are rigid, rarely allowing me to touch you more than what it takes to keep you from falling off. You scooted closer. And then closer still. You moved my arm and snuggled under it, letting my arm fall onto your side. You rested your head against my body. I felt you melt, relax.

That was very different. You are learning to be with others. You are learning to love.

I looked around the room, wishing my husband was home. Wishing anyone was around to witness this amazing event. You stayed close, tucked up under my arm, for the rest of the show. You then pushed off of me, racing to turn off the TV and already on to your next adventure. I didn't want to move. I could still feel the warmth of your little body.

Much of your calmness today was brought on by being alone with me, I am sure. Some of it was brought on by the therapy programs we have you in. I take a deep breath, knowing that dinner, bath, and bedtime may still go terribly awry, as they often do. But even if they do, once you are finally in bed, once your tears, and my tears, stop and once I can hear your slow breathing on the baby monitor we still keep in the living room, I will sink down into the sofa and wrap myself in the memory of your little body relaxing into me. It may sound like a small thing to someone else, but to me, you crossed a huge mountain today. And when it's quiet, when your thousands of questions have stopped, when your singing and constant chatter have quited and my mind can think again, I will replay those moments in my mind, over and over.

Learning to let you be you, and learning to love you in the moment, wherever you happen to be, has not been easy for me. But today was different. I am learning right along with you.

Worth the Wait- That Adoption Wait Doesn't Always End When Our Child Comes Home...

When an adoptive parent hears the words "adoption wait" one thing usually comes to mind. The long months before the child comes home, months  that often turn into years. Years of filling out paperwork, waiting for approvals, standing in line at the Secretary of State's office, locating floor plans to your home, creating fire drill exit strategies, rearranging work meetings to accommodate getting that second, or third, set of fingerprints. Months of looking at that tiny, blurry, grainy referral photo. Months of loving this child you may have never met, and months of waiting with arms aching to hold that sweet child of yours. The adoption wait. We know it well, don't we?

With the adoption of my second child the term "adoption wait" took on a whole new meaning. The final signatures, the court decrees, the flight across the world and that first walk through the door as a family recently grown by one did not end my adoption wait. In fact, when that front door closed behind my newly formed family of four, our adoption wait was just beginning.

Suddenly everything that came so easily the first time around was a huge challenge. I found myself waiting for so much. Waiting, really, to be a mom, again. Waiting for the eye contact. Waiting for the anger to stop. Waiting for my new son to stop racing about the room as though driven by a motor. Waiting for that first hug. You know, the one where he actually hugs me back. The first good report from daycare.  The first family dinner without chaos. The first calm bedtime. The first calm car trip. The first calm anything.

Waiting. Always with the waiting. The first 27 months of our lives together were spent mired in the adoption wait.Waiting for the storm to pass. And when it didn't, I found myself waiting again. This time, waiting for therapists and doctor's appointments. Waiting for diagnosis and treatment plans. Waiting for spots to open in special schools and IEP's to be created. And then to be updated. Waiting for return telephone calls and emails. Waiting. Waiting. Waiting. And just when you think you can't wait a moment longer, some new reason to wait pops up.

With our first adoption wait we knew what to expect. Fill in all the blanks in the paperwork, make the required five copies of everything, visit FedEx for the 100th time, and then wait. While that first wait wasn't easy, not by a long shot, it was, at least, predictable. At the end of the wait, if we followed the plan laid out by our adoption agency, and if nothing went wrong, like political unrest or a natural disaster, we would have our child. Maybe I was naive during those two "first" waits. Looking back, and knowing what I know now, seeing how the Russian ban on American adoptions has torn families apart, I am sure I was very naive. Thank God I was naive.

With this second adoption wait, the wait that started the day we came home with our 24 month old son, there was no "plan". My plan was to follow the same steps I took with our older son, steps to bonding that worked beautifully. Practically from day one my little Chinese son and I were glued together, bound by a love so deep that nothing could tear us apart. Meeting each expected growth and developmental milestone, cruising through surgeries with flying colors, our bumps in the road were small stones. The second time around, those bumps in the road were huge boulders that threatened to tear my family apart. Spouses arguing. One child craving the attention he suddenly lost when his little brother came home. One child pushing me away at every turn. And a tired, lost mother, with nowhere to turn. After all, I had asked for this. I wanted  this. I did this to myself. And so, on top of all of the other waiting, I waited for that mommy bliss I felt the first time. I waited for that bliss for two years.

So with all the waiting then came all the guilt. Why wasn't I more excited about this child? Why couldn't I make this work? Where was my heart?

I added waiting for the love to kick in to my list. Don't get me wrong. I loved my young son from day one. From the first moment I saw him toddling down that dingy hallway at the orphanage I loved him. Maybe that was why this adoption wait was so difficult for me. Because my love for him was so strong. My desire to have that family I had always pictured was strong. And so I waited.

The funny thing is that despite all that waiting, that perfect family never showed up. And as each day passed, full of tears and fighting and thrown food, that perfect family picture changed a little. Maybe I didn't need perfect. Maybe I would settle for a dinner without a meltdown. Maybe I would trade perfect for less bruising at the hands of a two year old. Every day the perfect picture faded and eventually a new image settled into my heart.

Happiness replaced anger. Grace replaced selfishness. The wait came to an end. The end snuck up on me, really. We are not through with the issues. My son may always have early life trauma related baggage to carry around. But I will always be there to help him carry it. And I no longer feel as though I am waiting for anything. I think I realized it for the first time the other day, as, ironically, I was waiting for our behavioral therapy appointment to begin. My son and I were sitting together on a sofa in the waiting room, surrounded by older kids and harried looking adults, and as we snuggled together to read a book I realized something. I was not holding my shoulders so tight they ached. I was not practically sitting on my son to get him to sit still. I was no longer holding my breath. I was simply a mom, reading a book to her four year old son. Yes, he still cannot sit still. He still has food issues and he still has moments of total meltdown. Yes, a good part of the reason that he is doing so well is all of the work we have put in to getting him to where he is. And yes, there are days that it is exhausting. But I am no longer waiting. No more do I wait for the anger to pass, both in him and in myself. No longer do I wait to run an errand because I just can't face taking him with me. No longer do I dread bedtimes or family dinners. No longer do I feel as though I am simply housing this lost little boy. No more. Now when I look at my persevering preschooler, I see my son. And it makes me smile. Because we made it through the wait. There will be more waiting in our future. More therapy, more issues, more meltdowns and, I am sure, a lot more frustrating moments. But during all of those waits  it will feel less like waiting and more like what it is- living. The wait is over! We may not look like the perfect family, and we may not look like the family I always pictured as perfect, but we are perfectly placed together. And that was worth the wait.

My Place in the Puzzle

Yesterday was a busy day. It started with an early summer program drop off for my super six year old so that the persevering preschooler and I could make it to his 8am occupational therapy appointment. The mom taxi was in full swing after that as I dropped my youngest off at daycare, raced home to clean the kitchen, work, and make dinner,  and then headed back out to pick up the youngest for his second therapy appointment of the day, behavioral therapy. When we walked in the door last night, tired and hungry, I was greeted by my oldest son, who ran over to me, practically knocking down his little brother, asking, "Mommy! Did you plan this dinner? It is so delicious! Thank you so  much!"  Wow. What a wonderful greeting! And it came at the end of a pretty good day. A very good day, in fact.

Sure, it was busy, with two different therapy appointments and work and all the "stuff" that comes with daily life. But it was good.

On the walk last night from the therapist's office to our car my persevering preschooler presented me with an outstanding meltdown. I am unclear as to the details of this but it appeared as though, even though he had been perfectly behaved inside the office, where we were all talking about his behavior, he felt the need to be carried to the car. Which I would have done, if he had just been  able to wait one minute. Just one tiny minute while I dug the car keys out of my purse and I would have scooped him up. Not having that need met he moved on to another need, the need to squat down in a busy parking lot to look at a rock. This need literally stopped traffic. This time I did pick up my son, and because I am not an ogre I picked up the rock as well. For that I was thanked with screaming and hitting, both activities I had just told the therapist that he rarely does these days. I kinda hope they were watching us out the window...

Even after stuffing him in the car, holding him down to buckle his car seat, removing his shoes so he couldn't throw them at me and offering him a snack, he continued to scream for a while. I climbed in the front seat and smiled. I smiled.  I can do this, I thought, because we have some answers. I can do this, I thought, because we have some help. I can do this, I thought, because I am not alone.

On the drive home, after my youngest had calmed down and was happily playing with the helicopter he picked out at the gift shop of the Dayton Air Force Museum, I started thinking about the these past two years. All of the "what ifs" came flooding into my mind. What if we had found these particular therapists earlier? What if we had begun this process last year? The year before? What if.....

Our journey has been typical. Our struggle was not unique. Many families bring their internationally adopted child home only to slowly find concerns and issues blooming before their eyes. I remember those first months, thinking his behavior was normal for what he had been through. And much of it probably was. I remember the remainder of that first year, thinking we just needed to find the right discipline approach while continuing to bond. I remember waiting to be placed in the special needs preschool, sure that these professionals would be able to help. I remember the counseling appointments on attachment, and the one on parenting approaches. I remember the diet changes, the supplements tried. Some of these approaches helped, some didn't. Some are still working and some have been abandoned. Narrowing down the issue and then treating it does not happen overnight.

I can't continue to allow the "what ifs" into my brain. I cannot imagine the child I saw two years ago even being able to sit through a therapy session, let alone get anything out of it. I can't imagine the mother I saw in myself even last year wanting to put her feelings of anger aside and learn to parent better through play therapy. But now, I am ready, and he is ready. And God placed in our hearts and minds the tools we need to move forward on this journey. He gave them to us when we were ready, on his timeline.

Last night the behavioral therapist asked me what I had done to bring my son to this point, where he now doing so much better. To this place where he rarely hits or spits. To this place where he feels like my son, and not just an angry visitor in my home. I started listing everything we had done and I suddenly had a hard time remembering it all. It was a hard two years. How can I not remember? As I was struggling to list things like wearing him, playing eye contact games, letting him remove every item of food from the refrigerator, it all sounded so less than. Less than what it really was. Less than what it felt like at the time. "What you did", the therapist said, "was not give up." Wait, what is that feeling? Pride? Peace? Ahhhhhh.

my happy boys at the lake

I will have weeks that are amazing, and weeks that are not so good. We will see regression in our son and moments of absolute joy. This week my super six year befriended a bully who had been picking on him and proudly announced at dinner that he and Bully were "friends now". He also talked this new friend into building a rocket out of legos at day care so they could sell it for a trillion dollars and give the money to children's hospital. What do you know, they are listening and watching what we do! My perserving preschooler helped me bring in the groceries from the car and began to actively play with friends at school. Not next to them, not near them, with them.  We had a successful first trip to the lake and spent a beautiful day outside, relaxing. We have a diagnosis to add to his issues that helps to explain the hyper activity and we have two brand new therapy programs in place. We lost our house cleaner, but we will buck up and scrub our own floors this week. (Well, let's not get carried away here!) This week was an amazing week. It was a week where we got the chance to see a little bit more of that larger than life puzzle our God has fit us into. There will be worries, setbacks, and challenges ahead. But right now I am enjoying my place in the puzzle.

China and Russia were trying to take us down

When I think about last night I smile. Not when I think about bedtime. Not when I remember the tiny toddler angry in his crib, kicking the already broken side rail. Not when I try to figure out why he went from happy guy to angry baby in the blink of an eye. But before that, at dinner time, awesome.

I remember when my tiny toddler wouldn't even come to the dinner table. Then he would show up in his chair but refuse to participate in anything meal related. He would scream, on purpose, during the prayer. He would lunge across the table trying to grab things from his brother. He would throw his food on the floor. And, sometimes, he still does.

But last night, when I asked who wanted to say the prayer, fully expecting my little guy to remain silent and my super six year old to step up, his hand shot up in the air. My tiny toddler wanted to say the prayer? Alrighty then. He clasped his hands, fingers laced together. He brought them over his head and started singing. "God made rainbows, God made rainbows, sunshine too, sunshine too." He brought his still clasped hands down under his chin. "Now we say our blessing, now we say our blessing. Amen. Amen." Every word was clear. Every word was respectful. He wasn't shouting the words or purposefully being loud. He was praying. I turned from watching my young son and locked eyes with my sweet husband across the table. Both of us had tears in our eyes. A 20 second prayer. A moment of quiet in the loudness that is our lives. A glimpse at a calmer future.

After the super six year old was finished eating and the tiny toddler was done staring at his "oatmilk", (this is how he says "oatmeal" and it is his new go to food. He doesn't really eat it, but he wants it and he likes stirring the brown sugar into the bowl of steaming oatmeal.), the boys left the table. I asked them to please go upstairs and play, something they usually do not like to do without me. This time, off they went. A few moments later I heard footsteps on the stairs. Giggling. Whispers. I could tell that the super six year was in command. Orders were whispered in the dark of the dining room. I jumped as loud pops sounded behind my kitchen chair and then I heard clatters as the suction darts fell to the floor. We were being shot at!

Suddenly a dart flew through the air over my sweet husband's head and stuck to the red and brown checked wallpaper. Then a dart hit my husband in the head. He got up from the table and staggered over to the sofa in the living room, falling over, dead. Much to the delight of the boys. I sat at the table, laughing along with them. My sweet boys. They were using their imaginations. They were playing together. They were working as a team to take us down. They were on a spy mission and they played their spy game for a long time.  Together. China and Russia were trying to take us down.

When I am carrying the tiny toddler like a football under my arm out of daycare because he won't walk. When I am turning up the radio to drown out his screaming and when I am dodging projectiles being thrown at me from the backseat because I forgot to remove his shoes when we first got in the car. When I am angry and frustrated and think I can't do this a moment longer, I will remember last night. I will remember how I felt when I heard my tiny toddler singing the meal time prayer, his voice strong and clear. I will remember his smile when he got through the whole prayer. I will remember how happy everyone was when they boys were on their spy mission. Sometimes it seems as though the mountain is insurmountable, but last night the hope was strong.

Cindy the guinea pig and I don't stand a chance

Last night our entire family was hanging out in the super six year old's room, getting ready for bed. The tiny toddler was all bundled up in his fuzzy footie pajamas and sitting on my lap. I was attempting to read a book to him that his daycare teacher had allowed him to bring home. Actually, I'm not so sure he wanted to bring it home. I am thinking that maybe his teacher wanted  him to bring it home because it is all about learning patience and appropriate ways to gain attention. It's a great book and I wanted my tiny toddler to really listen and take to heart the theme. He, on the other hand, however, wanted to giggle at the pictures in the book and blow raspberries at my face. Spitting on Mommy is one of his favorite past times.

While I was dodging spit from the tiny toddler the super six year old was engaged in a rousing game of catch with Daddy. While I was trying to calm down the tiny toddler and wind down his more than difficult day Daddy was sitting on the bed tossing a football across the room at my oldest son. Who, to his credit, was catching it most of the time. At one point, though, Daddy lobbed the football a little too high and we all watched in horror as it flew through the air, bounced off the fish bowl, and landed on the dresser. Every single human in the room gave their usual response: the tiny toddler clapped and cheered, and then started giggling so hard that he had to cover his mouth. The super six year old looked as though he was about to burst into tears, thinking he was going to get in trouble. My sweet husband looked surprised and then started laughing as well. And me? I wanted to throw everyone out of the room. I wanted to say, "I told you not to throw that football in this room!" Instead I said, "OK, put the football away, NOW!" And then it hit me. A thought, not the football.

My husband. Two sons. The cat. The fish. ALL MALE. Cindy the guinea pig and I are the only females in this household. We don't stand a chance.

The toilet seat will always be up.

Pull Ups or underwear will always be on the floor.

Table manners will include burping and tossing rolls.

Wet towels will always be on the bed or bathroom floor.

Footballs, bouncy balls, plastic balls, soccer balls, every type of ball ever invented, will frequently be flying through the air inside my home.

I will sit through a million football games, whether from the sofa while watching the game on TV, in real life from a professional team's stadium, or on the sidelines of a youth league. Actually, I am OK with this, as I like football. But still, it's a fact. And let's face it, many of those games will not be played during blue sky, sunny, warm days.

Everything will move at the speed of light. My boys are incapable of walking. They must run everywhere or they will die.

On top of moving fast, it will be loud. As in rock concert loud.

Pirates, rock collections, dogs, mud.

And I love it, I really do. Of course I do. These are my boys, all three of them. I love what they love. I am at peace when they are happy. But in the middle of the yelling and running and cleaning mud off of everything I need to be sure that while allowing them to be the boys they are we don't lose sight of teaching them what they need to become the men we want them to be. Men who believe in God. Men who lead their hearts instead of allowing their hearts to lead them. Men who hold doors open and say "please" and "thank you". Men who know the importance of spending time with family and who want to be a part of a "tribe", whether that means family or friends. Men who won't drive their significant others crazy. And prior to that, men who won't drive me crazy as we grow through this process.

As my boys grow up it will be easier for me to find the time to sneak away for "girl time". I am already able to let them play in the child watch while I work out, which is a start. My husband watches chick flicks because he knows I like them, which is awesome. But I am quickly learning that I am not able to function when life gets too loud or too crazy. It is at these moments that I need to step back, take a deep breath, and learn to enjoy the footballs flying through the air. Raising boys takes me out of my comfort zone sometimes. But other times, I can fit right in. This morning I chose to wing my husband's vitamins at him from across the kitchen table. Sadly, my aim is not as good as my boys' and I managed to toss the fruit shaped gummy vitamins right into his glass of water. Cheers erupted all around the table. Oh yeah, I can keep up!

Planning & Praise- the successful family meeting

Kids need opportunities to learn how to be a part of a team. They need to learn how to bring up issues and how to solve problems. They need to learn how to sit quietly and let others speak. They need to learn how to listen. And they need to internalize that family is a safe place where they have a voice.

My boys need to learn how to appreciate each other's differences and how to manage their issues with each other. And I need to learn how to manage my issues with them. That's right, I have issues.

• Our house is too loud, much of the time.
• I didn't play with the toys, I am not putting them away.
• The tiny toddler makes this unworldly screaming noise when he is frustrated. Or when he doesn't get his way. Or when he is tired. This must stop.
• While I enjoy meal planning I would like input from the men in my life who show up at the dinner table every night.
• The cars are too messy. (OK, that is my sweet husband's issue, but I totally agree.)

I am sure I have MANY more issues. But these issues, along with a desire to further cement the idea of "family" in my tiny toddlers heart and mind, fueled me to start weekly Family Meetings.

After announcing to my husband that we were going to start meeting every Sunday evening as a family and laying out the rules, we held our first meeting. What rules, you say?

• Meeting to be held in dining room, away from toys and TV.
• No toys at meeting.
• Everyone gets a chance to talk.
• Everyone must say at least one good thing about their past week and one good thing about someone else at the table.
• All decisions are final. No whining!

After dinner we all moved into the dining room. I explained the meeting process to the boys and asked for their good thoughts. To my surprise, it was the tiny toddler who spoke up first. He was sitting on the table, meowing like a cat, as he often does. He used his outside voice, as he often does, and yelled, "Daddy took me to grocery store!" Earlier that day my sweet husband had taken him grocery shopping, something I don't do very often because, frankly, it is just. too. hard. But obviously, shopping, alone with Daddy, left a great impression. What a great start!

We reviewed the schedule for the week, including all of my super six year old's school activities and lunch menu. Whether to pack or buy is a huge topic of conversation in our home. We ended the meeting quickly after we opened it due to the super six year old's lack of interest and the tiny toddler crawling around the dining room table meowing. But I considered it a success.

I posted a Family Meeting Agenda on the fridge and all topics that came up throughout the week that needed further discussion went onto the agenda. Good thoughts about my boys, all three of them, also went on the agenda, under "Good News". This way we don't forget the nice things we want to say about each other by the time Sunday evening rolls around.

In the middle of the week the super six year old asked to go to COSI. Actually, he asked to either go to COSI or Mexico. Not sure why Mexico, but COSI? Yeah, we can do that. Put it on the agenda.

Yet another bout of young boys running around the downstairs screaming. And another. This must stop! Put it on the agenda.

My sweet husband pushed to near craziness over the mess of toys and snacks in the backseat of the car. Put it on the agenda!

Once it is on the agenda we don't need to keep talking about it. This is a tip I learned early on in my career, when I first became addicted to the Franklin Planner system. Once it is written down, once it is planned for, there is no need for further discussion. Whew.

Our second family meeting followed the same patterns as the first. The tiny toddler continued to climb onto the table. Everyone continued to speak over each other. But we accomplished our goals.

We have a potential date for a trip to COSI. We have a plan for creating "centers" so that the running around screaming game will be timed and will only be allowed for 30 minutes. After that, they will move to a new center somewhere else in the house.

We have reviewed the toy pick up rules. Again.

We have reviewed the fact that cleaning out the car has been on the weekly cleaning schedule for months. We have solidified that no one except me reads the cleaning schedules posted on the side of the refrigerator. Good times.

But we have done so much more. Our boys are hearing the discussions between my sweet husband and I regarding day care pick ups, school drop offs, who is driving who to which activity. They are seeing that to keep a family running takes planning. They are learning that I will listen when they tell me what they want for dinner, as long as they don't ask for candy and Popsicles. They are learning how good it feels when someone notices their good actions. They are learning to speak up, to solve problems, to understand the value of planning. They are finding their voice. And they are solidifying their place in our family.

So two family meetings later I am happy with our baby steps. I am sure that next week the tiny toddler will still be climbing onto the dining room table. I am sure that the super six year old will complain that he would rather be watching TV. I am sure that "picking up your toys" will always be on the agenda. But I am also sure that the tiny toddler will continue to hear praise on his amazing successes. I am sure that the super six year old will continue to love planning the after meeting family activity. So far we have raced remote controlled cars, as a family, all four of us running around the living room with our remotes. We have finger painted, as a family. Who knows what we will do next week. My young man takes the planning of these activities very seriously.

Every day we have set backs. Every day I dodge shoes thrown at me from the back seat or clean up dinner from under the kitchen table. So we have our set backs. And we have our successes. And now my boys have a way for their voices to be heard. Behavior experts say that family meetings can solve a myriad of behavior problems. We shall see. But at the very least these meetings allow for planning and praise, which is really what it takes to run a successful family, right?

before I hit my desk I hit my knees, or, how I redecorated from the inside out

Sometimes you just need a change, right? I like my life to stay calm and steady, but sometimes I just need to shake things up a bit. And I've felt like that a lot lately. Just a little off. Sometimes it is so hard to just "be" in the moment. Sometimes I feel as though we have just been in this holding pattern for years. Waiting to meet my husband. Waiting to start a family. Waiting to start the adoption process. Waiting on another country to approve us as parents. Waiting on travel documents. Waiting to save money. Waiting to move. Always with the waiting. And always with the wanting. We so frequently want more, don't we? It is so hard to just take a deep breath and be present in the moment.

I try. I remind myself to turn my phone off. I leave dishes on the table so I can play with my boys after dinner. I want to enjoy the moments as they come, instead of worrying or wishing for time to speed up so I can have what I think I want. And most of the time I am somewhat successful. I really do enjoy the little moments marching their way through my life. But sometimes I still feel unsettled.

So lately I have not been as happy as I should be. I have a job that allows me to work and still be the mom I want to be. (As a side note, kudos to Julia from my favorite TV show Parenthood for walking away from something she thought she always wanted, a partnership in her law firm, to be the mom she knows her two kids, one recently adopted, needs.) My husband has a contract position while he job hunts, so he is working also. Our boys are healthy and happy. We are settling in as a family and getting through the attachment and behavior challenges. While our house may not be perfect it is a warm and inviting home. We belong to a great church and can afford to pay for a private christian education for my oldest son. Even when we have everything we need sometimes we want more, don't we? Well here is where my advanced 42 years have helped me.

I have learned to listen to these unsettled whispers. I have learned to make small changes that have big impact. This time, when those feelings started to creep back in, I quieted my heart and listened.  And I made a few small changes that have had a dramatic impact on my life. The first thing I did was remind myself to return to the basics. I had settled into a morning routine of dropping off the boys at school and then heading home to work. Nowhere in my morning could I be found. And more importantly, nowhere in my morning could God be found. Assuring that I take the time every day for prayer and reflection assures that I start my day the way God intended. First moments for God, right? Those moments when the house is quiet and all three of my boys are sleeping- that's my favorite time of day and my best time for reflection. And if I just can't drag myself out of bed on time then I take my moments with God after dropping off the boys. Either way, before I hit my desk in the morning I hit my knees, so to speak. And after I do, I always wonder why I let myself drop this very important habit.

So small change number one- very important. Potentially life changing. Small change number two, not so much. But it made me feel great all the same. Are you ready? Here's the secret. I put a few of my lights on timers and replaced a few old fashioned candles with battery operated ones, also with timers. When I walk downstairs in the morning to pray and make breakfast for my boys, I am greeted by the old accent lamp on the side table in the hallway by the kitchen. This lamp turns on with a switch on the cord, and because of the placement of the table and the cord I rarely turned it on. I would have to pull the table a few inches from the wall, pull up the cord and flip the switch. Then repeat it all to turn it off. Now it is on a timer and twice a day it magically turns itself on. I am greeted by it's warm glow when I come down the stairs every morning. Later, as we are all returning home from our busy days out in the harsh world, it greets us again. When my husband walks in the door in the evening, usually after the rest of us get home, he walks into a softly lit entryway.

If you haven't seen a battery powered candle lately check them out again. They are amazing! They look and smell like the real thing, even casting a moving shadow. They come with a built in timer as well, so they turn themselves on every evening. Now our mantle is glowing every evening, and my kitchen counter is cozier. When the boys head upstairs to bed a pillar candle lights their hallway. I have at least six of these flame less candles throughout my home. Both my husband and I love candles and used to burn them all the time. But with the boys, and their strong desire to blow them out, and their toys flying through the air at times, it just isn't as safe as it used to be. I will still light a candle at dinner or after the boys go to bed, but we were missing the warmth and peace a glowing candle provides. let's face it- it's hard to yell at your kids with the lights down and a candle burning.

My restlessness has passed. I am back on track and feeling centered and full of grace. I start my day with the light of God and assure that my family ends their day with peace and warmth. Kind of like decorating from the inside out. From working on my heart to working on my home, I am doing things to make me a calmer person, a happier mother, and a willing home maker.

can't change the players, so change the game. my new household management system

If you have been reading my blog for a while then you know that I have been on a quest to find the perfect home cleaning system for my family. If you are new around here, you can read about my household migraines  management attempts here.  And here.  And here.  I have yet to find the perfect system for my family, but one thing has become painfully clear. It's not the system that is the problem, it's my family. Those of you living in testosterone filled glass houses know what I am saying. Messy. Clueless. Cupboards always open. Drawers never quite closed all the way. Did I say clueless?

I have also figured something else out along the way. For about a year I have been dealing with wild mood swings. I am 42 years old and have been through two invitro fertilizations, and all that that implies. The drugs, the shots... There is one camp that says these drugs have lasting effects on our hormones, and one that says we are all crazy. (Well, the aforementioned camp does put it a little more nicely...) I firmly believe that these drugs, coupled with my age, are having an affect on my mood. But the weird moods started in Russia, when I was left all alone with my new son. So part of the issue was probably homesickness and missing my number one son. Then there was the whole post adoption depression and the year of attachment behavior issues. There was my leaving corporate America and my husband losing his job. So really, who knows which of the about a million reasons was responsible for my anguish. But I figured it out. Just the other day, it hit me.

I was watching my sweet husband steam mop the kitchen floor and I suddenly realized how relaxed I was. How peaceful. How, dare I say, happy. And I knew. My mood is directly linked to the cleanliness of my kitchen floor.

So great. Now I know. But here's where the other shoe drops. Hormones I can see a doctor for. Getting help from my family to keep our home clean? Not so easy. I have made lists, but no one reads them. (To their credit, only 1.5 of them can really read.) I have posted small lists in each room. I have made hand written lists every day. I have texted and emailed lists. nothing. works. at. all. nothing. I have asked nicely. I have asked sarcastically. I have cried. I have had total melt downs. And I repeat. nothing. works. at. all. sigh.

Figuring out an answer to this problem is important to me. I feel that it is my responsibility to provide a calm and peaceful atmosphere to all those who enter our home. I make sure the entry way lights are on before my husband walks through the door after work. I keep the flame less candles burning on the mantle in the evening, helping to set a calm tone for  before bedtime play. I play quiet music during dinner. Mother of boys, we know the secret. We must let them run and jump and scream and be joyful and messy, but we also must help them find ways to slow down and find their peaceful inner selves. And that goes for myself and my sweet husband as well. We are calmer when the house is pulled together. We are more at peace with each other when we can relax and be together without total chaos going on around us. So believe me when I say that I can't truly emphasis how important this is to me.


I have tried every system I can find, and created a few of my own. And each and every one of them would work  if it were just me. But it's not just me and I have to face the fact that I live with boys. (Does that line remind anyone else of Friends?  Sometimes I feel like crying just like Monica did at the thought  of moving in with a dreaded boy.) But I knew I couldn't keep banging my head against the wall. And I knew that it was my place to teach at least two of my three boys how to be responsible and organized, and, well, clean. I also know that it is just easier if I do everything myself. But here's the thing - I work full time too. I do the laundry and the cooking and the shopping. I manage our schedules and provide a large amount of the taxi driving for the boys. My sweet husband works full time. And then he works some more. And then some more. He takes care of the yard. He does at least 80% of the boys' baths and some of the errands. He is busy too. But at 9:00 at night, after the boys are in bed and the house is quiet, I do not want to be cleaning. To me, that is unacceptable.

Before I quit my job, when Alex first came home, we had help with cleaning our house.  With someone coming in every two weeks to totally clean the entire house I was easily able to keep up with the day to day stuff. And I didn't need any help from my family. But those days are over and now we have two boys and  I need help. I still have my household management binder and I still follow flylady. But that is just for me- I can't expect my boys to have a clue about any of that. So I moved my system to a location they can't miss and I simplified it.

For $15.00 I purchased clear plastic magnetic photo holders- I love these photo holders because they lay very flat on the side of the fridge, which is great for a small space. Six of these fit the space on the side of my fridge nicely. The top row shows our tasks for the day, week, and month.  The bottom row shows my boys helping my family lists. I think it is important to not call these chores. No one likes to do chores. But every child needs to learn the importance of helping his or her family.

The bottom middle photo  holder holds our family fun. This is the list of family activities we plan to do each month or season. I started this a few years back because I found we were missing seasonal activities that we really would have enjoyed. I used to tape this list to my kitchen cupboard but now it has found a home on my household management wall.

A colorful dry erase marker works well to mark off the tasks as they are completed and the frames wipe clean with a damp cloth.  Your lists will be your lists, of course, suited to your family's needs. Check out my lists here. This system is so simple and so easy to make changes to your lists!

Now for the million dollar question. Is it working? Well, we have been using it for about a week, maybe two. And I have been diligent and vocal in checking off the tasks. My sons have jumped on board and are thrilled to be checking items off their list. Their shoes are almost always in the shoe bin by the front door. The big five year old's bed is almost always made. They both LOVE scrubbing their assigned sinks and they fight over the dry erase marker when it's time to check the list. My sweet husband? Not so much, yet. But he is hearing me talk about the lists, he is watching me check items off. The day will come, I know, that he will walk up to the lists, pick a task, and complete it. Just like life, this is a work in progress. But unlike other systems, this one is visable, easily changed, and provides much needed motivation for at least two of my three boys. It's a start...

Woody & Buzz are weeping in his underwear drawer while I do ALL the work

This morning I hopped out of bed, brushed my teeth and put my glasses on and headed over to the big four and a half year old's bedroom to get him ready for school. (we call day care "school" in our house.) Every morning we follow the same routine; I rummage through the t-shirt drawer pulling out shirt after shirt while my child lays in bed like a little prince turning each selection down. Eventually I say "pick one. NOW." Sometimes I say "You're wearing THIS ONE." We then complete this same silly dance for shorts and, believe it or not, underwear. It's underwear, dude. JUST. PICK. A. PAIR. Suddenly he won't wear any of his underwear that doesn't advertise the Cars franchise. I think I heard Woody and Buzz weeping quietly in the underwear drawer the other day...

I then haul him out of bed, literally. I pick up all 38 pounds of him, stand him upright in front of me, and help him get dressed. That's right, I admit it. I help my big four and a half year old get dressed every day.  Now I know he can do this himself. On days that he wakes up before we do he always gets dressed before leaving his room. After church he can't wait to run upstairs and change his clothes. So he is capable of getting dressed without my help. But this time we have spent together every school morning has been special to both of us. I enjoy this Matthew & Mommy time, and I know that Matthew enjoys it also. But lately it hasn't been as much fun, for me at least. The fight over what to wear, the fight to get him out of bed, all while his little brother is calling to me from his crib down the hall... it's adding stress to our house in the mornings that we just don't need. I'm sad to say it, but my big four and a half year old is going to have to start dressing himself. And he is not going to be happy about it. But I have a plan...

Tomorrow morning I am going to take a photo of him completing his morning routine. I'll get one of him dressing, one of his breakfast. I'll take a picture of him brushing his teeth with his new "big boy" toothpaste, which he hates, (he loves brushing his teeth, it is the new toothpaste he hates.) I'll snap a photo of him putting on his shoes and walking out of the front door carrying his lunch box and bag. (something else he doesn't like to do and has now learned that little brother will carry things for him.) Then I'll make a little book for him- I'm thinking of putting the pictures on a big ring so he can easily flip through them. That is step one.

Step two: he will now have to decide what to wear the night before so we can lay it out on his chair. Sounds easy, but for some reason I feel this is going to be a difficult step, like I'll just be replacing my morning frustration over pulling every shirt out of the drawer with a new evening frustration of pulling every shirt out of the drawer.

No matter what else he might eat for breakfast my big four and a half year old almost always eats a granola bar every morning. So I will lay one out on the kitchen table the night before and if he is dressed and ready before I am done with his brother he can go downstairs on his own and start his breakfast. He is not allowed to go downstairs alone in the morning so I am hoping this will be a big enough draw for him to want to get dressed on his own.

 Thank goodness I work from home most days. If I had to get dressed and pulled together enough to leave the house in the morning and head to an office I would have to be getting out of bed at the crack of dawn. And that is just not going to happen. I can see the writing on the wall. If I don't get a handle on this now then I might be helping my high schooler get dressed every morning. or worse yet, helping two high schoolers get dressed every morning!

It is not going to be easy. My Matthew is a creature of habit and change is not easy for him. He loves his Mommy and Matthew time and he is not going to be pleased that I am now helping his little brother in the morning instead of him. But my 2011 goal was to create a calmer family environment, so it has to be done. Stay tuned...