The Negotiation Dance

I am quickly learning the importance of taking care of myself. While I am quick to understand the "why", I am much slower at implementing the "how". I know I must take time for myself. But forcing myself to carve out the time to do it is another story.

And I am not alone. Every mother is busy. Every mother is busy. Every mother is tired at times. Every mother needs to learn the importance of taking care of herself. And I am sure that many mothers find it hard to complete this very important task.

My life is often frustrating. More frustrating than I had planned. More frustrating than I wanted. Possibly more frustrating, at times, than other's lives. Possibly not. Our frustration level is in the eye of the beholder, right? Some mothers might be able to take on a higher level of chaos than I can. I wish I was one of those mothers. I wish I could brush off the frustration and chaos, pick myself up and move on. And sometimes I can. But usually I cannot.

Every day brings a wealth of new opportunities and challenges. Every minute with my youngest son is a negotiation.  Good morning! Hey there little mishka- time to wake up! Please roll over here where I can reach you. Give Mommy a hug. Come here please. Give me a hug. (I put my arms around him and pull him into a hug. He holds on, but doesn't hug back.) You can hug me more tightly than that! Hug me tight tight! Please stand up. No no, stand up. Come back here please, we need to get dressed. Can you take off your shirt? Let me help you. I'm sorry! You need to take off your shirt! Let's take off your pajama bottoms. OK, OK, you can take them off. (He sits down on the floor of his room and slowly begins to pull his pants off. They get stuck on his toes and he screams at the top of his lungs. The first scream of the day is always alarming as it pierces the quiet of the house.) Which pants do you want to wear today? What do you mean you don't like "slippery pants", (slick athletic pants). You wear these all the time. (His older brother refused to wear jeans as a toddler and so we have drawers full of these "slippery pants". OK, let's wear these jeans. We don't throw the clothes we don't want to wear. Pick those up. Pick those up so you can earn your check mark. (We are offering check marks that can be turned into tokens that can earn snacks and fun stuff.) Let's go downstairs now. You go first. (I know if I leave the room first he will throw his little body on the floor, screaming, the aftermath of which will take at least 15 minutes to return to normal.) Please go out into the hallway now, so I can leave your room. If you leave your room now you can catch Daddy before he gets in the shower to say good morning! Don't go into your brother's room! Turn your brother's light back on! Please come back into the hallway. Please go down the stairs. Please do not stop on the stairs. Why are you stopped? (I know I cannot go around him.) Are you stuck? Please tell your brain to move those feet!  You want juice? I heard you- you don't need to scream it at me. I will get your juice in just a moment. Which cup do you want- the dinosaur or the car? Neither? These are your choices, pick one. (He is on the floor again, screaming about his lack of cup choices. I hold him up to the cup cupboard, where he selects the tiny cup with no lid.) OK, you can have this cup but you have to sit down at the table to drink out of it. Please sit down. We don't walk around the kitchen with open cups of juice. I know you want your juice but you must sit down first. (The three of us, my oldest son, my husband and I walk around the kitchen being careful not to step on the screaming 3 year old laying on the floor.) If you want yogurt you can get it from the fridge. You can pick which yogurt you want. I will get your spoon. What is wrong with that spoon? Fine, get your own spoon. Now that spoon you chose is not going to fit into the yogurt cup. OK, try it for yourself. Don't throw your spoon across the room! Please go pick up that spoon. You can have another spoon after you pick up the one you  just threw. Chairs are for sitting! Please sit down. Chairs are for sitting. If you don't sit in your chair you may not be at the table- we do not stand on the chairs.  Time to put your shoes on. Please go get your shoes. No, you can't wear your flip flops. Where did you even find those? Get your tennis shoes please. Because it is cold outside. Please put your shoes on. You can do this yourself. Get your backpack. Not your brother's backpack! Put that backpack down! Please pick up your black spider man backpack and put it on. You will get a check mark if you finish your shoes and backpack and we get out the door on time. Thank you for walking to the car so nicely! Please climb into your seat now. (I cannot help into the seat, no matter the weather or the time. He will scream and spit at me if he isn't allowed to take his time climbing into his seat. I have to watch for the moment right when he should be plopping down into his car seat, because it is at that moment that I must grab him and push him down into the seat, or he will be in the front seat before I know it.) Please let me buckle your seat. Please move your hands so I can snap your buckle. Please sit back. I will hand you your stuffed cat in a moment. If you just sit back and let me buckle you I will give you your cat. Please get out of the car. Put your backpack on. No, you have to hold my hand in the parking lot. Do not let go of my hand! We hold hands in parking lots! Please take off your backpack and coat. Bring me your backpack so I can hang it on your hook. You don't need your backpack in the classroom. Please give me a kiss kiss. Can you look at me when you say goodbye? Let me see your beautiful eyes! Please have a good day. Please use gentle hands with your friends. Please let go of my hair. I have to go now. Mommy loves you!

A little over an hour has passed since I woke up my little guy and we began the negotiation dance. It will start again at 5:30 and continue until bedtime. He seems not to remember the negotiations from the day before. each day we begin again. If the negotiations are proceeding well then I am rewarded with smiles and songs and jokes from my little guy. This is how his brain is telling him life works, right now. So this is how our lives work. It is exhausting. It is time consuming. It is worth it when he stays calm and can eat and think and learn and process life around him. it is worth it when he feels comfortable enough to sing and joke with me. My brain does not work like this, although it is learning how. So my brain is tired. My spirit is tired. My creativity and "fun" are tired. And I know I need to take care of myself, because I doubt any of this is changing anytime soon. It's not bad. It's just different. Raising this boy is different than raising the other. One way is not better. One way may be more challenging but it is also teaching me patience. And calmness. And how to be sure I am looking after myself while I look after the men in my life.

"The Cleaning led to Reading Which Led to Relaxing Which Led to More Cleaning Which Led to Getting Back on Track to Fulfilling My Purpose", or, "I Finished a Book!"

Yesterday I finished reading a book on my Kindle. When you finish a book on the Kindle it asks you if you would like to let the world know, via facebook, that you have accomplished the often monumental feat of actually finishing an entire book. I said yes. And then many of my friends, who will be reading the same book for a book club we are in together, all expressed their amazement. I know, I was right there with them. Me, finish a book? I haven't had time to read anything that wasn't about ADHD, early life trauma, fetal alcohol syndrome, or behavior in nearly two years. Now don't get too excited for me; it was, after all, a very short book and an easy read. And it was enjoyable, providing interesting food for thought on what it must be like for an older child to be internationally adopted and removed from the only home, and country, they have ever known. I started reading it while my super six old was at China school, when all I had was time and a comfortable chair. But I was able to finish it at home thanks to the fact that I have been cleaning like a mad woman. I have been working hard to keep the toys picked up, the kitchen counters cleaned off, and the kitchen floor sparkly clean. And when all that is in place I can relax. I can sit on the sofa after the boys are in bed and actually focus on something other than what didn't get done that day. And so the cleaning routines, (thank you fly lady!) led to the ability to read for enjoyment, which led to me being relaxed, which led to more cleaning. Finally! A cycle I don't mind being caught up in!

For some reason I am really feeling the spring cleaning bug this year. Maybe it is because the boys in my life are so messy. Maybe it is because my in-laws are visiting next week to watch my super six year old play football and have offered to stay with the boys for a few hours while my sweet husband and I sneak away for some much needed alone time. (Sadly, we are only planning a quick trip out to eat, but we are both super excited about it. I will get to drink all of my ice tea with no boys stealing large gulps from me! I will be able to sit still with no one touching me, or climbing on me, or elbowing me or kicking me. I will be able to eat my dinner while it is hot. I will be able to listen to my husband and actually concentrate on his words.) Wait, where was I? Spring cleaning. Yes.

So the in-laws are coming. And then the next weekend the social worker is visiting for yet another post placement visit for the tiny toddler. Who, while still tiny, is not really a toddler any longer- he will be four years old next month! The house certainly needs to be clean for her visit! And then a day or two after that we have a baby sitter coming over so that my sweet husband and I can sneak away again; this time to see the documentary STUCK.

Who knows what, or who, has prompted this spring cleaning bug but I am feeling more in control and happier than I have felt in a very long time. There is just something about purging and organizing that makes me happy. I have cleaned out all of the upper kitchen cupboards, throwing away chipped glasses and old vitamin bottles. I have cleaned under the sink, (gross!), and added stacking plastic bins to hold the soaps and scrubbies. I have added a shower curtain rod to the back of the boys' bathtub to hang plastic baskets holding their toys and wash cloths. Thanks to the holes in the baskets the toys can drip dry and the tub stays clean! I have cleaned the huge kitchen cupboard that held mismatched plastic bowls and lids, throwing away everything that didn't have a match. Now there is no Tupperware, but there is a large space for the boys' back yard necessities like bubbles and chalk. I cleaned and organized the walk in closet in the master bedroom- we can see our clothes again!

The cleaning out of every cupboard and closet, combined with our weekly family meeting, has made me feel more in control than I have in a long time. I have no control over the issues my youngest son faces. I have no control over schedules changing or my super six year suddenly being worried about his sweet little smushed in nose. I have no control over computer issues at work or the fact that I often feel as though I am drowning in toys. But I do have control over what lives in my cupboards and what is thrown away. I do have control over some of the chaos that naturally comes with raising a family.

Maybe it's the warmer weather. Maybe it's the cleaning. Maybe it's the new organizing bins and systems I have put in place. Maybe it is the fact that we are finally getting back to having regular house cleaning help around here; something every working mother should have. I am sure it is a combination of it all, but I don't really care. I am finally feeling more in control. Which means I am feeling more able to be the mother God designed me to be. So go throw something away. Go clean out a cupboard. Go open your window and breath in the cool Spring air. Go be the person God designed you to be!

this is life happening up there

Your bed makes it's indescribable squeak as you lift your growing body from the car and truck covered sheets. I hear your footsteps as you run down the hall. I pause from the book I am reading to listen, expecting to hear your step on the stairs. Only I don't. You don't show back up in the living room, like you so often do. No, tonight you head the other way down the hall, to your little brother's room. The footsteps stop and I hear the small wooden chair being dragged across the tiny toddler's room. "What are you up to?", I wonder. Are you going to spring your little brother from his crib? Are you going to stand on the chair so that you can drop something into his crib?

I hear your little voices, whispering in the darkness. "Way to go, Alex, you sunk my battleship!", I hear you say. I smile. The tiny toddler had been watching Curious George videos on my phone before you snuck into his room- now you must be playing Battleship. "Look, Alex, you already have a hit here, so you want to fire right here." You patiently explain the game to your tired little brother, who has never played before. "That was a decoy! Do you know what a decoy is, Alex?" You go on with your tiny patient voice, explaining, very correctly, just what exactly a decoy is.

Moments later I pick the baby monitor up again and hold it to my ear.

"You have to pay attention in school, Alex. I know you say you don't like your new preschool but you have to learn." More whispers I can't hear. There are tears in my eyes. You will turn 6 years old next weekend and here you are, already such a good big brother.

"This is President Obama. And this is George Bush. His dad was a president too." You must be showing your brother your library book about Presidents. The tears are flowing now.

You don't know it, my big five year old, but this is what every parent wants - for the children to like each other, to rely on each other, to always be there for each other. Tonight I could picture teenage boys, one with spiky black hair and bright almond eyes and one with a crooked smile and serious eyes, hanging out in one of their bedroom's; the tall Chinese boy draped over the chair while the smaller Russian boy curled up in the bed. I could picture talks about school, teachers, girls, parents. My only hope for you and your brother is that you be happy. I don't worry so much about you. You are smart and funny and sensitive. But I worry that your brother will not be happy. I worry that his life will be so much harder than yours, that he will have to work ten times harder than you. And maybe he will. But hopefully you will have built such a strong brotherhood with him that it won't matter. That when it comes to you and him, you will always be brothers.

I know I should go upstairs and break up your late night whispers. I know that you have school tomorrow and that you need your sleep. But I don't. This is life happening up there in the tiny toddler's room. This is you growing into a big brother.

I hold the baby monitor to my ear again. I hear no whispers, only the calm rhythmic breathing of the tiny toddler. Have you fallen asleep on your brother's floor? Did you sneak back to your own bed?

Earlier tonight you were laying spreadeagled on the kitchen floor, under my feet. I marveled at how big you have grown. Your body is growing, that is for sure. Tonight, amid the whispers and giggles from your brother's room, I heard your heart and soul growing too.

Nighttime Surprise

Your room is silent and still, probably for the first time all day. The light with the old fashioned blue truck is lit on your night stand, lighting the quiet with a soft glow. I look down at you, sleeping backwards in your bed. Your head is at the foot of the bed, by the door. I smile. You are surrounded by your baby stuffed animals. Your little  brother's life size monkey is resting on your chest, nearly as long as you are. Your growing five year old body is so long, laying there in your bed.  Your large red angry bird is nestled between your arm and your ear while your baby hamster and baby hamster's mommy are tucked under your elbow. Two small angry birds, one yellow and one black, rest by your other ear and three Cleveland Brown's pillow pet dogs stand guard in a row by your side.

When I left you, still awake and bouncing in your bed, your animals were all sitting at the bottom of your bed, unaware that they would soon be used to sooth you into sleep. Your blankets were still folded by your pillow; now they are all layered on top of you, first your orange Cleveland Brown's blanket, then the blue cloud covered blanket you got when you had your oral surgery. On top of that is another Cleveland Brown's blanket and then the blue crocheted baby blanket that a friend of mine gave to you when you came home. On top of that is a colorful knitted blanket and then your bedspread, decorated with the same trucks as on your lamp. I touch your head, smooth your hair back. You are covered in sweat from all the blankets- I uncover you a little and you roll over, open your eyes, and a wide smile breaks out on on your face. You are still asleep, little one, but you instinctively reach out your arms to me for one more night night hug. I kiss your cheek and you roll back over, hug your giant red angry bird, and drift back into sleep.

I love our little nightly ritual. I love walking in to your room on my way to bed myself, and seeing what you have done with your stuffed baby animals this time. Every night the arrangement is a little different, the cast of characters dependent on who happens to be available and in your room at bedtime. I love your creativity and weirdness, little one. And I love you.

one of the more tame nightly creations!

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...