The Melodies of Harmony

Here's a trivia question for you.  If you were a fly on the wall of my home, what one thing would you notice a lot of?  Tricky, I know.  Any guesses?

Hmmm....Children, you say?  Fairly obvious, I should think.  But not the answer I was looking for.

Cats?  Ahhh, yes.  Anyone who knows us also knows that we have more felines than any sane family has business having.  But, you see, we've never claimed to be sane.  Try again.

What's that?  Dirty laundry?  Very funny.  Point taken. 

Clutter?  Ouch.  Anyone else?

Chaos?  True.

Arguing?  Unfortunately true.

Dust?  Now that's just cruel.  And also true.

No, no, no.  All valid answers, I suppose, but the one that I was really looking for was this:

Singing.

Singing, you say?  Why singing?  Because singing is what I use to deal with all the other overwhelming things in my life.  You know, the children, the cats, the dirty laundry, the clutter, the chaos, the arguing, and even the dust...but especially the children.

I am the self-titled Queen of Stupid Family Songs (the songs are stupid, not the family).  It all started five years ago when Little Miss J was born.  She was great and all, but she didn't actually do anything, you know?  At least not for a while.  And if you know me, you understand that I don't sit and do nothing very well.  (To clarify:  I'm actually very good at sitting, I just need to have something to do while I'm sitting...like blogging).  So instead of just staring at Baby J all day, I started singing to her.  Before long, I ran out of songs that I knew and began to write my own.  We had songs for diaper changing, feeding, and bathing.  We had sweet baby songs and mad baby songs.  We had the "Cutest Little Baby in the Whole Wide World" song and the "Mama Loves You So Much" song.  As Miss J has grown (and as we've acquired more children), the list of songs has grown as well.  

Most of my Stupid Family Songs are simple, as they're usually written on the spot, and many have interchangeable lyrics; for instance the "Mad, Mad Baby" song can easily become the "Stinky, Stinky Baby" song or the "Pukey, Pukey Baby" song if the need arises (and it frequently does).  Most songs end with a really awesome and cheesy "yeah"!!!  I've also written songs about frogs and dinosaurs and such, but as the kids have gotten older, there are more and more obedience-themed songs emerging.

If I feel like I'm about to explode at my kids, I try to sing instead.  If they're arguing, I sing the "Mom's Not Going to Argue with You" song.  If they're trying to be the boss, I sing the "Mama is the Boss" song.  If they won't stop trying to convince me of something, I sing the "No Means No" song.  If they are going slower than humanly possible when getting into the van and buckling up, I sing the "Put Your Heiney in Your Seat and Buckle it Up" song.  And if I really feel like I'm going to scream at them, I sing the "Mom's Going to Scream" song.  It's perfectly acceptable to scream at your children while singing.  Besides, my kids love it, all the tension is drowned out in laughter, and our family is harmonious once more.  All because of my stupid little melodies.

Try it.  You don't have to be a singer or a songwriter, just borrow melodies from songs you know and add your own words.  You don't even have to be on key!  And who knows?  You can't ever be the Queen of Stupid Family Songs, but you could always become a princess.


By the way, I'm willing to share...let me know if there are any songs you want to hear, and then tell me how to post them!  I can't figure it out  :)

Be and Let Bea

On Easter Sunday afternoon, we brought our family to a nearby nursing home to visit.  The kids had spent a good chunk of the previous day making crafts to distribute to the residents, and on Resurrection Day, it seemed important to not only celebrate with baskets and family and church, but to go out and share what Christ had done with others.  So off we went to our nursing home to share the love of Jesus.  We've done this a handful of times, usually putting on a little concert (although not on this occasion), singing hymns with them, handing out crafts or pictures the kids have made, and then just talking with the residents (they love having kids around).  Then our family goes home, all of us feeling good about ourselves and our good deed, and we go on with our lives.  Eventually, I'll think about how long it's been since we've been there, or since our kids have done anything to serve others, and we'll go back.  But not for awhile.  After all, we have five children.  We're a busy family.

This time at the nursing home, though, we met a new woman named Bea.  Bea lives in the building next to the one we usually visit (we had never been there before), but our kids had made so many crafts, we had to expand our ministry!  A nurse told Bea that we were coming, so she was in her room waiting for us as we made our way down the hallway.  She invited us in, and then did something none of the other residents had done that day: she asked each of us our name, and then repeated them as if committing them to memory.

Bea talked to our kids and thanked them for coming to see "this Grandma", and like many other people that we visited with, Bea thoroughly enjoyed our company.  She seemed excited when I suggested I would come back with the little ones to talk to her sometime.  Someday soon I will, but again, we have five kids.  We're a very busy family.

Very busy.  Today, for instance, I got two kids ready, made their lunches, and sent them out the door to school.  Then I got the remaining four of us ready and out of the house just in time to get to ballet...eight minutes late.  After ballet, we stopped at home and I made lunches for the kids, which they ate in the van on the way to Meijer.  I was getting the baby out of his carseat and wrapping him into my Sleepywrap so I could carry him, when I was horrified to discover that he had blown out his diaper.  Poo was everywhere.  Oh, joy.  I was forced to perform some award-winning diapering maneuvers in the front seat of the van, during which the poo-covered baby smiled and cooed profusely.  I then put him into the "emergency" diaper bag outfit, which he promptly puked all over.  This was apparently quite exciting, as he was still bubbling over with glee.  To top it all off, the baby that had been thrilled while saturated in spit-up and something that resembled Dijon mustard then proceeded to scream all the way through the grocery store.  Double joy. 

Some days it's incredibly exhausting to have so much to do and to be needed by so many people.  

As I was vacating the grocery store with a cart full of groceries (tired children and screaming baby in tow), I noticed an elderly gentleman near the exit.  He was wearing one of those awesome little hats that only elderly men can pull off, and he was all alone.  Using a cane to support himself, he watched our little circus as we paraded by.  And for some reason, the sight of him reminded me of Bea.

Now nursing homes are full of little old ladies that love visiting with children, but there was something different about Bea...a sort of sadness.  When I asked her about her family, I understood.  Bea has very little family.  She'd only had two sons, and one of them had passed away after a lengthy illness.  Her grandchildren are few and all grown up.  Most heartbreaking of all,  Bea recently became a widow.  She's all alone, with nothing important to do, and with no one that thinks she's something special.  No one needs her anymore.

All of a sudden, I'm realizing how blessed I am to have work to do.  To have groceries to shop for and meals to make.  To have a smiling poo-covered baby that needs me.  To have a whole houseful of children that keep me busy and think I'm the greatest thing in the world.  What joy!  Because someday this part of my life will have passed, and I'll be sitting somewhere wondering where all the time went.  Just like Bea.

We are a busy family.  I am a busy mom.  But I'm not too busy for a lonely widow named Bea.  I think I'll go visit her tomorrow.

Dandelion Days

It's that time of year again, when the newly-green landscape is freckled with sporadic dots of yellow, and the gardener begins his yearly battle with the hardiest of weeds.  A frustrating season for those afflicted with lawn envy, and a blissful season for wild, long-eared vegetarians.  Yep, you guessed it.  It's dandelion season.

I have a love-hate relationship with dandelions.  I hate them in my lawn.  I hate them in my garden.  I hate them growing in the cracks in my driveway.  Mostly, I hate them. 

But I love the completely stemless ones pinched between my son's chubby fingers and offered up as treasures.  I love them squished together in sloppy bouquets and arranged in vases on my kitchen counter.  I love "Dandelion Days", when the sky is blue, the clouds are fluffy, and there's nothing more important than holding little hands and picking dandelions.  Today is a Dandelion Day.

If I let go of the weed stigma and try to see them through the eyes of my littlest kids, it's easy to love dandelions.  They're a tiny drop of golden sunshine in an otherwise endless sea of green.  But besides being precious to my kids, there's another reason I love them. 

Dandelions remind me of how far I've come.

Miss M was four and-a-half the first spring she was with us.  Most of her time she spent trying to make us as miserable as possible (we later learned she suffers from an Attachment Disorder, or RAD).  Sometimes, though, she would be playing in the yard and she'd come in with a dandelion to give me.  It was never a grand presentation, just a monotone "I picked this for you".  I'm now ashamed to admit that I rarely showed much enthusiasm for her offering.  I remember telling her that they were weeds and asking her to take them back outside, using allergies as an excuse. 

Why?  First of all, I was an inexperienced parent.  Maybe I was trying to punish her for putting me through hell since almost the moment she walked through our door.  But more than that, I was (not purposefully) withholding my love from her- protecting myself from the inevitable rejection she would hurl at me sometimes only moments later.

Before you judge me too harshly, please concede that you know nothing about living with and attempting to love a child with an Attachment Disorder.  Unless, of course, you do, which means that you will understand where I'm coming from.  Having a daughter like Miss M is not like having a biological child with a problem, or an adopted child without one.  It's unique in that you have no bond with your child (from birth) and you have almost no way of forming one (because of the problem). 

Children with attachment disorders believe at their very core that they are worthless (because of abuse, neglect, trauma, separation, etc. in the first few years of life), and will do ANYTHING to convince the people trying to love them that they are unlovable.  Parent figures are vehemently pushed away, because these children have learned from past experiences that parents can't be trusted to take care of them.  They will do anything to keep from loving you or admitting that they need you, and to keep you from loving them, because if they are dependent on you, they're no longer in control- they're vulnerable and they feel like they could die.  Love is terrifying.

When Miss M came, I loved her with my whole heart.  I poured myself into her.  We baked cookies, we colored, we played, we sang songs, we read books, we cuddled.  For a short time, it seemed like a mother's love was all she needed, but as soon as Miss M suspected that I was here to stay, I became a threat to her.  And she became a monster.  She ripped my whole heart into pieces.  I picked up the pieces, taped them back together, and loved her as well as my taped-together heart could.  Again, she ripped it to pieces.  I taped the pieces back together and tried again.  And again.  And again.  And again.  And again.  And again.  And again.  But the more times I had to repair my tortured heart, the weaker it became.  Eventually, I had no love of my own left to give her.  That's where I found myself that spring when she started bringing me dandelions.

 And then a funny thing happened the following summer.  My emotionally stable, nurtured baby girl, Miss J (then 2), began bringing me dandelions.  She brought them to me proudly, clasped in pudgy hands and accompanied by toothy grins.  And I realized something.  No one taught her to do it, she brought them to me because she loved me...the same way her big sister loved me even though it scared her to death.

A lot has changed in the four years since Miss M first brought me dandelions, and at the same time nothing has changed at all.  We still have tantrums, although fewer and further between, and usually after she's felt particularly vulnerable or loved or close to me.  She's made great strides, but always ends up relapsing and trying to push me away.  We go through weeks and sometimes months of backslides, but come out stronger on the other side.  I continue to guard my heart too much, but I'm learning not to let everything affect me, at least not for long.  My heart still isn't strong enough, but God's is, and now I draw on His strength to love my daughter.  

And another thing has changed.  Miss M stopped bringing me dandelions.  Seems someone told her they were weeds.  Now she and her big brother bring me bouquets of wild violets and grape hyacinths, along with several varieties of weeds that they find on their walk home from school.  If they find out that they're weeds, it won't be from me.  In fact, they aren't weeds to me.  They're beautiful symbols of love and appreciation and acceptance that neither one of my damaged kids knows how to put into words.  So I cheerfully gather them up, arrange them in vases, and display them proudly for all to see...even if I can't stop sneezing.