My husband still has his nose this morning – but barely.  I’ve talked about this nose before, how strong and handsome of a nose he has.  I tend to marvel at his nose because noses are not typically a noticeably attractive feature, what with it being surrounded by the “windows to the soul” and “winning smiles” and such.  But it’s the thought of his endearing nose that restrains me in those rare moments when I want to give him a good punch.

I’m not a violent person.  I’ve only ever hit one person in my life and it was a creepy boy in youth group that kept trying to slide his hand up my leg, so after one very clear warning, I stood up and slapped him square across the face – my one, solitary encounter with physical violence.

But sometimes, the people we love the most can also get under our skin the most, and if they keep crawling under our skin, they eventually find that trigger under our arm that makes us want to haul off and make violent contact with their flesh.

Last night was one of those nights.  Lukus and I were both extremely tired, Eisley was being especially difficult as she kept demanding to eat some non-existent chips, and Taytem was stalling on her bedtime.  We were barely holding on to patience, with every word being carefully measured out of our mouths.  Now, in our early days of marriage, we took every little moody tone as a personal offense, not allowing the other person to ever speak with irritability without taking great offense.  After a few years, we learned to extend some grace to one another, that it was not worth taking personally, and to give the other some space until the irritability passed.  We’ve been fairly successful too, when the irritability descends into disrespect, to be able to say, “I understand you’re frustrated about something, but please don’t take it out on me,” and the other will say, “You’re right, I’m sorry,” and we move on.

But every now and then…every now and then, someone says or does something so insensitive that it’s almost like they’ve turned into a caricature from Everybody Loves Raymond.  Like when a husband has gone to great lengths to provide a romantic evening, and when it comes time to turn the lights down low, the wife puts on her sweat pants and rolls over to go to sleep.

Last night, my husband’s body was momentarily possessed by the spirit of Raymond.  I had been working for two days straight on some major cleaning projects around the house.  I had carried large pieces of furniture downstairs by myself to complete the project.  Not to mention that I had been taking care of my girls all day, cleaned their bathroom, put away some laundry, and actually made our bed for the first time in four months.  I had worked really hard that day, and was fairly satisfied with my efforts, hoping that they would be noticed and appreciated.  And they were.

By our Korean student.

But in a moment of weakness, in that stressful window between getting home at bedtime with the girls and actually getting them into bed, my husband chose that moment to complain about a pot of day-old oatmeal that was sitting on the kitchen counter.  Granted, my husband is very helpful around the house, and he doesn’t ask for much, but he really hates dirty dishes building up on the counter.  He often does them voluntarily, and all he asks is that I don’t let the pan of eggs sit until it’s like stripping 40 year old wallpaper, and that I don’t let things like oatmeal turn to glue.  It’s a perfectly reasonable request, and I should have taken care of it.  But I just hadn’t gotten to it, and it wasn’t like I was expecting him to take care of it.

But I, too, succumbed to tiredness, and with a fair amount of defensiveness, said, “Well, I’m sorry, but I had to change Eisley immediately after breakfast, and then I spent the rest of the day doing those two big cleaning projects, as well as cleaning the girl’s bathroom and putting away laundry, not to mention that the girls kept me pretty busy all day.”

And then, to my astonishment, he said it – something every clear-headed husband knows not to say to his wife.  Ever.  EVER.  ”Yeah, but none of those things are very important.  I’ve done all of that before.”

Now, I’m not the kind of gal who bursts into tears when something hurtful is said to me.  Instead, I get hot all over, and my eyes settle into an angry stare that makes even me uncomfortable.  And I get sort of Incredible Hulk-angry.  I waited for Lukus to realize his mishap and to apologize, but he remained stubbornly on the path that he was perfectly justified in what he had said.  He said it all very calmly and rationally, which only made me more angry.  This is when I started fixating on his nose, trying to remember how much I loved it, so I told him he really needed to leave me alone that instant.

I set myself to taking my anger out on the dishes, scrubbing furiously with scalding hot water, not out of spite, but because, ironically, washing dishes is what I do when I’m very angry and attempting to think rationally and objectively.

I allowed myself to cycle through all of the angry things I wanted to say, all of the self-justification, and then, I eventually slipped into mindless scrubbing.  When my thoughts turned back on, I began to consider how to be objective.  I was definitely hurt by what I interpreted as ungratefulness and lack of respect for what I do every single day, so I knew it wasn’t something I could just let go of.  So I set about trying to find the healthiest way to express my hurt, because I have an innate tendency to want to argue a case, and I’m very good at arguing a case – stacking up the facts, what was said, making comparisons about why my position is more right and his is wrong.  I’m very, very good at it, possibly because I watched a lot of Law & Order growing up.

But I remembered a marriage seminar we had attended last year, and how they talked about that the facts don’t matter – the feelings do.  Stating a case like a lawyer only makes the other person feel like they’re on trial, and people are always prepared to defend themselves when they’re on trial.  The most effective and honest way to handle those hurtful moments with someone is to simply tell them how you interpreted their words, and how that made you feel.  Simple enough, right?

At least it should be.  But when you’re angry at someone, it’s one of the hardest things to do to be vulnerable and simply say, “I’m hurting right now.”  Women seem to be a little more capable of this than men, but I seem to be one of only a few women that was born on Mars rather than Venus, so I tend to dislike gender generalizations.  Getting angry is what is instinctive to me, and it’s also what’s instinctive to Lukus, so we have to work extra hard sometimes because we don’t always naturally balance each other out.

Still angry, I went to find him to tell him how I felt: that I felt like I had worked very hard that day, and he hadn’t noticed my progress.  That his complaint had been annoying, but even more so, to say that nothing I had done that day was important was very hurtful.  He was already waiting with an apology; but I had just scrubbed a sink-full of dishes trying to figure out my approach, and I couldn’t let him off that easy, so there were a few sarcastic comments from my corner of the living room before I let myself simply be honest.  But he heard me, and the spirit of Raymond left him, and Lukus returned to his senses without losing his beautiful nose.

And I had washed the oatmeal pot.

But tomorrow, tomorrow I will be calling around about the cost of outsourcing for just dishwashing.

The other day as I was picking up both of my girls from mother’s day out, there was a small event, the image of which will be emblazoned on my mind forever.  Every mother and daycare worker looked over at me as if I had performed some kind of miracle, but I simply count myself blessed.

What happened was this:  I picked up my girls at class, first Taytem, and then I went to get Eisley.  After Eisley gave me a hug, she immediately began scanning the lobby for Taytem.  When she spotted her, she called out to her and Taytem delightedly yelled back, “Eisley!”  They ran to each other, and little Eisley tackled her big sister with a hug as Taytem planted kisses on her cheeks.  It was as if they hadn’t seen each other for months, and it was quite the spectacle.  For all of their little bickering and picking on each other at times, I have to say this, I have never seen any other siblings greet one another with such enthusiastic affection.

However, as delighted as I was at this scene, I was still slightly skeptical of it’s genuineness.  After all, Taytem can be exceptionally dramatic – especially with affection and compliments.  I can wake up with the flu, wearing Lukus’ pj’s that are way too big for me yet comfortable, with crusty eyes and horse breath, and Taytem will still say, “Mom, you look beee-u-tiful.”  She doesn’t follow it with some sort of manipulative request, she just has this profuse need to give extravagant compliments (she takes after her Uncle Caleb in this department).  So when I see her loving on her sister so abundantly, I wonder if it’s a momentary expression, or if it runs deep to her genuine feelings of love in her heart.  When I asked Taytem what she had done at “school” that day, she said that she had seen Eisley on the playground at the same time that her class was outside and played with Eisley the whole time.  While I thought this was sweet, I was slightly disconcerted that Taytem hadn’t played with the kids in her class, but with her sister, whom she is around 90% of the time.

It was today that left me so grateful for my girl’s affection for one another.  Eisley has a mild form of achondroplasia (dwarfism) so that she is quite small for her age.  But the real concern for her has been her legs:  her legs are extremely bowed because her knee joints do not contain the necessary cartilage to lock her knees in place.  Her bones are starting to bow, and more significantly, the bones are wearing down at the wrong angles, causing “beaking” to occur at her knee joints.  Without leg braces, she could end up with a painful deformity.  She didn’t walk steadily until she was 16 months old, and even now at age 2, she runs with difficulty and stumbles frequently.  Braces became an immediate necessity.

After much stalling on our part, we finally took Eisley in to be fitted for custom braces.  A frightening metal mystery contraption sat in one corner of the room, and a sheeted gurney was pushed against a wall.  The specialist had us remove Eisley’s jeans, and my diapered baby, pacifier and all, bravely laid still as the man examined her legs and marked them with a blue marker.  I sat on the gurney with Eisley’s head in my lap, stroking her hair, while Taytem stood by her side observing.  The specialist began wrapping Eisley’s legs in casting bandages, and suddenly, I saw Taytem’s expression begin to change.  She often tries to keep from crying, but when I see her mouth slightly purse and the edges turn down, I know she’s fighting tears.  She asked me, “Is Eisley ever going to be able to walk again?”  Lukus and I immediately told her, “Yes, of course!  These braces will help her walk even better.”  Taytem looked at me and said, “I don’t believe you!” and broke down into tears.  She was so frightened for her sister that no amount of consolation was sufficient until Eisley’s pants were back on, brace-free (it will be 2-3 weeks for them to be made).

It was then that I was able to fully comprehend their bond – more so than even when Taytem held Eisley right after she was born and said, “This is MY baby!” when the nurse tried to take Eisley to be bathed.  More so than the times I’ve overheard Taytem reading to her little sister, both of them crammed next to each other on the rocking chair.  More so than even their dramatic greeting in the lobby of the daycare.  I could offer all kinds of tips here on how to foster sibling affection, such as:  have them share a room; talk to them about being friends with one another; give the older one some fun responsibility over the younger one (like helping to spoon-feed oatmeal so I can eat my food while it’s still hot for a change); offering suggestions on ways they might play together; and resolving conflict.

But though we have done those things, very little of the credit is due to our parenting because they have loved each other since Day 1.  This is the one thing I am sure we did right:  we prayed for it.  We prayed that Taytem and Eisley would be best friends.  We prayed that they would not be jealous of one another.  We prayed that they would have a connection no matter how their personalities might be different.  We prayed that we would not do unintentional little things that might pit them against one another or make them feel competitive against one another in an unhealthy way.  We prayed that they would look out for one another and have each other’s best interest at heart.  We could chock it up to parenting techniques, or nature, but the truth is, we prayed that our girls would be each other’s best friend.  Today I was convinced – God heard that prayer, and it’s one of the greatest pleasures I’ve experienced as a parent to see my girls’ love for one another.

I’d love to hear about the ways you all foster sibling friendships in your home – it’s still important to take proactive measures as parents.  I’m sure there are lots more ideas out there, but I can definitely vouch for praying for it!

437 – The average number of questions a 4-year-old asks in a single day

4 minutes – The average length of time a child under 5 can go without mom’s attention

874 / 2 minutes – Number of questions in my day, and the frequency with which they occur, having two children under age 5

Above are statistics I got off of a parenting website.  Scientifically-speaking, they may be inaccurate, exaggerated, I’m not sure – as Abraham Lincoln said, “You can’t trust things off the internet.”  But experientially-speaking, I’d say it feels pretty darn close to how life is as a stay-at-home mom.  Subsequently, I was starting to feel the way my friend Sheryl phrased it: like putting a mom-shaped hole in the wall as I sprinted toward freedom.

It seems like if a mom is ever brave enough to admit, “The kids are driving me crazy!” the person listening to that statement is under the impression that the mother is using hyperbole.  It’s a figure of speech that sounds so much more drastic than it really is.   These people do not realize that when a mother says, “The kids are driving me crazy!” she likely means it.  She feels incredibly guilty for saying so, she believes that somehow she is weaker than all the other moms who appear to be holding it together, and even though she believes she has nothing left within her to give to her children, she can at least give them the gift of keeping her mouth shut and gutting things out to her own expense.

Over the last couple of weeks, I was headed toward my wit’s end.  And by wit’s end, I mean feeling incredibly tired but unable to sleep, having frequent dizzy-spells throughout the day, my kidneys were in pain, and my eyes wouldn’t seem to focus.  My girls, ages 5 and 2, are pretty well-behaved, but they were just in constant need, my 5 year old going through one of her hyper-active bouts, and my 2 year old was acting incredibly needy at all times.  In the meantime, various loved ones were going through difficulties that had me in a perpetual state of distracted concern, our finances had gotten off track which left me stressed out, and it was time to plan for Taytem’s 5^th birthday party.  Not to mention that we had various guests in our home for 5 consecutive days, and as someone who requires a significant amount of alone time in order to recharge, I was feeling so unstable that Lukus actually suggested we talk about medication as an option.

Honestly, I hadn’t planned on writing about all of this, but I can’t help but think that there’s some mom out there who is just keeping her head above water, and is barely managing to keep from self-medicating, so whoever she is, I wanted her to know the truth – that she’s not alone.

When Lukus suggested medication, I knew some drastic action was in order, but it wouldn’t be drugs.  I firmly believe that whatever there’s a medication for, there’s a cure for, and one just has to be creative, open-minded and diligent to find it.

Fortunately, right after my talk with Lukus, my friend Sheryl called.  She’s my friend and prayer partner, and I told her everything that was going on.  She casually and confidently said, “You are completely normal.”  “Really?”  I asked.  “I mean, I know other moms get stressed out too, but to what degree is it normal, and to what degree is it not?”  She told me that I just needed to find time to take a break, and she prayed for me.  After I hung up, I couldn’t wait to call Lukus to excitedly tell him that another mom had confirmed that I’m normal, and I certainly wasn’t doing medication.

Instead, I asked for a couple of days of complete and utter aloneness.  He wasn’t sure what I meant.  In my head, I was daydreaming of my own, private hotel room for 48 hours with just a few good books, some HGTV, room service and total silence.  I could sleep as much as I wanted (something I was seriously depleted in), do whatever I wanted, and answer zero questions for two whole days.

But a hotel room wasn’t in the budget.  Instead, Lukus gallantly and sweetly offered to sleep in the den while I quite literally locked myself in our master bedroom with a cooler full of food rations, my laptop and my books.  He was generously giving me 48 hours to rest, recover my senses and get a plan going to preserve my sanity.  Once the 48 hours were over, he offered me one more day, “just to make sure.”  I’m married to a saint, I tell ya.

The first night, I watched several episodes of Mad Men and Design Star before finally falling asleep to the best night’s sleep I’d had in months.  By the time I awoke the next day, summer had turned into fall, and it was exactly my kind of day:  a brisk breeze, rain falling steadily outside my open window, and the house was completely silent since Lukus had taken the girls somewhere.  I put on some Benny Goodman (my favorite music when it’s raining), sat on the floor by the open window, and started a project I’d wanted to do for some time:  a large, home-made chalkboard with our weekly family schedule outlined on it.  It looked like something from a café when I was done, and I was very pleased with the outcome.  I realized then that I don’t make enough time in my week for my own creative projects – something that’s very nourishing for me.

That whole first day, I spent time just relaxing and doing whatever struck my fancy: my toenails needed some love, there was a new season of Sarah’s House on HGTV.com, and there was a lot of just blissfully staring into space and daydreaming.  It reminded me of college, when all the other students went home or went on a trip during fall break.  But I was paying for school out of pocket and needed to stay in the dorms while I worked nights at a pizza joint.  For one whole week, I had complete silence, no homework, no obligations until my 5 pm shift started, showering was optional (as was clothing), and entire days on end could be spent in bed reading classic British novels.  It had been 10 years since I’d had a week like that, but it was exactly what I needed.

By day two, I was starting to form a strategy, a plan of attack against the confusion and stresses of my daily life.  I’d made schedules before, but they’d never been very doable.  I now knew that I’d never in my life get up before 6 a.m. and even that was pushing it.  I knew that I needed more nature and creative moments in my week.  I wanted to make time to cultivate my friendships.  I needed to find time for not only the daily house chores, but the bigger house projects that are necessary if we ever want to finish this renovation.  On my new, home-made chalkboard, I began to design a rough draft of my week.  But I also knew that I needed God’s help with my schedule.  I spent some time praying about my schedule, and then came across a post on The Art of Manliness website (oddly, it’s one of my favorite blogs ever) about defining one’s visions, roles in life, goals and action steps.  It proved to be very helpful for me to find things that needed eliminating, redefining or rearranging in my new schedule (I’ll bring you a post on what I learned from that soon).

Day three was spent solidifying my plans and getting out of the house by myself to just have some fun.  I grabbed a mocha at my favorite spot, went to a girlie movie and savored my last night alone.  By the next morning, I was really happy to see Lukus, and felt a bit more ready to plunge into motherhood, home-schooling and home-making.  One change we decided on was to put our girls in a Mother’s Day Out program two days a week, for their benefit as well as mine.  Mother’s Day Out is what I call good medication!

The result of my home-made hotel and self-imposed isolation?  Well, I won’t give it all away in one post, but here’s a few things I’ve either learned or re-realized:

1) Take Breaks!  I think I’ve said enough on that.

2) A large, visible (and attractive) schedule in a central location in the home helped me stay focused, as well as Taytem (who is beginning to reveal that she has some of my OCD tendencies).  It takes planning to include not only the things that have to be done, but the things you want to do and the things that nourish you.

3) A schedule is very helpful in keeping things on track and aiding in motivation, but the minute it becomes “law” it starts feeling oppressive, so even if you do plan out your whole day, pick only the 4 or 5 essential things and don’t condemn yourself if the others don’t get done.

4)  What’s even more important than a schedule is realistically defining who you believe you’re meant to be as a mom.  Some moms feel guilty about not home-schooling their kids, and yet home-schooling is just another thing sucking them dry, whereas they otherwise might be the mom who has cookies and milk ready when the kids come home, storybooks ready to read at nap-time, and a home that feels inviting and comforting.  Some moms think they need to be an example to their daughter of a woman’s potential in the world and want their kids to see their career success to inspire them in their future.  And yet work just feels like work and home feels like home.  Drop the idealistic expectations and spend time really critically thinking about what you’re doing when you’re at your best as a mom and work toward making that a reality.  I’ve felt guilty about wanting to work as well as being a stay-at-home mom.  I’ve realized that at my best, I’m probably a combination of both with an emphasis on being at home (hence the two days a week in the Mother’s Day Out program).

5)  Lastly, don’t feel ashamed to talk to other moms about what you’re going through.  A lot of moms don’t just come out and talk about their struggles.  Sure, they may mention a moment here and there where the kids were acting up, or the baby had a diaper blow-out in the grocery store, but it’s rare for a mom to say, “I’ve just been feeling so emotionally depleted,” or “I feel so guilty because I’m not (insert some self-imposed expectation here).”  But the moment you step out and just say it, you’ll likely find that all of a sudden you have several comrades in arms who know exactly what you’re going through.  Somehow, the knowledge that you’re not alone in your weaknesses helps you find some strength.

Some of these things may seem pretty obvious, but they’re still easy to forget.  I’m probably blogging for my own benefit more than anyone else’s!  Do any of you moms have any other tips to add for keeping your sanity as a mom?  Have any of you ever taken an extended mom-sabbatical?