pecking chickens

This past week has passed by in slow motion for me. I've been dragging my feet and I'm not sure why, other than the fact that I feel as though I've lost my grip on a schedule. I've been doing a little research to get myself organized and into a routine that works for me now that I have three little ones on my watch. I hope a big break through is right around the corner because for now, I feel a little lost.

I need a preschool routine with my three year old that challenges her

and let's her be creative and have fun...

I need activities that are geared towards my two year old's strengths and abilities...

We do need to get out of the house every so often and be social...

I need some time to myself to even remember who I am

and maybe wear cute shoes again

and you know, keep up with a blog that gives me a sense of fulfillment...

(the list goes on of course).

I watched Julie & Julia the other day in my kitchen while catching up on lost time with my dishes. I stood there in my yellow dish gloves with tears in my eyes when Julia Child got her first published copy of her cook book in the mail. After all that work and patience and frustration, she got a little package in the mail that was evidence that she did it.

Do you think parenthood will have a conclusion like that? A final "Look, we did it!" moment when all your sacrifices and sleepless nights seem to pay off and you become an official, published parent--who made the cut and saw success?

No, I don't think so either. But I do like to believe that there's miniature milestones where you can see that you're heading in the right direction. I think that's why good friends are so critical. You can look at their psychotic preschooler and think, "At least things are that bad for me..." while they're looking at your kids and thinking the same thing. Everyone has a story and I am always refreshed when I hear that I'm not the only one. Sometimes it turns into a competition. I was chatting with the other moms in our co-op preschool group, telling them about how my two year old ate two lip sticks, a lip liner, a couple small beads and a piece to our cardboard memory game--all in one day. A mother of five boys chimes in, "Oh that's nothin'! My five year old took scissors and cut up all of my curtain ties this week! And now he's grounded from the TV and I don't know what to do with him..." Soon other moms are throwing out their horror stories and we end up laughing and feeling better about ourselves and our little biting, chewing, scissor- happy demons.

My husband told me about an older woman he met who had raised a large family. She said that her husband used to say that raising kids is like being pecked to death by chickens. She was recently in the car with her oldest daughter and her little ones who were misbehaving and she leaned over to her and said slowly, "Bock, bock."

I will never forget the best horror story yet from a good friend who is tidy and clean, her kids always look happy and fashionable, and her house is well decorated and "homey." She's just not the typical horror story mom, you know? She has things under control. Well, one day her oldest decided to dip into his diaper and smear his poop all over her beautiful couches, the walls, other innocent furniture and even into the small cracks in her wood floors. When she walked into the room and saw what her wonderful little boy had done, she told me that she had two choices: she could call her husband and lose it (and beg him to come home from work and help her) OR she could just clean it up. She could be a princess or a pioneer. (Pioneers get published).

Tomorrow I hope to make these with my girls:

I'll let you know how it goes.