It All works out in the Wash *(My grandma always says)

I just have to say,
that I noticed my last post was 5 weeks ago.
That I have had several "Posts To-Do" that I have even written on my "To -Do" list.
All of which are very clever and insightful and delightful.
But today I about had a crazy moment.

I love my children. Dearly. They bring me the absolute utmost joy.
But today I felt like a horrible mother, nay, a horrible person for the way I treated them.
I had so much to do, and even prayed that I would be a good mother through it.
But eventually I had to ask Royal to give me an hour alone when he got home.

Sadly, I didn't spend that time meditating, or shopping or even being alone.
I spent it trying to work with some Young Women that have been off the radar.
I don't know why I chose to do that, but I do know that I prayed for some opportunities
to help these girls.
And maybe that's why everything happened the way it did.
I made contact. It was good.
And then, I came home, and kissed my husband and
looked in my beautiful girl's eyes
and rocked my baby to sleep.
It turned out to be a good day after all.

A Mother's Creed

I,
Da'nelle Robins,

do solemnly swear,
that as a mother
I . . .

• Relinquish the rights to a full, uninterrupted shower, unless taken after 10 PM
• Will no longer wear black
• Will reach into a baby's mouth to retrieve any small object he/she may have found
• Give up a consistent night's sleep for the next 2-5 years. I will instead compensate it with 2-3 blocks of sleep intertwined with 5 minute accidental naps during the day
  
• Will comb and style my daughter's hair even though she will undoubtedly take it out on the way to somewhere important
• Eat my meals only after I have prepared, cut up, and fed my children first. I understand that doing so will generally leave my own food cold and required to be consumed quickly.
• catch vomit with my hand and wipe disgusting messes from all parts of my children's bodies
• will learn how to walk, cook and do Pilates with baby weight* (*baby weight is the weight of a child that holds on to you wilst trying to move or do exercises)
• must learn to sacrifice my way of life, my pride, my selfish wants, and take every opportunity available to teach a principle about what is happening
• Willingly allow my patience, nerve and personal space to be tested to the utmost degree

In return, I will. . .
receive more joy, love and happiness that I could ever have known to be possible.

Signed, Da'nelle Robins

Mothers Who Know

I found this awesome video about being a mother, and since that is 95% of my day; it really touched me. I just love Sister Beck and how timeless her words are. I hope you can recognize her message and become inspired through it.

It is about 8 minutes long, so watch it when you can sit down and appreciate it.

P.S. You may need tissues

Creativity Burnout

Being a mom has really shown me a new way of living in real life. To maintain sanity, sometimes you have to be a little creative. Now to my credit, I have been a school teacher, so I know how to make mundane things seem interesting. This skill has come in very helpful as a mom. For example:

Not Creative: Lucy, stop!
Creative: Lucy, I can tell you are going to be a good soccer player, but please don't kick your brother's head.

Not Creative: What the. . gross!
Creative: Grant, thanks for helping us get our money's worth out of these diapers by filling them to maximum capacity.

Not Creative: Lucy, get your clothes on, NOW!
Creative: Lucy, let's use some of that energy and you can bunny hop right into your pants here.

Not Creative: C'mon, buddy!
Creative: Grant, it sure is fun to find your Cheerio landmines on the ground- that explosive crunch keeps me on my toes!

If you have ever read the book "Just Go to Bed" by Mercer Mayer, I think he portrays it very well. Here the dad is trying to be patient and creative with his little Critter, but by the end he's having a bit of creativity burnout.

This is why I think moms have a creativity outlet of their own. Whether its scrap booking, crafting, cooking, blogging, running, preschool, or whatever else, they just need something to refuel their creative juices after being squeezed dry during the hours. So whatever it may be for you- carry on faithful soldier- and make it a good one!

Home Accessories

Soooooo, do you ever wonder if sometimes you are the one who owns the children's furniture. . .


. . . or that they actually own you?


This isn't what I anticipated when I planned out my home decor.

Oh well, I am sure it is just a phase that will pass,

in like 10 more years.

I think it was stated best by an actor in the TV Show "Men of a Certain Age" who once said, "One day you wake up and your tripping over tricycles and your house smells like poo." You said it, buddy!

My Wardrobe

My sweet mother in law took me for a well needed clothes shopping trip for Christmas. It did however, make me realize the evolution of my wardrobe in the past 5 years.

Remember when I had the professional desk job at UVSC? Yep, that was me- fun, stylish, current. I matched my shoes to my bag, and had several to choose from (both shoes and bags.) I was embellished in scarves, dangling earrings, and bracelets and had no problem with those darling 4 inch strappy heels around the office. My hair was always coiffed into an elegant or sassy 'do, I loved perfume and Clinique products, and was willing to try a new fashion just for the hey of it. Loved it.




Enter my school teaching years. Well, I still tried to stay fashionable, but due to the excessive amounts of bending, kneeling and walking, walking, walking, I had to trade in the high heels for conservative "teacher shoes." Oh, I got the cutest ones I could find, but when you are hauling a ginormous bag of math papers and spelling lists in addition to your computer, purse, lunch, and any other scholastic project at hand, you just have to give a bit. By this time I felt pretty set for the day if I had earrings AND a necklace on. Not to mention that I now had 1 child and my lack of energy was apparent in my limited hairstyles.



Then I became. . .the PE teacher, nay a PREGNANT PE teacher. Don't get me wrong, it was a pretty sweet gig for a pregnant lady, but I couldn't put on my stinky sneakers and ratty ole' workout clothes for the kids. So I was once again lead to purchasing a new wardrobe. This was tricky- I couldn't wear the same thing every day, but getting huge workout clothing is kind of an oxymoron. Thanks to Danskin, I was able to get some decent pieces, within my size range (fortunately I don't get too huge during pregnancy) and was able to be "presentable" day by day. Oh, I did wear my stinky old sneakers by the way and my hair specialty this time--long bangs and a ponytail. (um, sorry, I couldn't find a picture of me teaching soccer in a mu-mu.)




Okay, so now I have arrived at: Stay at Home mom. The phrase along can conjure a wide array of images that we all know too well. For me it turned into the mismatched, leftover, overused, underutilized outfits of yesteryear. I am trying to reinvent my style while still being frugal and functional. By now I have two categories of outfits: 1)Going out of the house and 2) Staying in. I think it's self explanatory. Although I do now have a little more time for hairstyles and jewelry, my focus is on purchasing anything that will survive spit-up on one shoulder and boogies on the other. 2 words: Machine Washable.

So needless to say, thanks for the clothes, Robyn.

Becoming A Mother Bear

So, you've all heard those stories of epic aggression when someone or something steps between a mother bear and her cubs. It's commonly used when a mild mannered person changes into a fiercely protective being all for the sake of her beloved children. I have thought to myself: Would I have those instincts when it really mattered? Would I be fearless and tough, controllably irrational, and be able to call upon primal powers just to protect my little babies?
Well, my friends, that time came for me recently.
About this time of year the mice decide they would rather live indoors where we have a costly controlled heated environment rather than outside. We, on the other hand, are not so welcome to their invasion. And so it began with the traditional laying of the traps (oh, if at any time in this paragraph and beyond you say "oh, gross" then I feel have sufficiently represented my experience.) Royal was so great, he was very talented at spreading peanut butter and laying them delicately down for the fiendish little fellows. (Let's not talk about when Lucy curiously touched one, then accidentally stepped on another. Don't worry, she is tough and okay.)
I kind of forgot about them until one night when I opened the closet door to my nemesis. I saw him. I squealed. He twitched. Both from the response to my scream and also because his life was dwindling away. I knew he was stuck, I knew that he WASN'T dead, and I knew that I had to kill him. Oh, gross.

How should I do it? How could I do it? So there I was, trying to decide WHAT to do. After an encouraging call from Royal, I hung up and looked at him. Lucy was around the corner on the steps this whole time, wondering what the heck her mom was up to, but being oh, so patient. At first sight, I saw this cute little nose, and soft brown eyes.

But then, I remembered the mouse poop I had just cleaned out of the closet. I thought of the disease ridden feet that could have been running across the same floor that my sweet little Grantster is learning to crawl on. I thought of how I felt so violated at his existence into our home and that is when I became the Mother Bear.
I turned mean. I evoked some power I was never aware of. If I had been in a movie, there would have been a swirling of smoke behind me. I took that energy and allowed him to die in a cruel and gruesome manner which I will spare you all the details of. I just hope I can be forgiven for the life that I have taken.

After a trip to the dumpster, and a hug for my girl, I had this realization that I . . .did it. I saved my kids. Maybe not from immediate death, but definitely some sort of threat to their lives. Look at me, I'm the Mama Bear.

I Get to be the One

It's 5:45 AM. A small distant voice in the darkness says, "Mom?" I get up to comfort my darling little Lucy. I have found that being home has evoked an amazing awareness of the needs of my children.

When I was working, I felt like my relationship with Lucy was so objective-based. "We need to hurry and get dressed/ get dinner made/ get ready for bed/ clean up the house. . ." whatever else it was. It was so sad because I felt, especially when I was pregnant with Grant, that I was wasting the better part of me on the kids at school, and Lucy was left with the tired, impatient, and less tolerant version of me.



Consequently I found myself carrying a bit of that over when I was able to stay home with them. And that's when it hit me, "Is THIS how I want my children to remember me as a mother?" Am I fostering an atmosphere where they feel loved, not just taken care of? Important, not just visible? Understood, not just tolerated? My heart ached for the times that I rushed through things, rather than appreciated the moment that I had.

I hear the phrase, "Hold Me Please, Mama" at least 25 times a day from Lucy. Any mother knows it would not be realistic to pick up your child every time that they request it. But I have started to change what I am doing. I used to say that I will hold her after I finish these 5 dishes, but what happens is I rationalize and say, that I need to clean the counters, and then I need to wipe the table, but then I need to take out the garbage. . etc. And after a while, she is either clinging to my leg or has moved on to something else. This is very difficult for me. I am the kind of person that cannot relax if there is a sink of dirty dishes or my house is a mess.

I am really trying to change that. I have come to appreciate that I GET TO BE THE ONE she wants. If I don't enjoy the time with her now, I am going to miss out on it. I keep telling myself- she is only two years old, RIGHT NOW. She won't always want you to HOLD HER.


And so it is the same with Grant. He is such a sweet and content little baby. Because of that I find myself saying that he is fine scooting around the ground curiously looking at things, and I can get these things done. He is already 7 months, and I feel that they have gone by about 3 times faster than when Lucy reached that point. I don't want to miss anything because things were "content." I have immense gratitude for the opportunity I have had to stay home with them. But mostly, I feel grateful that I get to be the mom.



















I get to be the one to comfort them. I can make the hurt, the hunger, the fear go away.




Do I have any special skills for this? No, I just get to be there with them. I get to be the one who wakes up and walks mechanically to Grant's crib to feed him in the night. I get to be the one to hear silly songs and play Hide it and read books with. I get to be the one that gets drooled on and cried to and laughed with and everything in between. I get to be, so I find I want to be more. My heart just bursts when I think about how special and wonderful they are, and that they are mine.


I know that it will always be worth it, and I know, that I'm gonna miss it when it's gone. I just have to remember, I GET TO BE THE ONE for that voice in the dark.