Lucky mom

I woke up this morning to some wonderful news! Abby loves me 9 zillion times around the world. It would make a "mummy ball." Of course, she also noted that it would block out the sun. Smart girl! We'll keep that kind of love to ourselves so you can all have your sun.

My Lil' Cowgirl

Abby had a terrific time at her field trip today. The grandparents of a boy in her preschool class own a very cool horse farm. She got to feed and pet horses, and she got to sit in a saddle for a photo. She was just the best behaved girl and really enjoyed it. Maybe riding lessons in her future???

Also, I must say that without her brother around, she actually doesn't whine, sass or back talk. Any other mom familiar with this phenomenon?? Hmmmmm......

Could you give your life....everything....to the Lord?

This lady did! Meet Garnet, on the left, a medical missionary who 43 years ago, abandoned her comfortable life in the states to start what became Medical Evangelism in Mexico. Dan and I stayed with her last summer on our first (of hopefully many!) mission trip. We'll be returning in June. Garnet was married with two very young sons when she started this journey. The Lord called her to serve. She had little knowledge of the Spanish language or the culture in the mountains of Central Mexico. She had no medical training at all! Yet she began saving lives and souls immediately. Oh, the stories she can tell. When I have more time, I'll recount some of them here. Garnet has probably faced more challenges in a week than most of us endure in a lifetime. Through prayer and God's grace, she not only survives, she thrives!!!
Thank you, Garnet, for so graciously letting me photograph you. Isn't she the most adorable lady? She hated getting her photo taken, and yet she did it so well! Please pray for Garnet as she travels in the states through the middle of May and then returns to the people in Mexico who love her so much! Pray for her mission, the lives she's touched and those that she will come into contact with in the future. And pray for Dan and I as we prepare for our second trip. (Pray that we'll learn some Spanish in the meantime, too!)
The lady on the right is Gay Sybert, who has become a tremendous role model for me! She is AMAZING. She has the talent of Martha Stewart and the heart of Mother Theresa. Gay -- and her family -- have been a real blessing to me and my family. I can't wait to continue our growing friendship in Mexico this summer!

Super mad!

Every time I put Ryker down for a nap or bedtime, we read two books, say prayers and then sing two songs: "Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star" and "You are my Sunshine."
Today at nap time, I sang Sunshine real drawn out and "blue-sy." He was smiling very wide and giggling. After verse one, he pulls his thumb out of his mouth very deliberately and says, "You're not my sunshine."
"Really? Why not?" I ask.
"Because you're super mad at me," he says.
Rewind to last night. Ryker was so bad at church. He was trying to shove pumpkin pie in my mouth, yelling and interrupting when a woman was trying to talk to me. He tried to get out of his chair for a third dessert. I told him two was enough and grabbed him before he could run off. He was fighting my hold and smearing pumpkin pie ALL over me (unbeknowst to me). I threatened him with a spanking if he didn't sit down in his seat like a good boy. He didn't sit down, so I had no other option. Off to the bathroom we went and I pulled down his pants for a nice stinging spanking.
Now, I don't spank very often. When I do, I give a warning first, and I let them know right before I do it that it's coming. Afterwards we talk about why. Spankings really aren't effective with Ryker, so I'm not sure why I bother at all. Probably because I was hanging out at that dreadful place called "my wit's end" after just a few tense moments over pie.
So I give him one paddle with my hand. He pulls up his pants with big crockodile tears in his eyes. He's holding his bottom while he looks at me all sad-like and says, "That didn't hurt."
Grrrrrr. "OK. So I guess we'll be leaving now," I say.
Ouch. That hurt. He was NOT happy, and he let everyone at church know it.
"Noooooooo," Ryker yells. "I want to go with Daaaaaaaddy."
I tell Dan he is responsible for bringing Abby home and dart out of there as quickly and calmly as I can muster, despite the 40-pound "my Mommy is mean" alarm that sounding in my arms at full volume.
I put Ry in his booster seat, buckle him in and take a seat behind the wheel.
"I like this song," he says.
I turn off the music.
"Well too bad," I retort. "You don't get to enjoy anything you like the rest of the night. No books. No songs. Just PJs and bed for you!"
"OK, mommy," he says, sniffling. Wow...he's so much easier than his sister!
Then he starts talking to me like nothing happened.
I start to pull out of my parking space, then turn to him and say, "I'm not speaking to you all the way home. Mommy is super mad!"

My screamer

My son is a screamer.
I wondered today when he was screaming at me for the dozenth time or so whether he does this at preschool or church or with other adults. I think they would have told me, because I can assure you to hear it is like having your eardrums ripped out. You won't likely soon forget it.
I don't think I could ever attempt to be this loud! Is this a special gene that only 3-year-olds possess, because it dawns on me that Abby might have done this? But my memory seems short-lived, as I have erased all negative behavior associated with her third year. Trust me, it was an ugly phase.
"I'm getting better at this," I thought this morning as I exhibited stunning patience while talking him through his dressing routine. I would have yelled back at Abby if she were screaming her frustrations directly in my face about not being able to get her pants on. Of course, I'm learning and growing as a mom. Plus, she could dress herself at 2. But here my boy is 3 1/2 and struggling.
"OK. First ... put ... one ... leg ... in ... your ... underwear. Now ... the ... other," I said deliberately. "Woo-hoo!!! You did it. I KNEW you could," I yelled in my best over-pronounced cheerleader tone. I figure my dramatic reaction would be good for his self confidence.
We repeated our roles for pants. As I was several syllabols into my cheering, the screaming errupted. The pants were on backward. (That much I realized.) But he did manage to put them on by himself, one leg in each hole. This was a victory, right?
Wrong. Ryker was NOT happy, and my cheering was only intensifying the screams.
"I don't like these jeans," he screeched out.
"OK. Well, what would you like to wear?," I replied.
"Comfy pants," he said, sticking his top lip out to emphasize his complete determination to rule the world. Well, the house anyway.
"OK. Get them."
Again, they went on backwards, but he did it -- alone. This is definitely a Mommy victory.
Next the shirt. I didn't have high expectations. It's really not his fault. His head is huge. Really huge and totally working against his favor on this dressing alone issue.
I tried very hard to restrain the inner-mommy desire to help. It was challenging, as he was again screaming and clearly frustrated. Part of his head was poking out, one arm in, one arm out.
He stopped his insane screaming, looked at me and begged.
"YOU can do this," I insisted, cheerleader smile plastered to my face.
"No I can't."
This exchange went on for a while. Then I walked him through it, showing him how to grab onto the vacant sleeve to gain leverage into the head hole. It worked!
Whew! What a proud boy he was, as he walked off with his confident "I dressed myself" strut into the living room.
What a proud momma I was. I resisted the desire to get the dressing -- and more importantly the screaming -- over with by stepping in and doing it myself.
Of course, two hours later, it was a repeat performance. This time he was screaming his "someone is chasing me and wants to kill me" scream because Abby had moved the stepstool out of the bathroom and he couldn't reach the faucet to wash his hands.
Deep breath, momma. Deep breath.