Boogie Board Blunder (My Whoops of the Week)

Call me crazy, but I've always enjoyed mowing the lawn. What could be better than whirring around the open yard, enjoying the smell of fresh-cut grass, and the sun shining on my face? It is a peaceful me time that I tend to savor.


Since I have been mowing grass for over two decades (*gulp, that stung a little) I have had my share of little mowing-mishaps. Perhaps you can relate to mowing over your dad's new green garden hose that was hidden beneath the matching green grass.  Perhaps you narrowly avoided the annihilation of a little bunny nest that was concealed beneath the large oak tree in your front yard. Mowing the grass is no job for the weak, and I have learned that if I'm not on high-alert, crazy things can happen.


Yesterday morning the grass had finally reached the point where it looked less like a yard and more like an abandoned lot/wilderness refuge.  It was time to mow. I was enjoying my spins around the yard and the immediate sense of accomplishment from the simple straight lines of freshly cut grass.  The sky was blue and speckled with gorgeous white clouds. 


I was almost finished; I was rounding the tight corners of the last flower bed when I got a little too close to the edge and saw this (a foam boogie board that I picked up on clearance last week at Target) being sucked like a vacuum directly into the powerful mower blades and spit out the other end--all over the grass in a thousand tiny pieces. 

It was Christmas in July as the itty-bitty white foam particles sprinkled down and buried themselves in the tall grass.  

I quickly turned off the mower and spent the next 20 minutes attempting to rake up particles the size of rice from the grass and dirt.  What had been a peaceful morning of mowing and accomplishment turned into an extra task and a mess that I would not be able to completely un-do unless I spent an hour handpicking tiny rice-like pieces from individual blades.  Here are a few more pictures of the damage:

Once I put the boogie-board chomping monster away in the shed and I explained to the kids that their pool toy was gone and the mess was mostly cleaned up, we enjoyed a lovely time in the sun and in the little pool. It is easy to laugh at myself for making this gigantic mess, since thankfully it was only a $2 boogie board and a mess that is not permanent.  What is the craziest mowing mishap you have ever had??

I am thankful for a lawn that needs mowing, windows that need cleaning and gutters that need fixing because it means I have a home.... I am thankful for the piles of laundry and ironing because it means my loved ones are nearby.  ~Nancie J. Carmody

Popsicles in Pools

The dust continues to settle on our most recent adventure—a whirlwind trip to the Midwest to participate in my baby brother's beautiful wedding. The trip odometer read 1,400 miles, 450 games of “I spy,” 125 rainbow goldfish crunched into tiny van crevasses, and 16 half-eaten sucker sticks melted into tiny teeth.

One thing that continues to amaze me about these trips is that no matter how I plan—I am a planner you know, there will be traffic in unexpected places, downpours in the middle of mountain driving and babies who wake up hours before they should. Flexibility is a skill that it forced upon us with the gift of motherhood. With each child there is another set of wants and needs, another hungry belly, another dirty face and another time frame that is not quite in sync with mine.

For the past two days I have had great intentions to unpack the bags, put the laundry away, finish organizing the toy room, take things to goodwill, mop the floors, put things away! The house seems to still be in post-adventure disarray and my little guy has done nothing but follow me around the house whimpering and clinging to my left leg.

Because of the whimpering and clinging we have spent the majority of the past two days outside in the baby pool where the sun is hot, and deep well water runs cool from green garden hoses. Today they ate Popsicles while sitting in the pool and the green ice melted down their chins and dripped into the water. I watched chunks of Popsicle melt into the pool and I watched Mason sift through the grassy water, find the chunk and shove it back into his mouth. It was a lovely summer day and as they splashed and played I stared at them—forcing a memory.

Then I was thinking about how even in the midst of lazy days where nothing is scheduled or planned, where the kids are deep in the land of imaginary play, the responsibilities of motherhood are there—lurking shadows that can instantly force a shift in fun:

• Suddenly realizing that the baby is playing with a mysterious “log” in the sandbox = an immediate fun-ender. <Insert 20 minutes of child and sandbox clean-up>
• Leaving the baby in the living room for no less than 60 seconds to retrieve a non-swimmy diaper resulting in an artistic display of some sort on the middle of the living room floor = a fun-ender. <Insert several minutes of child and carpet clean-up>

Long ago I willingly accepted these responsibilities: the constant hunger of bottom-less bellies, washing of sweaty kids and sweaty clothes, scrubbing of dingy baby teeth, driving to and fro and the immeasurable changing of diapers.  I can't take three small kids and plan a day-o-fun that doesn't involve an unexpected mess and needs that must be met immediately.  Instead of always worrying about all the hypothetical messes that could occur at any time during my day or tracking down that tricky fun-ender who is lurking in the shadows, I'm learning to enjoy the moment and clean it up when I can.  Sometimes it's best to just eat Popsicles in the baby pool and embrace the gooey melted mess that comes with lots of smiles and laughter.

On this note I am supremely thankful this week. 

• I am thankful for the flexibility of my young kids. They show me how to relax.
• I am thankful for a safe drive and a lovely visit with family.
• I am thankful for cheap popsicles and sticky faces.
• I am thankful for water splashes on the pages in my journal.
• I am thankful for the fun sounds Mason makes when he impersonates a jet flying above us.

“The holy grail of joy is not in some exotic location or some emotional mountain peak experience. The joy wonder could be here! Here, in the messy, piercing ache of now, joy might be - unbelievably - possible! The only place we need see before we die is this place of seeing God, here and now.” 
~Ann Voskamp

“I don’t need more time to breath so that I may experience more locales, possess more, accomplish more. Because wonder really could be here - for the seeing eye.” Ann Voskamp

Exploding Cans, Chasing dreams.

Today I came home from church and as I was setting the table for lunch, 3 full cans of cherry Dr. Pepper rolled off the top of my refrigerator, exploded against the tile floor and splattered everything in the room with tiny, sticky-fizzy drops. 

As I scrubbed the walls, cabinets, kids, floor, and furniture in my Dr. Pepper-splattered church clothes, it struck me again that these unpredictable moments continue to splash me in the face on a daily basis. They are going to keep happening. How will I respond?

After lunch I was cleaning up the rest of the mess—it was a big mess, and decided to reward my clean-up efforts with a little blue DOVE chocolate square that I found in the bottom of the Easter candy basket—yes we still have lots of Easter candy left (and Halloween candy for that matter.) My metallic blue wrapper, as always, imparted me with an amazing tidbit of inspiration: “get out there and make your dreams happen.” It was exactly what I needed to hear. Thank you, DOVE. You are right, time to make some dreams happen!

Just then I smelled it. A dirty diaper--yet another dirty diaper. As I set aside my scrubbing sponge and switched gears back to mommy mode, I tried to figure out how a dirty diaper could possibly fit into making my dreams happen. It often feels like a cruel contradiction—I want nothing more than to live my dream of staying at home with my kids, but the daily demands and details that require my patience and the dirty work starts to wear away at the glamour of this dream. And I wonder if the messes will ever stop. Will they ever stop?

Yesterday I was scouring the bathroom sink late in the afternoon, and I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror; I saw that crazy-haired lady with bloodshot eyes and a dirty shirt. It certainly wasn't June Cleaver or Donna Reed. This lady was bedraggled and needed a hairbrush and make-up and lots more coffee.

The “How To” books I've read on child-rearing and home-making rarely speak about the moments we see ourselves in the bathroom mirror, holding a toilet brush and pretending we don't hear the baby who is already awake again after the world's shortest nap. The books don't talk about kids who won't eat anything but Cheez-its or the sharp toys you will step on while walking through the house barefoot in the middle of the night. Parenting books fail to mention that often when you hold the baby above your head to play he will drop drool directly into your mouth. It will happen, so be ready.

These days are spent knee-deep in diapers and spilled soda and pyramids of toppling toys—and when I read a phrase on a metallic DOVE wrapper telling me to get out there and make my dreams happen it is hard to see past the messes and keep my true priorities in check. The poster children for this dream have dirty faces and ketchup stains on their clothes. For me, it requires great effort to consistently respond to the exploding cans correctly.

When the kids are well-rested with full bellies and we are driving to Sunday morning church wearing ironed clothes, it is easier to put the images inside a picture frame on the mantel. But when everyone is screaming for food and needing a nap and the clothes are covered in cherry Dr. Pepper, I have to remind myself that the dreams are messy after all. And the mess is what keeps this our home—a place where we don't feel guilty when our clothes don't match and when we eat out of a Kraft macaroni box because we didn't quite make it to the store.

We don't always put the chaos in a frame for world to see, but the cluttery disarray and how we respond to it is generally what defines our home and our dreams in the end. All we can do is roll with the messes and latch onto things that really matter, because there will always be exploding cans and babies who discover 6-month-old teddy grahams under the kitchen rug. 

This is one of my favorite Phyllis Diller quotes, “Cleaning your house while your kids are still growing is like shoveling the walk before it stops snowing.”