I used to be guilty of getting after the kids for what now seem like silly reasons, mostly when my daughters were young. I soon realized, though, that I was spending way too much of my time saying, “No, don’t do that” and not nearly enough time enjoying my girls. I realized that this wasn’t how I wanted them to remember me and decided that before I get upset about something, I need to think about whether or not it’s really worth the battle.

This is not to say that there is no discipline in our house. Of course there is. If I want to turn out responsible, kind, reliable, honest, hard-working adults someday, there has to be discipline. I’m talking about the little things, the things that I might not particularly like or want them to do, but that just aren’t worth a battle.

When Rachel wears an outfit that doesn’t particularly match, I let her know that it doesn’t, but since it doesn’t bother her, I let her wear it. When Logan plays with PlayDoh and mixes it all together, even though I’d like him to keep the colors separate, I let him mix all he wants. When Cody insists on wearing his Spiderman costume from Halloween to bed, even though it’s ridiculously tight and coming apart, I let him wear it. My rule of thumb is that as long as their actions aren’t hurting or endangering anyone, and as long as there are no moral issues involved, I will let them do it. Since I don’t get on their cases for everything, they listen better when I do because they know the things I do fight for are important.

Battles worth fighting are ones such as what TV shows my kids watch; how much time they spend watching TV and playing on the computer versus how much time they spend in creative play; treating each other nicely rather than hitting or name-calling; learning to be responsible and dependable; and cleaning up after themselves. These are worth battling for because they all have an impact on the formation of their characters.

So, before you get on your child’s case because you’re not a big fan of the shoes she’s wearing or he’s making a huge mess in his room but he’s having a great time, ask yourself if it’s really worth fighting about. Will your son have to pick up his mess? Of course. Should you instruct your daughter in choosing appropriate shoes so she knows how to dress herself someday when she actually cares how she looks? Sure. Giving your children choices and letting them make their own decisions is a big part of growing up and learning. If they can’t make their own choices in the small things that don’t matter in the big picture, how will they be able to make decisions when it counts? Guidance and consequences are necessary, but save your battles for the big things.

That’s my 2¢ for the day.

Do you pick your battles or do you find yourself constantly on your child’s case?

We were at the store and Logan had $1 to spend. He found a purple plastic recorder for 88¢.

I encouraged him to get it because he’s always using his sisters’ recorders, which makes them very angry. They don’t want his germy little mouth anywhere near their stuff. (Sound familiar?)

“Then I can have my OWN flute!” he said.

“Let’s get it, then,” I agreed.

All was well and good.

Until this morning.

At what I consider the unnecessarily early hour of 6:30, I awoke to the “flute” being played right by my head. A rather unpleasant wake-up call for the entire household.

Dumb, Sarah, dumb.

After four kids, shouldn’t I know better than that? What did I expect?

Now, too late, I remember why the girls’ recorders mysteriously disappeared for a time shortly after their receipt. Rachel and Andie were much younger then and since the novelty of the sound hadn’t worn off for what seemed like far too long, the offending instruments made a semi-permanent home on top of our very tall bookshelf.

This little purple gem may go missing soon as well. If Logan continues to get up before everyone else in his excitement to help us greet the morning with his version of music, it just might find housing on the same bookshelf top.

Now if only the overly large, and therefore unable to be hidden, baritone Rachel has just started learning to play came with a mute button . . .

What are some of your kids’ most annoying toys and why? Do you ever resort to hiding them?

Ha! The kids make their father look like Martha Stewart. 

I’ve noticed that my housekeeping standards have continued to decline with each successive kid, but I never quite understood why. I thought it was because four kids are messy and very difficult to keep up with. While that’s certainly part of it, I realized this past week the main reason I always feel ten steps behind.

I’m tired. So very tired.

The kids were at their grandparents’ house all last week and I was home alone. It was amazing — I barely had to do anything at all. Just a quick clean-up here and there, plus I think I only did something like two loads of laundry instead of the usual twenty. It was wonderful to not have to worry nearly as much about the house falling apart.

When the kids arrived home yesterday morning and I started getting back into the routine of getting them breakfast and cleaning up, I realized how much energy I had thanks to my vacation. I also realized how much work four kids, especially four kids who are home all day, really are. Even if I weren’t working at home part-time, it would be a full-time job just to make sure the house is reasonably clean, the yard is mowed, the kids are fed and bathed and that I’ve spent some time with them.

As it is, something has to get less attention, and that usually ends up being anything related to the house. I used to love to try out new recipes and bake cookies, cakes and breads. I bet it has been a good four years since I’ve tried anything new and baking seems to be more like a quarterly event these days. The dusty bookshelves, peeling paint and dust bunnies would have the old me cringing in horror.

However, I agree with whatever adage it is that says I’d rather have a messy house and spend time with my kids than have a spotless house and miss their growing up years. It’s impossible to do everything, so I try to do what I can, with help from the kids, and get to the other stuff when I have extra time. It always gets done eventually. In a dual between housework and paid work, the money wins every time.

So my floors aren’t sparkling, my windows are full of fingerprints and my landscaping needs a major overhaul. I don’t care. Relationships are far too important to spend all my time worrying about those things.

Because before I know it, the kids will be gone, and then I’ll have all the time in the world to keep my house spotless again.

How do you handle housework in your home?

Keeping in the same vein as my last post, this is one of my recent discoveries to help keep clutter at bay. I just wish I would have thought of it sooner!

For Logan’s fourth birthday in March, I asked the family to give him disposable items, such as helium balloons, party hats or bubbles. It was perfect for everyone — no one had to spend much money, Logan was thrilled with his gifts and I was relieved that I didn’t have to add anything to the overstuffed toy box. I hadn’t ever done this before, but it turned out so well, I think I’ll make it routine. Just disposable/throw-away gifts or books from now on. My kids have shelves of books, but those, I won’t give away.

A big gift that a child really wants, given by parents and/or grandparents, along with the aforementioned disposable gifts, seems to be the best way to inspire gratitude and keep overspending and overspoiling at a minimum. I’m tired of feeling guilty about the number of toys we have accumulated. It seems so wasteful when there are millions of people in the world without food, clean water or decent health care.

The girls’ tenth birthday is coming up in June. We’ll probably get them new bikes, since they’ve outgrown their old ones, and other relatives can give them gum, bubbles, books and maybe games for their Game Boys or batteries for their digital camera.

I want to do a better job of passing on a sense of frugality and simplicity to my kids. They have so much more than I did as a child, mostly because many things are a lot more inexpensive now than they were back in my day. Yet since they don’t know any differently, they take all their ”stuff” for granted. I want them to learn to be grateful for everything they get, rather than expecting it.

What are some ways you’ve found to help fight the war on collecting too much stuff? How about to help your kids be thankful for what they’re given?

Well, it’s lost to Cody, anyway.

A few Christmases ago, my mother-in-law asked me if it would be OK if they gave Rachel and Andie Game Boys for Christmas. Their uncle, 7 years their senior, had one and they loved playing it. I reluctantly said yes, not wanting to disappoint the girls, but also realizing the potential addiction of video games.

They each got a Game Boy and some games for Christmas that year, and we immediately gave them a limit on playing time (20 min. a day with a little more time earn-able by doing chores). All was well.

Until Cody started playing it too. Addiction is a gross understatement — this child’s days were absolutely consumed with the Game Boy.

My sweet, imaginative little boy became a monster. He started smuggling games out of his sisters’ room and subsequently losing them, whining horrendously when he was told he couldn’t play anymore, screeching in frustration when he reached a hard part, and he was always, always looking for the evil little black box if he didn’t know right where it was. It was pretty much all he thought about.

Then he started sneaking it into his room at night and playing it under his covers. (Isn’t it funny how clueless kids are that we’re going to figure out things like this? “How’d you know, Mom?” asked Cody upon discovery. They’re too young to think about details like the light from the Game Boy illuminating the quilt, not to mention the room.) Keeping Cody and the Game Boy apart became a daily chore.

His main form of punishment became banishment from playing it. That hit him where it hurt, and then he’d spend the whole day grumpy and out-of-sorts just because he couldn’t play his beloved Mario Brothers. I don’t know why I didn’t realize then what a problem this was getting to be, but it wasn’t until the Game Boy actually did go missing for about a month that I realized how bad the situation really was.

It was so nice to have the excuse to tell Cody he couldn’t play because we didn’t know where it was. Eventually, he reconciled himself to the fact that it was gone, forgot about it and became his old self again.

Unfortunately, the Game Boy reappeared and the whole cycle started over again. The begging to play, even after he’d already played his allotted time, the whining, crying and frustrated yelling . . . I was getting stressed myself just listening to him.

Lo and behold, a few months ago the Game Boy became “lost” again. (It was hidden in my room.) I did this for his own good, as well as for my sanity.

Recently, the girls started lamenting the loss of their Game Boys once again and complaining about how unfair it was that Cody lost *both* of them. So, I told them where the one we knew about was hidden and made them promise not to show Cody. I mean, it is their Game Boy, after all. Why should they have to be punished because their little brother is a crazed and compulsive video game addict?

So far so good.

And I know I made the right decision because when the girls had a friend over last weekend, she made the mistake of bringing her Game Boy over. Cody begged and begged her to play it, and she was nice enough to let him (I’m sure the annoyance of his begging didn’t hurt his chances either). Since it was a treat for him, ours being lost and all, I let him play it most of the day, a decision I soon regretted. It didn’t take long before the whining began, with Cody getting crabbier and more frustrated with the game by the hour.

“THIS is why our Game Boy is ‘lost’,” I whispered to the girls. They nodded in agreement.

Cody definitely won’t be getting a Game Boy of his own any time soon. Or ever. Anything that has that tremendous a hold on a person, particularly when it’s completely mindless, needs to be avoided. I want him to develop that amazing imagination he has, not stunt it with teeny characters jumping around in a box.

I just hope he doesn’t find the Game Boy, because if he does, it’ll have to go bye-bye for real this time.

Among some of the funny words and pronunciations my kids have come up with are:

“Hop dog” for hot dog (Logan)

“Cromfy” for comfy (Cody)

“I no no” for I don’t know (Logan)

“Gre-fest” for breakfast (Logan)

“Tie-red” for tired (Logan)

And the mother of all improper articulations, the mispronunciation that causes afflicted parents moments of utter embarrassment:

Replacing the “tr” in truck with an “f.” (Logan)

While shopping one day, Logan, then around 2, saw an aisle full of trucks and started yelling, “Trucks! Trucks! Trucks!” at the top of his lungs, only it didn’t come out as “trucks.” That was one humiliating parenting moment.

Then there’s the off-the-wall stuff they say, the language that is so surprising, you find yourself looking at them in awe, wondering where they learned it and how they know how to use it.

My melodramatic one, Cody, has these moments almost daily, but some are more memorable than others.

Last month, we went outside to get in the van and I commented on what a nice day it was. “Yes, it is a nice day,” said Cody moodily, “but I don’t really like the outside world.”

When we moved him to a twin bed at 4, one of his first nights in it, he snuggled under the covers and said, “Oh, Mom, this is so crumfy and lovely!”

How do I remember all these things? Yeah, right. I can barely remember to return a phone call, let alone remember what my kids said three years ago. I write it down. Immediately. I grab whatever I can find and get it on paper, then transfer it on to a running document on my computer.

If you don’t already do this, you really should. Because even though you think you’ll remember all these cute comments and expressions that inevitably bring a smile to your face, you won’t. Trust me. Even worse, as I said in a previous post, you forget who said or did what.

Having these precious moments written down where I can read them anytime I want to is priceless and completely worth any effort it takes.

Start today. You’ll be glad you did, especially when your kid is graduating from high school, getting married, or having kids of his own. It’s incredibly sweet and moving to remember who and what they used to be. 

I never understood the Calgon commercial that used to be on TV when I was kid. It pictured a harried, stressed-out mom with her ill-behaved, shrieking children, exclaiming, “Calgon, take me away!”

“What’s her problem?” I wondered whenever I saw it.

Now I know.

Taking a bath by myself with no interruptions is pure bliss. Heck, using the bathroom without people banging on the door or barging in is heaven.

Peaceful moments are paramount to mental health when you’re the parent of young children. You simply must have them. Whether it’s a long, quiet bath, a day to yourself, or a weekend away, time to unwind and regroup has to be a priority.

I just got home from a girls get-away weekend with my friends. It was perfect timing. I spend most of my days alone at home, usually with at least two of my four kids. It was time for a break, so when my friend mentioned that she was going to sell jewelry at a craft show, I and another friend invited ourselves along.

We stayed at a resort on the Missouri River where the theme for the weekend was Ladies’ Time Out. They had parties for us both nights, door prizes galore, snazzy drinks and free stuff. We stayed up late talking, stood in line for 2 hours to have our palms read at the Pajama Party (it was worth the wait), got help with our temporary tattoos from two cute guys at the Harley Party and ate donuts every day.

By the time I arrived home yesterday, I was relaxed and ready to face the kids and the house again. Even better, the kids and their dad were at the circus, so I had a few hours to get things organized and to regroup.

The kids were excited to see me and I was happy and comforted by their hugs and stories of their weekend. Recharged and missing their sweet voices and expressive faces, I was happy that I had gone on the trip. It was just the getaway I so badly needed. 

I know you’ve heard this a zillion and one times, but taking time out for yourself is not just a luxury, it’s a necessity. It gives you more patience, appreciation and a chance to remember who you are. We get so caught up in raising our kids that we often lose our identities. We are not just parents, we’re spouses, sisters, daughters, nieces, friends. You know those moms who are bewildered, depressed and don’t know what to do with themselves when their last child leaves the house? It’s because they have wrapped their entire lives around the kids and when the kids leave, there’s nothing left.

Don’t become one of those moms. Do something for yourself every once in a while, and for heaven’s sake, don’t feel guilty. You are far more upset about it than your kids will ever be. (Case in point: Ever notice how when you call home to check on things, feeling sick with worry, the kids not only have been having a blast with the baby-sitter, but they’ve practically forgotten who you are? Trust me, my friend, you care far more than they do.)

Plan something today, whether it’s an afternoon out with your girlfriends, a long walk around the park, a weekend away or seeing a movie by yourself. You’re not a bad person for needing a break.

Go.

Take a break.

Enjoy!

I have very mixed feelings about this. While I’m happy to see him grow up and move into new areas of independence, not to mention the freedom this brings me as a mother, I can’t believe how fast he, and his siblings, are growing up. It’s cliche, but where does the time go?!?

I’m glad to be past diapers, potty-training, middle-of-the-night feedings and constant supervision. I’m able to get so much more writing done now that my kids are getting older. At the same time, I have to permanently say goodbye to a precious era of my life; a time of sweet-smelling little bodies, coos and giggles, complete dependence, cuddling whenever and wherever, unconditional love and tiny voices, clothes and footsteps. All I have to remember from those days now are pictures and videos, and some spotty memories. (Which one had the rash all over her face?)

Funny how while you have little ones, time can seem to go so incredibly slowly. You feel like you’re always going to be changing diapers, cleaning up spilled food and calming a fussy toddler. In the day to day grind, it can be hard to remember to enjoy and savor the fleeting moments of baby and toddlerhood. Sometimes you probably think about how much easier this will be when they’re just a little older and more independent. I’ve certainly had those thoughts hundreds of times myself.

When you feel like that, try to remember how fast and short the baby and toddler stages actually are, as incredible as that might sound when you’re up to the roots of your hair in diapers, baby food and spit-up. Granted, there are advantages to having older kids, just as there are advantages to everything in life, but trust me, you will miss your kids’ chubby hands and feet, dimpled knees and elbows, unwavering trust in you, falling asleep on your chest and sweet kisses.

Taking my own advice, I’m going to focus on treasuring the years ahead I have with my kids. My five-year-old isn’t always going to want to marry me, my nine-year-olds aren’t always going to think I’m pretty cool, and my four-year-old certainly isn’t always going to want me to carry him around and give me Eskimo kisses.

It’s all fleeting, really, isn’t it?

Enjoy the moments. They won’t always be little.

Logan crawled into bed with me a couple mornings ago. As I tried to go back to sleep — I’m not quite ready to get going at 6 a.m. like he is —  he cuddled up to my back and started petting my hair. Then he said in his little voice (which is still at the same pitch as a toddler’s, even though he’s nearly 4), “I like you. You’re the best mama I ever had.” Awww . . .

Immediately wide awake, I turned over and smushed him to my chest. “I like you too. You’re the best Logan I ever had,” I said. (I can’t say he’s the best son I have since he has a brother, or the best kid that I have, since he has three siblings, so I always stick with the individual kids’ name.)

Of course I felt a certain tenderness toward him all day, recalling how he had taken the typical bitter sting out of the morning for me. I knew I would remember that moment always.

Except that I won’t. I was reminded today of how fast our memories fail us, and seem to deteriorate further with each successive child. I always scoffed at mothers who couldn’t remember which child met X milestone at what age. “How could they forget something that important?” I’d wonder. “I’d never do that.”

Ha! As is typical when we make blanket judgments of others, I have been proven irrevocably wrong.

On the writer’s board that I belong to a mom posted today asking others’ opinions of letting her daughter get her ears pierced. I happily posted my experiences and hit send. Not five minutes later, Rachel walked through the room and I suddenly realized that even though I had just posted that both my twins had their ears pierced at the age of 5, I couldn’t remember for sure if Rachel had or if she had waited.

The horror! I had to ask her, much to my shame. I mean, shouldn’t I remember something like that? She said, incredulously, “No . . . I didn’t get them pierced until I was 8!” with a look that clearly reflected what I was thinking — “Shouldn’t you know that?”

If this were my first transgression, it wouldn’t be such a big deal, but unfortunately, it’s not. Not even close. I have tried to recount experiences with my kids to my sisters, only to be reduced to exclaiming, “Well, I can’t remember which kid it was now!” Finally, I figured out that a generic, “my kids,” did this or “one of the kids” did that works just fine when my faulty memory does not.

In my defense, having twins makes it extra hard to remember who did what, when. So does having two more kids only 18 months apart. You sort of go through this long zombie-like existence, just trying to get through each day without falling asleep while making dinner or forgetting when you last fed the baby. It’s amazingly hard to remember those milestones that we honestly believe at the time will be etched into our memories forever.

It’s quite fortuitous for today’s parents that we have all the chronicling help we can possibly need in the form of blogs, video cameras and digital cameras, not to mention cameras on our cell phones.

That is, if we remember to actually turn them on and use them.

To which Logan indignantly replied, “I’m not Max! I’m Logan!”

I explained that it isn’t nice to say you don’t like someone’s name and that I had picked Logan’s name out especially because I love it. Cody wasn’t convinced. He still thinks Logan should be Max.

However, this is the same kid who, a few weeks ago, decided that his name ought to be “Code,” not Cody. He insisted for a whole day that his name was Code.

I don’t know where Cody gets his melodramatic ways. He makes these comments/complaints out of nowhere that sometimes make me feel terrible.

“I hate this house!” he’ll say. “It’s too big! I want to live with Grandma and Grandpa!”

Or “I don’t like my room to be blue. I want to paint it red!”

Or “I hate my bed! It’s too soft!”

Or the worst, “I hate living here! I want a different family!”

All said out of the blue with no provocation at all.

Is Cody truly unhappy? Sometimes I’m not sure. He can be very introspective, thoughtful, imaginative, sensitive and he seems to have an artist’s temperament. There’s sort of this tortured, depressed vibe about him at times. I mean, the kid doesn’t even like cookies, cake, chocolate or most kinds of candy! (Is he really mine?)

On the other hand, he sings sweetly, dances with no inhibition whatsoever, and seems to thoroughly enjoy life much of the time. Even though he’s a big kid for his age, he’s definitely not athletically inclined. Given that he trips over his own feet and runs into walls regularly, I highly doubt he’ll have the hand-eye and foot-eye coordination necessary to excel at sports, which is totally fine with me. I’d love to have a son who can relate to my way of thinking (non-athletic, bookworm, creator).

Sometimes I feel like an outsider in my own family, but then, I felt that way growing up too. Maybe Cody feels the same way. Maybe he gets more overlooked than I realize, being the middle child.

I think I’ll try giving him some extra one-on-one attention and see if that curbs the dramatic statements.

At least he keeps life from being dull.