Home is Where Your Story Begins

I have this sign, one that says "Home is Where Your Story Begins" hanging above my front door . . . it's been part of us for years because I truly believe what it's telling us.

Tonight, though, as I was outside, I was suddenly struck with the idea of trying to see our "home" from a stranger's view, and the sign popped into my head. What kind of story am I helping my children write? While I long for their story to be one of happiness and unconditional love, of fairness and equality, one that's built on a strong foundation with faith and courage and family and determination written on all of the pages, I know that's not the story I'm writing on more days than I would like to admit. Days where I'm tired or they are fighting, days that I lose my patience and they are demanding, days where I don't have enough of me to go around.

As I stood outside and imagined what story this home would tell, I vowed to be less tired, more patient, to find a way for there to always be enough of me . . .

so that their story can be a masterpiece.

The Journey of his Footsteps

Many of you know Preston is my wild child. In a mere 2 months, he will be 5 and my heart just can't hardly fathom that "my baby" is going to be 5. How can this be? As that day grows increasingly near, I find myself thinking about these days and wanting to freeze each moment, to make time stand still while I relish in what itsy, bitsy bit of "little guy" there is left. And so today, I think about the journey of his footsteps for one day, this ordinary day, so that I will remember all the moments, the little moments in his journey.

9:15 a.m.~Preston demands his cup of chocolate milk-eyes half-closed and barely awake.

9:35 a.m.~The tickle monster attacks as I carry him to the bathroom, strip him down, and physically have to pick him up and put him in the shower, all the while he's screaming bloody murder.

9:40 a.m.~I'm now having to physically pick up said child and remove him from the shower, while you guessed it, he's now screaming bloody murder because he has to get out.

10:06 a.m. ~Informs his Daddy he wants 3 "frambled" eggs for breakfast and a waffle. Daddy fixes the eggs and waffle.

10:20 a.m.~Eats the waffle but decides he would rather not eat the eggs, even if that means Daddy is never fixing him eggs again.

12:27j p.m.~On the way out from church, he does his Sunday ritual and gets gum from Byron. Pure joy is written on his face, especially since an extra piece came out of the pack so he now has two pieces of gum.

12:30ish p.m.~While we are walking to the car. Preston is crying and begging for me to stop in the parking lot and tie his shoe which isn't really even untied, it just has a long string. My repeated attempts to explain that it's too cold fall on deaf ears and he cries until we get to the car and I finally "tie" his shoes.

12:33 p.m.~We arrive home from church and I walk in without opening his car door. He runs in behind me, promptly announces he hates me because of the awful neglect I displayed by not opening his car door, and slams the door. To which he then finds himself in his bedroom in timeout.

A few hours of the afternoon go by rather peacefully. Lots of "I Love Yous " in an attempt to figure out where in the house I am because if you didn't know, there are monsters in our house that might get him if he can't see me at all times.

Somewhere in there he begs me not to go the grocery store so he doesn't have to go. I assure him we will send Daddy or Daddy can stay home with him. All is well in his world for a little while.

5:30 p.m.~He is acting silly, talking about his boy parts and I decide to repeat his antics to my friend. Apparently this was not a good idea. In his obvious disdain for my actions, he turns my computer off while I'm working on a jewelry order. Again, he finds himself in his room. This timeout results in crying, near puking, and getting his time doubled, tripled, and quadrupled.

5:52 p.m.~Preston is released from his most horrid punishment and promptly falls asleep on the couch.

7:30ish p.m.~"Nap" time is over.

Another two hours pass relatively quietly, but with lots of hugs and kisses and a snuggle in my lap while I try to convince him we shouldn't do or say ugly things just because we are mad.

9:30 p.m.~He starts spelling his name for Peyton with the letters on the fridge. He can't find an "o" so he substitutes a "q". Have I mentioned he takes after his Dad yet?

9:42 p.m.~While playing in the living room, he lets one rip which results in comical giggles. He then says , "Yuck, that stinks forever," followed by more giggles, and then a "That weally stinks forever".

9:58 p.m.~He's supposed to be laying down but comes to find me in the garage to tell me that he's not sleeping in Parker's bunk bed (that he's sleeping with me) because there are teeth under Parker's pillow and he is NOT sleeping where the tooth fairy comes.

10:1 p.m.~Considering he had a late "nap", I'm letting him chill on the couch with me while I have my final fb check of the day. He smells a pillow, says "yuck" and wants me to smell it. I said no and his reply "Well, it doesn't stink. It smells good." He's a fast thinker but later admits it didn't smell good AT ALL.

10:19 p.m.~Decides to show me that he's broken the heads off of my mother and child Willow Tree figure. After trying to explain how this happened, he's sent to the torture room where the teeth are waiting on their fairy. This puts him over the edge and he returns, begging not to have to go in there. The crying escalates to the point that Peyton gets out of bed and moves the teeth. A few mins later, Preston somehow is chillaxing on the couch again.

10:27 pm ~As proof of his boy part obsession, now after some careful examination, he asks, "Mom, how can pee come out a hole little like this?" I laugh which again is apparently the wrong response because I get a look that tells me all I need to know.

10:39 p.m.~After being told it was time to lay down 3 mins ago, he continues to whimper his fake little cry, taking a moment to do a double sniff and realize our dog is once again having gas issues, whimpers, looks at the ceiling fan, realizes I'm watching him, and on perfect cue whimpers again. Repeated by some booty shaking as he whisperers a song to himself.

10:45 p.m.~Still some intermittent booty shaking and whimpering. Remind me to not let "nap" time happen under any circumstance again.

10:52 p.m.~After nearly falling asleep on my lap, he tells me all about how a stranger could have a hammer, break into a house, take a little kid while he's sleeping, and when it's morning, the kid would wake up in a different place. (My heavens where does he think of this stuff?)

10:55 p.m.~He's now obsessed with how my earrings go into my ear and can't believe it doesn't hurt.

10:56 p.m.~"Mom, I know how to spell comfy. A-E-R-O (as he reads the letters on my sweatshirt)." Obviously, we refer to sweatshirts and sweatpants as comfy clothes in our house.

10:58 p.m.~He has declared he will be staying up by himself while I take a shower and everyone else is in bed.

11:16 p.m.~He continues to lay on the couch and chatter about everything that pops into his head and also informs me "I'm petting his toe" as I rub the big toe that's propped up on my shoulder.

11:19 p.m.~ In a minute, his little feet will finally be pattering in to lay down with Daddy. But wherever he footsteps take him in a day, one thing's for certain, their first and last place will always be on my heart.