Lessons from a Pool Toy

I sat on the edge of the zero-depth kiddie pool and watched my girls splash near my feet. Reese filled a miniature watering can and poured it into Allie's open palm. Ah, those precious giggles. Matt sat nearby on the floor of the pool fiddling with a rubber squirt toy. Last fall we talked about spending his spring break in Mexico sans children, but instead opted for the far cheaper - and much less relaxing - family fun day in Peoria, Illinois (just 30 minutes from home). Toddler Splash at the Riverplex and Burger Barge 2 for lunch. Upper class all the way.

We really did have a great time at the pool. Reese finally overcame her fear of getting her face and head wet, and she had a blast going down the miniature water slide and perfecting her crab walk. Allie had not been in a pool since last summer, and her elated expression was well worth missing out on the palm trees and Margaritas. 

Sometimes when I see my kids having so much fun in such a simple moment I wonder where I derailed. I can (reluctantly) admit that I am a bit of a no-nonsense person, and the days of carefree child-like fun seem so far lost. My desire to prevent messes and injuries often overrides my ability to let loose and have fun. Routine. Order. Control. Boring. That's me. And if it doesn't seem that way to others (thank God), that's often how I feel. 

Watching the girls continue to play, I caught a glimpse of Matt raising a now full squirt toy out of the water. Before I could react, he sprayed a line of water down my abdomen. I shot him a "don't you dare" look as he submerged the toy again. This time he shot me in the face. In the face! He roared with laughter as I stared back at him. "Hun, c'mon," I always say in that long, drawn out way that shows my level of irritation with just two words.

Only I didn't say that. I didn't say anything. Instead, Reese jumped up and said, "Daddy, Mommy doesn't want you to do that!" This wasn't the first wake-up call to the reality that I am creating a miniature no-nonsense version of myself. Her personality is mine in every way. She is bossy and controlling. She prefers order to chaos. And she is often intolerant of even the most innocent teasing. 

And, boy, did I marry a teaser. He's the type who likes to give me jumper cables while I'm cracking eggs. (That's when you take your index fingers and poke them into both sides of another person's waist). One year when Reese had the flu on New Year's Eve, Matt wanted to bet on which one of us would come down with it first. I was not amused. That night, I got up from the couch and went to the bathroom. As I hung my head over the toilet, he peeked around the corner and said, "You win." And suddenly there I was throwing up and laughing at the same time. He's witty and sarcastic and his humor has thwarted way more arguments than it's caused. In fact, it tops the list of things I love about him. He's hilarious.

Yet here I am today giving him dirty looks because I don't want to go to a dumpy burger joint with frizzy hair. Really?? 

I realized then that I never derailed. I just don't choose to laugh as often anymore, and for some reason it seems that the older I get, the less laughter wins. I blame stress – and not the I-can’t-pay-my-bills stress or someone-I-love-is-dying stress, but the kind of senseless self-induced, anxiety-driven stress that I can’t seem to pin on any single life event (or even series of events). And isn’t life just too damn short for imaginary stress to override moments of laughter, joy, and soaking-wet fun? 

I think so.

As suddenly as it appeared, my angry expression transformed into a sly smile as I reached for a squirt toy of my own. I pointed it at Matt and squeezed the head of a rubber tiger. A pitiful arc of water dribbled from its mouth. Matt laughed even harder and sprayed my face again. I tried to reload, but I couldn't squeeze the tiger hard enough to reach him. After a few more tries, I dropped my weapon in surrender. Water dripped from my face and hair and our laughter echoed off the walls. 

Reese ran over and sat on the edge of the pool next to me. "Spray me, Daddy! Spray me!" 

Matt squirted her belly. She squealed. "Do it again!"

Then Allie walked over to him and doused him with the watering can, getting revenge for Reese and me. Someday in the future, when I hear a song that prompts a spontaneous mental montage of special moments, this scene at the pool will surely make the cut.

Laughter doesn't always come up against another choice; it just flows naturally from a good happy mood. Other times, it fights tooth and nail just to get you to crack a smile. It’s like the way your response to a messy spill can land anywhere between indifferent shrug and total meltdown depending on anything from hormones to stress levels (real or imagined) to where this spill falls in today’s lineup of mishaps. If I’m in a good mood and Matt gives me jumper cables while I’m cracking eggs, I laugh and turn my head to kiss his cheek. If I’m in a bad mood, or (more often) in a self-induced stress frenzy, I resort to an irritated “grow up” comment and matching eye roll.

What I’ve learned, though, is that – in more circumstances than we may know (or care to admit) – our response is a matter of choice. In the split second that I felt the water from Matt’s squirt toy begin to pelt my face, something inside me wanted to react with anger or annoyance or – at the very least – a pleading, “Hun, please don’t” with forced politeness. At the same time, another part of me urged a different response…

“Laugh. Really, it’s ok. So what if your makeup runs and your hair gets frizzy? So what if you didn’t pack a brush or a hair tie? The annoyance you feel isn’t about Matt or the squirt toy. It’s about other (totally unfounded) fears and worries that have nothing to do with family fun day. What a great chance to let all that go for a while. Now grab that tiger and squirt him back!” 

An hour later, I sat at the Burger Barge 2 with my Moo-Shroom (aka Swiss and mushroom) burger and fries and, seriously, the frizziest hair ever. I took Allie to the bathroom for a diaper change and glanced in the mirror. Cringing at the sight of my, I turned on the sink hoping some moisture would temporarily tame my frizz. From her position on my hip, Allie reached forward and splashed in the water. I gave her a moment of fun (ah, those precious giggles) and then turned the faucet off without touching my hair. I dried my hands and looked in the mirror again, smiling at my wild hairdo and the memory of the moment that created it.

If I Didn't Have Children...

If I didn’t have children, my life would be grand.
I’d fly off to Hawaii, dig my toes in the sand.

No more need to take care of everyone else.
No more, “I didn’t touch it. It broke by itself.”

No monsters in closets or “I need a drink.”
No wishing and hoping for one full night’s sleep.

No more silly questions, “Are we almost there yet?
“Where does snow go in summer?"
"Why’s water so wet?”

No sending my skinny clothes off to Good Will.
No, “Mommy, come in here and see what I spilled.”

If I didn’t have children, my life would be swell.
I could travel the world, sleep in five-star hotels.

I could have peace and quiet, spend time all alone.
Without a trail of destruction all over my home.

I could go back to school, get another degree,
Have a life and career that is all about me.

No more tantrums over broken crayons;
Or touching my stuff with chocolaty hands.

No more, “Tell her not to look at me!”
Or, “Mommy, I’m about to pee!”

No more changing poopy pants.
No Mickey’s Clubhouse Hot Dog Dance.



Yes, that is how my life could be                                                
Without these kids all over me.

BUT…

If I didn’t have children, there’s a lot I would miss.
Like the soft little “pip” of a sweet baby kiss.


No more first little smiles or sweet baby giggles.
No, “I love you, Mommy;” no tummies to tickle.

No more, “This Little Piggy” on those teeny toes.
No rocking, no singing,
No “Where’s mommy’s nose?”

No more pictures of all the cute things that they do.
No, “what a cute baby! She looks just like you!”

Not as much to celebrate, no more “firsts” to share.
No more little pigtail sprouts sticking in the air.

No more special bedtime prayers;
No more evening cuddles.
No more, “Good night, Daddy;”
No more morning snuggles.

I wouldn’t know the deepest love anyone can know.
I wouldn't see the miracle of watching as they grow.

I wouldn’t know the joy of holding little hands.
Sacrifice and selflessness - I couldn’t understand.

I wouldn’t be as tired and I wouldn’t be as bored.
But because of all my struggles,
I walk closer with the Lord.

And so as hard as it can be,
I’d rather have them here with me.

Because I have children, my life is complete;
And I am blessed beyond belief.


I’m proud and I’m grateful. I’m faithful and strong.
Because I have children; because I’m a mom.

Kid Logic: More Cute Stories from the Mind of a Child

After numerous unsuccessful attempts to get any writing done last month, I am celebrating a long-awaited double nap today. I'm excited to announce that Allie is officially sleeping through the night (knock on wood) and I hope the end of this thirteen-month battle will finally allow me to get at least a few hours at the computer each week.

I'm starting back with something easy and sharing my most recent "Kid Logic" stories. Reese never ceases to amaze and entertain us with her miniature worldview. Here are some of my recent favorites...

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Back story: We had a recent ER visit because Reese shoved a black bean up her nose.

Reese: My bunny is hurt.
Me: He is? What happened?
Reese: He fell down the stairs.
Me: Does he need to go to the hospital?
Reese: No because he doesn't have a bean up his nose.

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Reese has a book of brain games for preschoolers. One page had a cartoon bunny making a series of different facial expressions with a blank under each one to write the corresponding emotion. I pointed to the first face and said, "How does the bunny feel?" Reese answered, "Soft."

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Reese has an older cousin named Savannah, but when Reese first started talking, she couldn't say "Savannah," so she just said "Cousin." Well, it stuck and we just kept calling her Cousin. Last month (nearly 2 years later) the kids spent the night there while Matt and I attended a wedding. When we picked them up the next the day Reese said, "Mommy! Did you know that Cousin's name isn't really Cousin? It's Savannah!"

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One day at lunch, Reese asked me, "Mommy, does God feel sad when I feel sad?"
"He sure does," I replied.
"And does he feel happy when I'm happy?"
"Yep."
Later that day, Reese and I were kneading pizza dough for dinner when she asked, "Mommy, does God make pizza when I make pizza?"

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Back story: Allie's nickname is "Bean." It started as "Allie Beanie" and has since evolved into numerous variations including Bean, Beaner, Beanie-Weenie, and (my favorite, coined by Matt) Bean-Diggity.

Me: Reese, what's your full name?
Reese: Reese Margaret Hurley
Me: That's right. Do you know Allie's full name?
Reese: Allie Bean Hurley.

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Reese: Mommy, how old are you? More than ten?

Me: More than 30.

Reese: Is that why you color in the lines so good?

Me: Yes, good coloring takes many years of practice.

Reese: How old is Mema? More that 30?

Me: More than 50.

Reese: So she colors really, really, REALLY good.

Leave a comment or send me an email with your favorite Kid Logic story and I will include it next time. Thanks for continuing to hang in here with me through my sporadic absences!

Happy Mother's Day!

I got up at 6:00am with just one goal for the morning – start a roast in the crock pot. I make pot roast all the time. It’s not a big deal. Peel and chop onions, carrots, and potatoes; season the meat; add a little water; press start. When I do it all the night before, it’s a twenty minute process, tops. Yesterday I learned that when I do it in the morning, it’s a four and a half hour ordeal.

I thought I could get it done before Reese woke up. Wishful thinking! I went to the kitchen and Reese was already digging in the pantry for Cheerios (despite being told numerous times not to take food without asking).

“I wanna eeeeeat,” she whined, as if she’d been waiting all morning for her breakfast.

I guess I’m making the roast after breakfast. No big deal. Plenty of time.

I noticed that Reese’s pajama pants were damp.

“Reese, did you pee through your pull-up?”

“I did.”

“And is your bed wet?”

“It is.”

I stripped her bed and changed her clothes. While I was at it, I got myself and Allie dressed too. Then I started her sheets in the washer and made us each a separate breakfast - Cheerios for Reese, oatmeal for me, mashed banana for Allie.

After I cleaned up breakfast, I sent Reese off to play and put Allie in her bouncy chair (at my feet, of course, because I’m not allowed to leave her sight). I was peeling the second onion when Reese appeared behind me, holding up a Wal-Mart bag.

“Mommy, I wanna do this.” It was the supplies we had bought the day before to make Mother’s Day cards.

I was thrilled. She can make cards. I can peel and chop. What could go wrong?

Well, nothing if the bag of supplies didn’t contain a bottle of Elmer’s glue and three tubes of glitter. I totally should have known better.

I spread out the tablecloth and all of the supplies. I went back to the counter and picked up the peeler. Then Allie started crying. She wanted me to hold her. She does this a lot. People tell me to let her cry, but I rarely do. Plus, I knew her crying would lead to me rushing, which would no doubt end in some kind of accidental potato peeler or Cutco knife injury.

I strapped Allie into the Baby Bjorn. (Yeah, I know. Much safer, right? Now both of our fingers were in danger). I started peeling the carrots – now at arms length because of Little Miss Grabby Hands, and I had to stop every 30 seconds or so to monitor the glitter situation over my shoulder.

It was not going well. Apparently, my little glue-sprinkle-shake demo went in one ear and out the other. I had to keep running over to stop her from sprinkling the whole tube of glitter onto one dab of glue, and she needed several reminders to decorate only the cards and not the table or her chair – or herself.

By this point, there was glitter in everybody’s hair and in my pot roast. Allie’s fussiness had escalated into a total meltdown, which reminded me that I was cutting into her naptime, and I still had a pile of potatoes to peel and chop. With an exasperated breath, I put everything on hold.

I fed Allie a bottle and got her down for a nap. Then I helped Reese finish her cards and clean up her mess. I got her a snack and turned on the Tinkerbell movie. The house was quiet. I chopped the rest of the potatoes and seasoned the meat.

At 10:30, I finally pressed the start button on my crock pot.

With Reese occupied and Allie asleep, I went to my bathroom and shut the door. I needed to decompress.

When I was pregnant with Reese, I did my best to mentally prepare for pregnancy, labor, and the financial burden of diapers and college savings. I tried to get ready for the big hurdles I knew I would eventually face – teething, potty training, discipline, sleep schedules.

I did not, however, prepare for the constancy; the intensity; the all day, every day.

I used to think Mother’s Day was about recognizing the big picture of motherhood and giving thanks to the women who birthed us and raised us, the women who love us unconditionally and would do anything for us. But those are the easy parts.

It’s the small stuff that is the real challenge of motherhood. It’s the interrupted showers and cold dinners. It’s the need to say things like “please don’t put your foot on my sandwich.” It’s the fishing-poop-out-of-the-bathtub nights and glitter-in-the-pot-roast mornings. It’s the deep breaths of patience and silent moments of prayer.

Mother’s Day is just as much about the day-to-day little picture as it is about the higher purpose, greater love big picture. My pot roast story isn’t just a funny story about a crazy morning. This is my life. This is every mom’s life. All day, every day. But few people see the intensity of our little picture routine and we don’t often talk about it, which means it often goes unnoticed.

This year, thank the mothers in your life not just for the big things, but for all the little things too. Thank them for the willingness to wear a curious infant despite the inconvenience. Thank them for supporting a toddler’s love for messy arts and crafts. Thank them for the things no one else sees - the messes made and cleaned, tantrums thrown and calmed, and tears cried and wiped. All day, every day.

And if you ever see sit down for a nice hot meal and see a shiny fleck of glitter in your food, just smile with understanding, eat it with gratitude, and know just how much love and patience is sitting on your plate.

Happy Mother's Day to the all day, every day moms!

Kid Logic: More Cute Stories from the Mind of a Child

It’s time again for more of the funny things kids say. If you missed the first round, you can read them here. These are some of my recent favorites...

One time Reese sneezed and then she smiled up at me and said, “I’m blessed.”

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This happened while Reese was watching Cinderella:

She said, “Now she’s gonna go dance at the ball.”

“And then does she fall in love with the prince?”

“No, she doesn’t fall. She just dances.”

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When I turn on the Christian music station on our Direct TV radio, Reese says “the TV is singing about Jesus.”

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Reese has a tutu with a speaker in the waistband that plays “The Chicken Dance.” She wore it to a tutu birthday party and the next day she said, “Mommy, we should give [the other girls] some batteries so they can fix their tutus.”

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Reese has an odd fear of public toilets because she thinks they flush too loud. One time I had her in a bathroom and she turned to another lady and said, "Mommy's gonna go potty and it's gonna be loud." 

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These were submitted by readers:

My girls hadn’t been listening to me all day, and at one point, my husband said, “You girls are driving your mom crazy.” The older one answered, “But we are too little to drive.”

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Our second child was about four-months-old when our older child came up to me and said, “Mommy, when are [the baby]’s mommy and daddy going to come and take him back to his own house?

Leave me a comment with your funny story and I’ll share it in a future Kid Logic post.

Happy Friday!