Essentials for a Woman in a House Full of Boys

Yesterday I found myself hosing red clay-like mud off of the boys’ clothes.  And when I refer to the boys, please know that my hubby, while he is in his 30’s, is still one of the boys.  We’ve been going through a sort of transition in the Gunden household.  It’s been coming on for weeks now, but really just hit me yesterday as I stood in amazement at the mud-caked clothes and the thoroughness in which all three of my boys had soiled these articles.  I realized that there are some essential tools needed to be a woman in a house full of boys.

#1  Learn to walk away.  Just walk away.

When you step out the back door to find your boys playing in a pile of mulch and dumping water from the dog bowls on each other while sporting their brand new shoes, just turn right around.  Go back in the house.  There’s no need to do a double-take and check for adult supervision because Daddy is there.  He’s been there the whole time.  He probably even helped them turn on the spicket.  It’s best just to pretend it’s not happening.  Oh…and it’s probably best not to buy nice shoes for your boys.  When faced with the task of washing or tossing.  You’re going to want to toss.  Trust me on this.

#2  When out for a girls night, there’s a two drink minimum.

When you get home from your girls night out you’re going to want be on the tipsy side.  That way, when you happen upon a pile of mud-caked clothes and a Facebook picture of the boys drenched from head to toe in red, clay-like mud you will laugh out loud versus the exhausted yelling and snarkiness of a tired mommy.  This is a much preferred alternative to haranguing your husband for letting things get out of control.  By the way, your husband will not believe things were “out of control” because “this is what boys do.” 

#3  No White Shirts

Does this even need an explanation?  See #2 above.

#4  Whatever you do, don’t smell it.

The other evening my sweet, sweet Taylor turned to me and asked me to smell his hand.   It smelled pretty rank, I have to admit.  So I told him so.  He giggled with excitement as he stuck his hand down the back of his pants (for what I now believe was the second time) so he could bring some “fresh” scents out for the smelling. 

#5  Study up on your super heroes….and wear a helmet if you can.

The boys love to pretend play these days.  “Mommy, you be bad guy and me be good guy and I’m going to get you.  Roar!”  One misstep.  One word not said right and I get “Mommy you not doing it wight.”  And one word of warning, they may be three but they pack a huge punch.  If they get you, make sure you protect the important areas:  head, face and hair.  They still haven’t grasped the fact that Mommy is fragile and doesn’t like recreating WWF scenarios.

#6  Always stop for tractors.

If you drive by a tractor, you most definitely will be asked to “Do it again, Mommy.  Do it again.”  If you don’t, the screaming will commence and is sure to continue until you serendipitously encounter another tractor.  “My want to see tractor again!  Again Mommy!!”  The only cure to this madness is to pull over and let them fully inspect the wonderment of these yellow, mechanical beasts.  They’re going to want to climb on it, drive in it and pee on it.  Complete this circuit and you will have two very happy boys.

#7  Love on them often

While boys may be rough and tumble, they’re still our little sweethearts.  Tell them this daily.  Heck, tell it to them every time the thought crosses your mind.  They are still your little babes and your love still means the world to them.  I know this because every once in a while, out of the blue, my little ones say “I wuv you, Mommy” and it melts my heart.

1 + 1 = 3

Everything comes in twos.  At least that’s how it has been for us.  The other day, I heard a mother say that having a second child does not mean double the work…it’s more like tripling it.  It’s amazing how adding just one more of something often translates into more than it seems it should.  I thought about this last night as I was at the park with my two boys and only one of my dogs.  For those of you who know we have two dogs, you might wonder “where was the other one?”  Well, I knew that bringing just that one more being to our outing at the park would tip the scales just a hair too much.  I couldn’t imagine myself pushing the boys on the swing and chasing after two dogs who would most likely get themselves wrapped around a tree as they fight with each other over who gets to eat the goldfish the boys had inadvertently (and purposefully) dropped on the ground.

As we finished up our sandwiches and the boys began to play, I found myself in the middle of one of those moments that you wish you could bottle up and save forever and ever.  A moment that is so full of love, joy and blessings that it fills your tank for all those other, less joyful, times.  The last three years have been filled with satisfying the needs of my children.  Feeding them, comforting them, holding their hand – and let’s not forget – carrying them everywhere.  And when I wasn’t carrying them, they were hanging on my legs like two little monkeys.  I’m sure you can imagine how difficult it becomes to clear the table and wash dishes with these two little attachments fastened securely to your feet. 

Last night was a completely different story.  I felt like a casual observer in the life of my children.  They played together like the brothers they are and the best friends they are becoming.  Benjamin was focused on his “lello dadu” (translation: yellow tractor) while Taylor was doing the rounds on the slide.  “Watch this, B” Taylor yells from the height of the top of the slide.  Benjamin was so intently focused on his tractor that he didn’t even take notice of Taylor, so I replied “I’m watching you, Taylor”  His response wasn’t the one of my little boy who needs mommy to kiss his “boo boo.”  He responded with “No, want B”  Once Benjamin took notice of Taylor’s escapades, the rounds began.  Taylor would slide down, climb the stairs and yell again “B, watch this!” 

Eventually, Benjamin decided to take part in the action.  They would rotate turns, yelling all the while “Watch this, Taylor!”  and Taylor would respond “okay” as he stood up to concentrate on watching Benjamin’s turn with extreme focus.  His was a very important job.  As the minutes ticked by, they showed each other their moves.  Sliding backwards.  Sliding on their belly.  Sliding head first.  And giggling up a storm each and every time.  Oh how I wish I could be sitting on that park bench right now, watching it all over again. 

In reflection I began to think, if two is more than double the work…could it be that two is also more than double the joy?  If you asked me last night, I would say most definitely.  I pray that on those mornings when Taylor wants to play with his “guy” and Benjamin throws it to the back of the car just to spite him, amid the screaming I would remember the joy that afternoon in the park brought and look forward to future joys with these two boys who continue to be blessings in the most unexpected ways. 

Cast away your idols of silver and gold!

God asks us to give and to give joyfully.  To sacrifice for others and serve.  God calls on us to be good stewards of the blessings and gifts He bestows on us.  As our growing church embarks on a land and building project, its members are called to give and to give sacrificially.  This all sounds good, right?  A chance to show God how much we love Him and His people.  As my husband and I sat down to discuss just what we could sacrifice, we came up with entirely different numbers.  His based on a figure that “just looked good” to him and mine based on what I like to think is “real life.”  There’s no better way of exposing your idols then the practice of taking them away.  I found myself literally struggling with God as He grasped mine.  There was no joy in my heart.  There was aching, pain, longing, envy, desire, jealousy and all those ugly feelings that come from the heart of us sinners.  I struggled relentlessly and fell to bed utterly exhausted.

This morning I woke to the rush of feelings generated by the previous night’s battle.  I picked up my idol and continued the tug of war with God.  What would it take for me to realize this was a battle that would not be won by human hands?  My mother, a recently saved Christian, was the one to open my eyes.  Her response to my misgivings was simple and whole.  Money can buy us a house, furniture to fill it and gas to warm it, but God has bought us a home, with a family to fill it and love to warm it.  Now God calls on us to give of our money so He can buy us some land, build us a church and, ultimately, make us a home in Christ.  I want to be a part of that.  And, yes, that does fill my heart with joy.

Then you will destroy all your silver idols and your precious gold images. You will throw them out like filthy rags, saying to them, "Good riddance!"  Isaiah 30:22

The Humanity in Running...

What are you running for if it isn’t for yourself?  Is it for some deep seeded desire to accomplish something big;  a drive to set out to train for a day that will ruthlessly unveil what you are really made of both physically and emotionally?  Are you ready for that?  Is that all there is to it?

In the weeks prior to race day, I skipped some runs.  I didn’t want the rigorous marathon training program to interfere with vacation.  So I fell off the wagon, so to speak.  This became the tipping point for an emotional roller-coaster that would have me questioning my physical preparedness and then my emotional preparedness for race day.  The depression took hold and my runs seemed exhausting and slow.  Each run left me questioning myself yet again.  I didn’t realize the mental nosedive I had taken until I found myself crying at the drop of a hat in the few days prior to the race.  Troy missed a run and I cried.  I missed a run and I cried.  My son looked at me the wrong way and I cried.  The weather took a major turn for the worse and I cried some more.  I had become an emotional basket case.  Running had always been emotional for me, but not in this way.  I wasn’t prepared for this.

Where is the advice on mental training for race day?  There should be a note following “3 mile easy run” that says something like “Take a deep breath, find your inner happy place and imagine yourself kicking some butt on race day.”  I decided that I needed to get on that.  If I was going to have any chance at finishing this marathon, I needed to begin preparing mentally.  I felt like a college student on exam day.  Every free moment I spent praying for race day and visualizing myself at mile 1, 15, 20 and finishing.  What I seemed to be missing was the true heart of running.  And for me, it’s the pulse of humanity.  And humanity is always in the running.  30,000 heartbeats out there to achieve the same thing.  Their innermost desires for themselves worn on their bibs.  #22016 – marathon finisher! 

The humanity on race weekend is everywhere.  It’s in the line to purchase race gear when you find yourself talking with a 44 year-old runner from Tennessee who made a pact with her girlfriends to finish a marathon before the age of 45.  It’s in the hotel elevator as you wish complete strangers good luck.  It’s in the face of friends, both new and old, as you break bread and chat about families, the weather, the race, and of course, running.  It’s in those little shared experiences that I find my love for running. 

I feel blessed to have been given the opportunity to share this race weekend with this wonderful crew.  The strong, the God-fearing, the elite!  One of them told me “you learn a lot from people when you start training with them.”  I think that’s true.  As we milled about waiting to line up at the start, we chatted, we laughed and we prayed.  Humanity and the spirit are never stronger when you circle up, hold hands and begin praying in the middle of thousands of people.  Our races were yet to be determined, but God knew the outcome, and He would be there through it all.

We casually made our way to the start and decided to line up in the corral for a 4:10 estimated finish.  Our goal was 4:30, but we wanted to make sure we didn’t get stuck in the traffic jam that is sure to happen as over 30,000 runners begin their race.  So we lined up with the slightly faster crew hoping that we would actually begin close to our desired race pace.  Our goal was to set a personal record, but we also wanted to have some fun and enjoy ourselves.  Our first marathon was merely survival; we were determined to make this one different.  We wanted to “stop and smell the roses.”  The gun went off and a man behind us commented “and there they are…off like a pack of turtles.”  That just about sums up the build-up to a marathon start.  You don’t just take off running.  You kind of shuffle forward for a few minutes, then speed up to a fast walk and eventually you begin running.  You spend the next 3-5 miles dodging people and trying to find your pace amongst these thousands and thousands of runners.

At mile 5, I recall the beautiful trees lining the road and the leaves fluttering to the ground all around us.  I took a mental picture and commented to Troy “isn’t this just beautiful?”  We recalled how mile 5 of Big Sur found us starting into the major headwinds that would last a good 17 miles.  We couldn’t even lift our heads much less comment on the sights.  This was a good start.  We were enjoying ourselves.  My sappy self decided to  tap Troy on the shoulder and say “I love you!”  “What for?” Troy replied.  Because running makes me sappy and I really, really love you.

At mile 7, the 4:10 pacer group started to pass us.  There were marines in the group leading a running cadence.  The strength and depth of their voices pushed us forward, lifted our spirits and quickened our pace.  “Oorah!”

At mile 14, I decided it had been a little too long since the last time I said “I love you” to my husband.  As I said just that, a runner next to me aptly replied “Awww, I love you, too!  You guys are the best!”  See what I mean.  Humanity is everywhere.

It was about this time that Troy and I realized we were still feeling pretty good and that 4:30 finishing time was well within reach.  We agreed to hold our current pace until mile 20 and then give it all we’ve got.  As mile 15, 16 and 17 clicked by, we continued to check in with each other.  Yep!  We were still feeling good and we would still pull out the big guns at mile 20. 

At mile 18, the 4:30 pacer passed us.  It was a little early to pick up the pace, but we didn’t want to be passed by this group.  We increased our running cadence and began catching up with the 4:30s.  Our joints were sore and our muscles were nagging, but it wasn’t anything we couldn’t deal with.  We just pushed it to the back and concentrated on the finish.  At mile 20, we picked up the pace even more.  The miles continued to click by.  We passed runner after runner, feeling exhilarated and on top of the world.  This was how I always dreamed my marathon running experience would be.  At mile 23, we began to feel the exhaustion even more.  But with only a 5k distance left, we buckled down and kept on trucking.

By mile 26, we were running as fast as our tired legs could move.  This would end up being our fastest mile yet.  We crossed the finish line hand-in-hand, feeling the elation that comes with being able to walk again after 26.2 miles of running.  We checked our watches and discovered to our amazement that we had actually broken the 4:30 mark.  We finished at 4:29:18!  And enjoyed it! 

Our runs won’t always be perfect!  Some runs will be amazing in that jump up and down kind of way and some runs will be terrible in that feeling utterly torn down kind of way. Regardless, God has a way of revealing ourselves to ourselves through our running.  

The Marathon! Take 2.

In the days leading up to my second marathon, I have become an avid believer in the ability of cold medications.  Where once I thought they were unnecessary, I was now relying on them heavily.  Monday found me in bed, head throbbing, nose congested and barely able to get out of bed for the day.  Several Zicams later, some Dayquil and lots of water and the cold began to recede.  And my confidence began to mount.  Until I checked the weather and heard of the unwelcome visitor we would be running with on Sunday:  Hurricane Sandy.  Well, I guess it ain’t a real marathon if you aren’t running into 30 mph headwinds and beating rain.  I continued to check the weather over the next 24 hours hoping and praying for a mistake.  This was supposed to be easier than Big Sur, when in reality it was shaping up to be just like Big Sur.  When I began to accept that the weather man may actually be right for a change I decided to have a good cry.  Hey…if crying and temper tantrums worked for Steve Jobs they should work for me, right?  After a quick check of the weather this morning, I realized I better suck it up.  I have decided it's time to begin building my mental endurance.  Race day is half mental and this day won’t be any different.  So I better be on my A game.  Let’s go!

Take a moment...

What happens when you take a moment….You steal something to memory…you give your children that extra five minutes on the swings…you let your child sit in his PJ’s for just a little longer in the morning…or you drive by the Oscar Meyer weinermobile, not one time, not two times, but three times in a row.

This last weekend was a time for taking moments.  Indulging our boys in just a little more time with whatever it is they’re doing.  It felt good to fight the urge to rein them in.  When Taylor cried for the park as we pulled into the driveway for lunch…I thought, “what the heck” and backed down the driveway to head to the park.  When the boys cried for the Oscar Meyer mobile, we stopped and got our picture taken.  When the boys were still reluctant to leave, I waited with them as Benjamin tried to sneak in to photo after photo of other kids and families getting their turn with the weinermobile. 

I have discovered that the boys need that extra moment.  That little piece of time they need to swing, slide, play and discover is enough to put their anxious little hearts at ease - if only for a moment.  And that moment is pure peace.

There is no Parenting 101

Do you think that just because you had the drive to finish high school, go to college, get your master’s degree and gain successful employment; that makes you a good parent? Do you think pulling all-nighters studying for a final could prepare you for those nights when you’re up with your child?  You think parenting couldn’t be any harder than all that?  When a problem arises with your child, you think you can just sit down with a textbook, highlight the key points then apply it to your life?  Think again!  When you have one child bleeding profusely on your shoulder and the other one screaming and tugging on your shirt, you think you have time to go get advice from anyone, much less a textbook?  Sometimes I think the greatest remedy is a shot of whiskey.

I’m realizing that parenting is not so easy.  And while I pray (probably in vain) for these children to ease up, I know that it will only get harder.  With each passing phase comes new challenges.  I remember hearing from my pastor that children sanctify you.  That is they mold you into a person that is more like Jesus.  Maybe “mold” is too tame of a word.  I might prefer to use the word “breaking.”  Because that’s how I feel sometimes; broken.  But at the tip of that brokenness is a new person waiting to breakthrough. 

After a crazy, insane day at home with the kids last week I realized two things.  #1  I don’t know how you stay-at-home moms do it.  You have my undying respect (that goes for our nanny, too) #2  My kids are wild, untamed and just pure punks to the nth degree.  You should never get more exercise running through the grocery store than when you’re out for a jog.  Our shopping trip was a circus.  Benjamin thinks it’s a game.  He takes off running waiting for mommy to catch him, meanwhile Taylor is throwing every last bit of groceries right out of the cart.  As I pick up each item to return to the basket, Benjamin is off and running again.  And, of course, Taylor is back to throwing the groceries on the floor.  It was all I could do to make my purchases and strap these kids back into their car seats.

Halfway home I realized Taylor is not anywhere near adequately strapped in to his car seat.  And I can’t remember if I ever did buckle him in.  And that is probably one of the biggest symptoms of mommies everywhere:  forgetfulness. I pull over, buckle him up, hand him every toy I can possibly find in the back seat and sink back into the car for what I hope to be a small rest break in what will prove to be a very long day. 

Our time at home was no less strenuous.  The kids continued their tirade.  Taylor has finally decided to stop the bullying that has been often inflicted upon him by his brother, Benjamin.  However, his solution was to be a bully himself.  I literally have to tear these kids apart as they proceed to wrestle each other to the ground and try out a multitude of new wrestling moves.  At one point, Taylor had Benjamin face-down on the ground and was pulling his leg up to the ceiling.  I’m sure if I looked it up; there would be a famous wrestling term for this one.  I’m sure it’s akin to the WWF.

I think I blocked out the rest of the day.  It was too traumatic.  I believe it was your typical Hollywood ending.  Daddy rushes to the rescue, sweeps up the trouble makers into his strong arms and puts them quietly to sleep.  Probably not, but however it happened, I do remember taking a deep breath and thinking…”you know, my pastor was right.  I believe today was sanctifying.  I could have broken down yelling at my children in the store, but I didn’t.  I could have begun to cry and fall apart at the checkout counter.  But, again, I didn’t.  I think these kids have built in me a lot more patience then I’ve ever been able to master on my own.  I know it’s God-given, because it takes a God-like strength to be a parent.”