MommyCoddle

is coming home.

Dan gave me a huge gift this weekend. He sent me away for a weekend. Alone. Sort of a final fling before the baby is born. I headed out to my mom’s house on Saturday morning, after serving up donuts to the girls to soften the blow of my walking out the door, suitcases in hand.
Usually, I feel like a zombie when I go somewhere without the girls. Like some part of me is missing, or I’ve forgotten something. It’s even to the point where I have to think through where my children are: "okay, Molly, your children are playing at their Pa’s house. You didn’t forget them, tear-stained cheeks, standing in the driveway."
My mom and I shopped til we dropped. I spent all last week getting every lick of laundry in the house done and put away. (probably the third time in my career as a mother.) And I went through all the girls clothes, putting away the too smalls, so that I had a good list in hand of the things they needed.
My other goal was to get a lot of baby shopping done. But I became paralyzed once I got out there– by the amount of what I needed, the not knowing girl/boy, and the amount of choices once I got there–so baby shopping is on the back burner again. (Probably until I’m having contractions and running around trying to buy a three-pack of onesies and a carseat.)
But the time away was wonderful. Watching too much TV, not having to squeeze my errands in between naps, eating dinner and only being faced with the decision of what time I’m going to bed, instead of the task of putting two girls to bed.
However, with all its relaxing and reading and recovering, I was ready to come home. I can only stay away so long before I really start to miss my little family. I was greeted with lots of hugs–the staggered kind–like hug mom, talk to her, hug her again, tell her how much you miss her, need to just hold her hand and know she’s home…
I was also greeted by lots of gifts-a clean house and a fully-prepped baby room from Dan, ready to be painted. And lots of decorated hearts and painted popsicle sticks from the girls. And they’re still being churned out this morning. I have a tumbled-over pile on my desk.
It feels good to go away for just a bit. But it feels even better to want to come home. 

I’ve been learning two little parenting lessons these last few weeks.

The first one is this: no matter how I discipline my children, the most important thing is how that discipline ends.
I haven’t been finishing well, lately. Oftentimes, my frustration or anger has gotten the best of me, and I was simply satisfied with the consequences for the bad behavior–a lost privilege, being sent to a bedroom. I wasn’t finishing the job. I’m learning that the most effective part of the discipline is how I end it–a calm talk, a restatement of why everything happened in the first place and most importantly an embrace. I’ve noticed how often that last embrace involves a release for my children, a letting go, a starting over. And it usually involves tears–tears asking for forgiveness. And sometimes, I need a little of that forgiveness too when I’ve handled the situation with a little too much anger or impatience or close-mindedness.  So I’m doing my best lately to finish discipline and finish well.

The second thing I’m learning is the power of encouragement.
I’m learning this from my grandmother. I’ve never met another person with such an ability to make you feel good about yourself. The simplest act gets overflowing, but sincere praise and appreciation. It makes you want to do special things for her or give your best effort for her because of her heartfelt, grateful reactions. My kids pick up on it, too. They rarely walk through her door with out some piece of artwork to give, or a found feather to share, or an update about kittens and mud puddles.  And they get all of her attention, excitement and lots of encouragement.
I’m trying to put more encouragement into my parenting as well. I know my children love to hear kind words and appreciation out of my mouth. And the more I give it, the more opportunities arise to give it. They surprise me with goodness–setting the dinner table without my asking, picking up a few books that are spread across the floor and returning them to the basket, getting undressed and taking dirty clothes to the hamper instead of dropping them where they were removed.

I’m writing this post today because I needed the reminder. These truths have been in the back of my head for the last few weeks, but today I just haven’t dredged up the energy to follow through. I sent Emma to a nap with some unfinished business between us and the encouragement really hasn’t been flowing past these lips today.
That’s why I love naps. It’s the chance to regroup and start fresh. We’ll finish our business, me and Emma and find a little time for good things in there, too. And I think we’ll both feel better in the end.

Emma drew this picture of me a few days ago, and as I looked more closely at it, I thought, "yup, pretty accurate." Well, except for the detail of two children swimming around in my tummy….But otherwise, feeling huge, sporting some puffy hands and a dark hole of a belly-button. I never get that cute little out-y belly button when I’m pregnant, instead mine turns into a giant dark crater. However, it has become the megaphone between my children and the baby, so I guess I shouldn’t complain.
But I do appreciate that Emma gave me a pretty good hair day in this picture, a smile and pretty slim legs…but if I was wearing a pair of maternity jeans that I was constantly tugging back up to my waist, then it would be really accurate.

I went to the paint store over the weekend and picked out some colors for the baby room. Standing in front of that wall of paint chips–I realized again that I really like color–lots of colors. But I had something in my head and I came pretty close. I also realized that I’m influenced by the names of the colors: "quail egg" is what Dan is going to paint the baby crib. I love the color and I really love the name. Our crib is a hand-me-down and has now been in service for probably five children.  The wood is definitely ready for a refresh.

I probably could have stayed in that paint section for an hour or two just watching other people make their painting decisions. I watched a pair of teenage girls who were picking out bedroom paint, pull shades of color off the wall that looked more like streetwise lipstick shades than a color you’d want to be surrounded in while you slept.  And a husband and wife pulling out card after card of taupes and  orangey-tans, looking for a color to match their living room carpet.

I think they should consider hiring paint counselors, stationed around the color chips. I’d volunteer.