Tuesday-Time for Bed

First I would like to say thanks to Dolly Parton and her Imagination Library.  She has blessed our family with fresh children's literature on a monthly basis for both of our boys once a month.  She gives these paper treasures simply out of the kindness of her own heart and a passion for childhood literacy. And I am truly convinced that she has a staff of individuals whose sole mission is to conduct research of exactly what a family is going through at each month of development. Either that, or she has hired a team of authors and illustrators to peer through the windows of the Strauss house each evening and document our lives in entertaining little storybooks.

The comforting truth must be that we aren't in this alone. We aren't the only family with a two-year-old son who only recently started sleeping in his own bed all night and a newborn still sleeping in a bassinet in our room. We aren't the only parents still having to tuck our toddler back into his bed multiple times a night.

Last night was only the third night in a row that we woke Shea up in the morning in his own bed AFTER our alarm went off.

So this month's delivery of the book "Back to Bed, Ed" by Sebastien Braun was a celebration of the three consecutive nights of successful sleeping before we have a relapse, perhaps later tonight.

But for now, I will just be catching up on some episodes of The League with my husband until one of our boys decides to wake up...or fall out of the bed like Shea did in the middle of me writing this post.

Goodnight, my friends.

Life in the Strauss House

Tonight I read The Seven Silly Eaters, by Mary Ann Hoberman, to Shea as he tried to fight off sleep. It paints a perfect picture of life as a mommy complete with very detailed illustrations of the chaos that is a growing family. We may only have two little munchkins but sometimes it feels like seven.  This little gem of a story inspired this peek into the Strauss house.

There is a couple, so they say

That once did live so far away

But from far to here they came

To Chattanooga to begin their game

It did not take too long to see

That she liked him and he liked she

Since the day he knew she felt the same

He knew he soon would share his name

And share he did, she became his wife

And slowly they began to build a life

And before her oven even held a bun

He proclaimed Shea as the name of their firstborn son

Shea isn't a name passed down through the fam

But instead reflects the obsession of a Met's fan

Now Shea may be just a regular son

In every way---except for some

When Shea was less than one year old

His favorite show was Jeopardy I'm told

He did not like cartoons like his peers

But instead "daily doubles" encited cheers

But Mommy and Daddy Strauss didn't mind

They found his obsession simply divine

When the show was over he'd sit on the floor

And look up at his parents and sign to them "more"

They'd take the remote from the shelf

And mumble softly to themselves 

"What a silly sort of way

Acts our goofy little Shea."

When our Shea was not yet two

We learned of baby number two

Was born---dear Patten, small and fair

With big blue eyes and nearly no hair

But before dear Patten could come home

Into the NICU he had to roam

Shea just did not understand why

He couldn't go home with this new little guy

He demanded Patten be removed from that bed

And promptly taken to "Shea's house" instead

A few days went by then they strapped Patten in

To his car seat that made him look far too thin

And it didn't take too long before

They settled in to life of a family of four

Life it got crazy but they didn't mind

Except Patten only would cry when they dined

All day long he stayed quiet or slept

And he was independent at all times expect....

For while his mommy and daddy were eating

That's when he decided that he would be needing

To cuddle, or cry, or eat, poop, or play

Or just about anything that would take them away

From whatever they had decided to cook up that day

His mommy and daddy shook their heads at each other and said

"What a silly needy sweetie,

Just as we begin our eating."

Now Patten grew, and Shea grew too

Til Patten was two months and Shea was two

And who was two months, why little Patten

With eyes dark blue and skin soft as satin

A happy baby, never cross

And his brother, Shea, became the boss

Shea he taught him all things crazy

As Patten laid there oh so lazy

And took in all the crazy things

That his silly brother liked to teach

Like wearing socks upon his hands

And where his batted wiffle ball lands

When hit with a maraca instead of a bat

Wearing a fire helmet instead of a baseball cap

And dancing correctly to the Nae-Nae and Whip

While demanding "no" and giving his parents lip

Their mom and dad looked down at Shea and said

"What are we going to do with you two,

When your brother starts doing all that you do?"

At times, a handful, were these two Strauss boys

With their mounds and mounds of Strauss toys

But all the cooking and the cleaning

Even left their parents beaming

They know it is worth all the mess and the stress

They look at their boys and know they are blessed

They hug each other and smile and say,

"Wouldn't have it any other way."

The Little Engine that CAN

Tonight, I decided to dig under the pile of hundreds of children's books that line the shelves in our living room and grab some "fresh literature" for the little 2-year-old "reader" of mine. We have read the same four books that he LOVES about 400 times and this mommy needed a change of scenery. 

We have read them to Shea so much that even he has most of the books memorized. I decided to add a little variety to our bedtime story routine. So I dug up one of my old favorites.

What "Hello, Mr. Met," is to Shea, "The Little Engine that Could," is to me. But tonight I read it through a different pair of eyes. I wasn't marveling at the colorful pages with no thought that each of those black scribbly lines was a letter that made up a word that told a story. I was just letting the story unfold before me. Tonight I was laying it out for my son. Tonight I read it through the eyes of a mother and a teacher. I think that is who Watty Piper (which is really just a pen name for Arnold Muck....save that in your Jeopardy answer bank) was writing it for, after all. He knew we moms and dads and teachers would be reading these to our students and learn a lesson that is way over the heads of our little listeners.

Here is my formal book review of "The Little Engine that Could."

This is the story of the little engines that have been placed in our hands to teach and inspire. 

This little engine come into the world so excited about what it had to bring.

It was filled with all things good and jolly. Of course, it isn't perfect. But it has so much good to bring to the world. And somewhere along the way something happens.

Somewhere it hits a bump or gets discouraged or fails and its wheels stop with a sudden jerk. It tries and tries to get those wheels going again, but they just won't.

Then a spiffy new train all shiny and gold, or a cute new friend or boyfriend or girlfriend, or a new teacher came along that think will give them the help they need to get moving again.

But that shiny new engine, or hot new guy or gal, or new favorite person decides they are too good for them. They think they have it all with their comfortable beds, and fancy cars,

and a more distinguished crowds, and nicer views.  And that engine filled with jolly things gets left behind until someone new comes along.

And someone does, someone big and strong. They start to think, "surely this one has enough to get me on track again."

But this person has been there and done that and already has their success story. They've played their part and reached their quota. They have the results to prove it-and data and certificates and medals and success stories to back it up. They have been there and done that. Their job here is done. And they get left behind again.

This gets them thinking they will never get up and running again. They will never get over the mountain that stands before them. And, "I can not. I can not. I can not," starts to ring in their heads.

Then along comes the LITTLE engine. The underdog shows up just in time. Then the LITTLE engine spots the one that has fallen through the cracks. It notices that sad little engine filled with jolly little toys and all things good. It stops in its tracks. 

That new engine that comes along doesn't have all the answers. It has never been over the mountain either. 

The little engine starts to think this job  is too big to handle. Then the engine remembered all of those wonderful things the engine in need had to share.

So she grabbed that engine all stuck in a rut and didn't stop pulling until that engine was unstuck.

They cheered each other on. They just kept saying together, "I think I can. I think I can." They didn't give up on each other.

Together they reached the mountaintop and saw all of the possibilities laid out before them. 

And the world is a better place for all that that engine had to bring. 

And as they made their way into the city they chanted together, "we knew we could, we knew we could."

Where I Work Wednesday

I work here...

I work here...

And I work here...

Some work I love more than others. I am not going to lie.

My official job title is high school teacher. I teach reading and writing to kids who are fans of neither. At the moment we are working on reading Touching Spirit Bear by Ben Mikaelsen.  We are trying to make personal connections to the events and characters in the story. I am trying to help them understand that they can put themselves in the story to better enjoy and further analyze it.

We are working on evoking emotion through our writing as we reflect on the ten-year anniversary of Hurricane Katrina. Many of my students knew little to nothing about this tragic natural disaster. The images from the documentary I showed them were all they knew of it. They were not there. Most of them were 4 or 5 when it hit. They didn't watch the live coverage that I saw when I was about their age. The live coverage I played for them was broadcasted 10 years ago in the living room of my home and the homes of millions of other dumbfounded viewers around the world. But I want them to put themselves in the shoes of the people who lived it, see it through their eyes, and tell the story they had never before been told.

My unofficial "side job" is creating things at my kitchen table. The photo you saw of my kitchen table was taken the week we moved into our house, before two kids and the madness that comes with living in a home and not having much time to keep it looking like a magazine. This is what it looks like now.

I have some perfect craftroom-worthy space in my basement. But I would rather work at my kitchen table right in the middle of the action that is life at the Strauss house. That way, when I am working, I can still be spending time with my hubby and our two little boys.

And my favorite job titles are MOM and WIFE. I am not a housewife, though I wish I could say I was. My house isn't spotless, or even close for that matter. I swept the floor two days ago, which is not done often enough. But with a terrier mix and a pit bull the dog, hair accumulates quite quickly. It tends to cling to Shea's books and the pillows on the couch. However, ridding the house of this hair is lower on the priority list than it should be. Shea normally goes to bed with his toys strewn across the living room. 

He has been taught how to clean up after himself but as soon as he wears himself out from playing, we haul him off to bed before he gets slap happy and finds his second wind. Our house may be filled with clutter and dusty shelves and hairy hardwood, but it is also filled with

LOVE and FUN. And I'd take that over picture perfect any day. Hats off to all of you moms that have both...the happy home and perfect house. Maybe I will get there someday. But for now I will just be content in the somewhat messy life I am blessed to live in.