All about our first teacher

Sometimes on a rainy weekend day, when there are no big plans on deck, I just sit and be. I wonder sometimes how many of us can sit and be anymore. Do we really have ten million places to be all the time or do we just think that we need to have ten million places to be?

Here, at camp bliss, there is so much going on when there is nothing going on. The morning usually starts with one or two of the little (sometimes big) munchkins crawling into our bed to start the day. This morning our 11 (almost 12) year old, made an appearance in the morning cuddle. I love that he is that kid that still will crawl in with us in the morning. That he still needs those cuddles. My hubby and I often talk about how to keep his heart soft and yet still make sure that he is armed with all that he needs for the world.

He is growing up. It's thrilling, and beautiful, and scary and emotional all at the same time. He is this amazing spirit. So stubborn. So sure of himself and yet terrified and always looking back to make sure that we are standing right there in case he needs us.

His past few years have been filled with so much. His entry into the world of the pre-teen was kicked off by an increasing intensity in the tics that he has always had. After a few convulsive days we finally decided to get officially confirmed what we already knew, which was our monkey has Tourettes.

When I went to school, in grade 11, there was a boy in my English class that had Tourettes. I didn't know it at the time. I knew that he fidgeted a lot and that he grunted and cleared his throat often. One day, he was absent, it was then that the teacher took a minute to explain to us that this kid had Tourettes and that he couldn't control those sounds and movements and we needed to understand and not make him feel outcast.

All I could remember thinking was, "Wait a minute, he doesn't swear." I couldn't understand why he was labelled with this thing. My knowledge of Tourettes was that small sliver of misinformation, which the media had done such a good job turning into the definition of a complex neurological disorder.

So, here's the thing. At the time, being a kid, I had no idea what to do. I was sad for the kid. I thought, "What an awful affliction." The 17 year old me understood nothing of the idea that what makes us imperfect in this world does not define us. In fact it is in owning and welcoming that which makes us unique, which makes us extraordinary.

Our little monkey, he is all about owning it. He is comfortable in the shoes he was given to walk this world. He gets that in the big picture, he is crazy blessed. How to have him continue to hold that close as we stand on the edge of his elementary years, overlooking the start of middle school. Hmmm there's the challenge.

Until then, we will celebrate the whole of him. Tourettes is not a definition of who he is, but rather a small part of his whole. He is a talented little man, who loves to sing, dance and act. He has a sense of humor and a passion for all things Star Wars. (The Star Wars thing might be genetic.) He is creative, loving and so kind. He is a stubborn little man, who knows his own mind and will fight his own corner hard, so hard sometimes that he can not hear the other side regardless of how loud the opponent shouts. He gets carried away, he gets loud, he laughs with abandon, he has friends that he has grown up with that are right there with him every step of the way. We are so lucky to have him.

Being his mom, he has taught me to persevere, through anything. He has taught me that what other people think, have no bearing on who I am or who he is. He has taught me patience and to see the world from an angle that I would never have looked from if I hadn't met him. Being his mother has made me a better parent, but it has also made me a better person.

Before kids, people always said that they learn more from their kids than their kids learn from them. I didn't get it. Isn't the job of the parent to teach their child? Becoming a parent revealed a truth, yes, we are here to teach, but we are also here to listen, to provide the guide rails for them to bump along on their journey to adulthood. We are there to pick them up and dust them off, to cheer them on and to love them unconditionally. While we are doing all that, they are teaching us.

Why don't the floors stay clean?

It's strange but true, the floors just don't care that I have living to do.

Unfortunately, I am a true Gemini and suffer from the two minds problem. Type A me says, "Get on your knees and scrub that floor soldier."

Meanwhile, Type B me says, "Dude, seriously, it's just going to get shed on five minutes later by the dog. Also, do you see the toddler eating yogurt? Do you think that will end well? How about those kids in the backyard that can not remember for the life of them, to come through the garage and take off their shoes in the laundry room? Let it go, put on a pair of Fairy wings and a tiara and join the tea party that is currently taking place in your daughters room."

Let's be real, Type B is way more fun and usually wins the argument. If only Type A wasn't such a bossy cow.

That said, I have tried little things here and there to take control, to keep my house in that dull roar state of clean. That state that is so precarious, that at any moment it could all give way, fall to pieces and chaos would reign supreme.

In the end, I realize that old adage is true, "Good mothers have, sticky floors, filthy ovens and happy kids."

Which is not to say that those that can stay on top of the house are any less of maternally gifted. Rather, I think it is one of those, don't forget, those of us that lack the organizational skills to keep it all together are kick ass mommas and love our kids to the end of the earth too.

It's one of those sayings that is all about, "We women can do it all and have it all and bake a cake like Martha Stewart too." but it's okay not to be Superwoman. In the end, it's better for our kids to know that we aren't Superwoman, because it's too high a standard for us to live up to, and it's too high a standard for our kids to think that they have to live up to.

I live at the corner of suburbia street and minivan lane...

...where the everyday comments of "He touched my cereal bowl. Can I have the green cup? Daddy I peed in the potty!" are the melody, to the rhythm of slamming doors and stomping feet.

This is life here. It is simple and it is good.

Our kids are 11, 7 and 2 and a half, and also 13, 14, 14, 21, 21, 20 and almost 18. We borrow kids from around the world. Some stay for a season, and some become a part of our lives, and our hearts forever.

We have a dog, a cat, a house, two minivans and a front yard that should get more love than it does.

I am married to my best friend and we constantly try to make sure that in the middle of all the hullabaloo that is raising kids, we stay connected. This whole crazy life is our fault and so neither one of us is going to let the other out without a fight.

Unfortunately some posts will be inspired by potty training, or the like, so if you aren't into urine inspired blogs- consider this your last exit before the insanity starts.

Sometimes the stress of having little ones around, the commitments, the issues, the bills, all of it, can cloud the amazing beauty that is the life of the average young family.

I like that this suburbia, this mundane, is where I am now. Years from now, this house will be quiet. I will long for the simplicity, the complexity, the noise, the conflict, the kink in my back from sleeping on a one inch wide part of my mattress to accommodate all the morning cuddlers. All of that will be gone. Our kids will be off, making a life, or finding their own blissful mundane.

So for now, I revel in this world because I know it isn't forever.
I know that there are those that can not fathom a person not losing themselves within this stereotype, this identity.

The people inside are not perfect, they are hilarious, they fight, they cry, they laugh.

Us parents, damn, we are doing the best that we can, and we know full well that we will probably have to pay at least half of any future shrink bills.

For now though, we follow our heart, our gut and we love them. We love them hard. We love them at school drop off, despite the fact that it is so not cool. We love them unconditionally and we tell them, "No matter what you do, we will love you. We will always love you."

"Even if I go to jail?" asks the middle child?

"Even if you go to jail, but you are going to be on bathroom duty for the rest of your life to work off the bail money."

I live in that place, where right now, the punishment of toilet scrubbing is still enough of a deterrent. So I say again....this is the easy time. This is where it's so good, so common, that it's easy to miss all the extraordinary life.
This is my bliss within the mundane.