So, you want to raise a boy. . . Christmas Edition!

We’ve had a flurry of activities this Christmas.  Cousins are in town and activities are morning, noon and night. 

I was fine when we missed the bracelet-making activity.  I was told only girls allowed, the older girls - so my five sons and my one little girl stayed home and made the best out of the afternoon trying to clean the house up a bit after Christmas morning from five days ago. 

I was fine when instead of making gingerbread houses with the frosting and graham crackers, the red and green m&m’s color-coordinated to make a spectacular roof, the front windows made out of half-ed Oreo's and the frosting flowers built up along the side of the house covered in sprinkles all my boys wanted to play basketball outside in the frigid 32-degree night air. 

I was fine when none of my boys wanted to help wrap Christmas presents (a task I loved helping my mom with every year when I was a kid), even when I threatened there might not be presents if I didn’t get any help.   It was Addison, my neighbor’s 11-year old daughter who stopped by to pick up her brother playing with my boys who asked:

“Do you need some help?” I stared at her, blind-sided and juggled a baby on my hip; a baby boy mind you.

“Really, Addi,” I said amazed a little human being could stop running, jumping and wrestling long enough to notice me.

“Sure, I’d love to help,” she said so I took her into my room/santa cave and with a bit instruction on what gift was for whom she started wrapping presents.  She didn’t stop once, she didn’t complain, she didn’t get distracted.  She just wrapped presents.  Actually, she seemed to be having a pretty good time with the different patterns of paper, the bows and ribbon, the gift tags and boxes.  An hour later, she walked out of the room and thanked me “because it was so much fun.”

Hmmm!  What was I missing here?

It wasn’t even the family talent show where the girls shouted out a made-up Christmas cheers “Hooray S-A-N-T-A” or dressed up in cute little Christmas dresses and twirled and spinned.  When my mom gathered all the girls to sing a Christmas carol it was darling.  My five-year old daughter Eden loved it and looked so cute.

And when the girls gathered to do nails and make up, it was great the boys were indisposed – my five boys and 5 nephews all, all jumping on the trampoline (maximum limit 200 pounds) having a slam-dunk contest in the darkness of night.

So, what was it?  What finally got me thinking about boys and why/how/when/ did I have so many boys!

Boys!

BOYS!!

BOYS!!

So, at Krazy Air I watched as my niece Natalie patiently taught Eden how do a front flip.  She methodically taught her a somersault, then helped her jump into it a bit more.  It was so sweet while my boys where caught up in the most intense game of dodge ball I’d ever seen.  

I can’t believe someone didn’t lose and eye or an arm or a head.  I think someone might have lost an ego. 

It became so clear this Christmas.  I have a lot of boys.  Like, so many.

And so much of my life is crowd-control, referee-ing and cafeteria-style meals.

What is going on?

Why I had to repaint the boy’s bathroom . . . again, why the lock to my bedroom door is broken . . . again, why I refuse to buy any more socks . . . like ever!!!  I do have a few friends who have only boys or all boys and one girl. When we see each other we give each other this sort of pity-sighed “hang in there” look; 

our straggly hair hanging in a sort of half-pony tail/half-noose.

Most mothers of five or more boys have a look of bravery and fear, 

but they really fell like this.  

It’s a funny game face; screaming for mercy yet shouting “WAR!”

What I really want to be doing is this.

I shout "I'm the princess!"

Why did God give me five boys? 

I didn’t realize I was in a sort of reality check funk.  I just knew I was struggling a bit to fit into the world of girl’s night out, matching outfits and trips to the mall that did not involve the entire time at the Nike store.

It wasn’t until we were at lunch and my boys were arguing over a tray of submarine sandwiches.  The just-made sandwiches were wrapped in white deli-paper, making it impossible to tell which was the ham and cheese and which was the turkey.  Which had lettuce and which did not.  I was fed up!  Seriously boys!  More elbow-shoving, more name-calling, more indignant eye-rolling and I couldn’t take it anymore!!!  I could lose it.  I could seriously go the mental breakdown route, but I was too tired.  I had no more gut-ruling lecture, no serious consequence or gospel-inspired parable in me.

I surrendered. 

I surrendered at the deli!

Instead of calling out my boys ruthless behavior, instead of labeling this son that and the other son this, I patiently (while juggling a darling drooling baby under my arm) helped distribute what sandwich went where and suddenly, God spoke to me.

He said to me “I know you can do this.” 

He seemed to say “I trust you.”

I felt a wave of strength fill me with an interesting confidence.  I sat down and enjoyed lunch and on the drive home, while the boys talked about how much fun they’d had and what they wanted to do when they got home I felt God say in my heart “I wouldn’t give this opportunity to just anybody.”

I felt warm and good and happy.

I spent the rest of my day as an observer.  Who are these boys?  These beautiful boys some day to be men!  

I have one son who is so kind and attentive to me.  Another son acts just like Jim Carrey.  He’s funny and the life of the party (also a total flirt).  I have a sensitive son who needs a lot of reassurance but he’s finding his way.  I have a son who’s an all-American kid, like he just stepped out of a Norman Rockwell painting.  He loves everything and every one.  My baby boy, who up until now would go to just about anybody only wants mommy.  He bounces in his stand-up chair and watches me pick up toys and start on dishes.  He’s not happy until he’s back in my arms.

My boys are going to be men someday - fathers and husbands. 

I dare you, look at a man.  Would you want to raise him?  It would be like swallowing an acorn seed from a giant oak tree and wondering what it will do to your heart. Crazy!  Men are amazing necessary incredible people, but how does that happen.  It’s like holding an ice cube only to watch it grow into a giant glacier that changes the coarse of the ocean current. Raising a boy to a man has no pattern yet has every pattern.  It has to have all the necessary ingredients or it will spontaneously combust.  Love, nurturing, discipline, consequences and dinner on the table every night at 6:00.  Seriously, it’s torture!  Seriously, it’s the most meaningful purpose of my life!

I might miss out on the chic flicks, for now.  Eden patiently waits for me to make cupcakes with her.  I haven’t curled my hair since high school.  All the boy toys I’ve given away, I’m on the look out for again.  The fire trucks, Bob the Builder and Thomas the Train are back, Eden’s barbies are in her room and Canyon’s toys have taken over the living room. I have boys on every range of the scale -teenager to infant!  

I want to be understood but I’m also ok being different.  I know where I stand, not longer in platform heels but old tennis shoes because only my boys get the new shoes around here.  I know where I’m firmly planted, until one of the boys rummages into me and knocks me over.  

So, this new year I’m taking my boys under my wing and seeing them for the privilege they are.  I’m standing out as a mom who doesn’t know anything but will take on everything for them.  I stand hand in hand with my husband who takes this battle as seriously as I do.  Another thing the spirit has whispered in my heart is they will all turn out fine.  They have a daddy and a Heavenly Father  and a mother who loves them fiercely! 

Patterns, Stencils and Chevron - Oh my!

As an artist I find I only need a paint brush.  It doesn't matter if I'm painting on a canvas or a dresser. I'm having so much fun!

Here are a few of my favorites.

Patterned book shelf

(sold)

Chevron TV cabinet

(sold)

Stenciled desk

(sold)

Pretty in pink

Scrap wood turned chevron art with metal swordfish

Mid century credenza gone wild

(sold)

Gorgeous antique chest of drawers

Two-toned mid century cabinet

(sold)

Sage high boy

Gray ombre with arrows

(sold)

I've also strengthened my arms because I'm sanding and stripping plenty of dresser tops.

Behold, the butcher block top!

(sold)

(sold)

(sold)

(sold)

I loved working on this vintage bar.

(sold)

(sold)

(sold)

A two-toned armoire.

And my favorite . . . (drum roll please)!

This is a vintage French radio cabinet.

It was huge!

I took out the speakers and added a little barnwood.

(sold)

The finished piece literally took my breath away.

The metal and glass door handles I purchased at Hobby Lobby.

This starving artist is happy!

Linking up to:

The Pasture Vintage Event - December 5th 2015- Mesa AZ

Do you love vintage, shabby chic, repurposed, industrial, antique home furnishings? 

Are you looking for that perfect vintage dresser or shabby chic frame? 

Chalk boards, handmade stars made out of vintage rulers, dream catchers, a one-of-a-kind book shelf, old doors and windows, metal lockers and more. 

So much cute stuff going on here it's ridiculous.  Photos shown are products we've sold in the past, but plenty of new stuff will be available for your pleasure. 

Over 50 vendors, food trucks, music and festive atmosphere.  Think of it as art festival meets vintage finds.  Plus, for you longtime My Dear Trash followers Kelly will be there.  Come say hello.

Come see us at The PASTURE; over an acre of beautiful urban barnyard turned vintage market boutique fair.  There's even a cow, really!!!

What:  The Pasture Vintage Flea Market

When:  December 5th - One Day ONLY

Where:  2156 E. Hackamore St. Mesa AZ 85213

Time:  8:00 to 2:00

Why:  Because it's awesome!

Many of the photos shown are examples of PREVIOUS work.  Not all items pictured will be available for sale, but many "like" pieces will be available.  In other words, there will be tons of new stuff we haven’t had time to photograph yet because we’re working to hard creating it for you!

Chevron Dresser

The counselor brought home a beast of a dresser a few weeks ago.  It was a dark wood midcentury thing with four wicker cabinet doors.  Problem was, the wicker on one of the doors was torn and damaged.  With a little help from a very sharp pocket knife, the wicker on each cabinet was cut out.  Behind the four cabinet doors was very sturdy panel wood. One thing you’ve got to love about old furniture is it’s built incredibly well.  About 100 staples held each wood panel in place.  Once I realized how it was all put together I had an idea.  I wanted each panel removed so I could paint a chevron pattern.

Tada!

Lots of work, but totally worth it.

I loved the gray and cream look so much, I painted a French dresser in the same colors.

Linking up to:

The Terrifying Lesson of Pain

Canyon was born weighing 8 pounds 10 ounces.  

The first 24 hours he was perfect.  He ate well, slept and cried when he was ready to eat again.  We were discharged from the hospital and I arrived home in the evening around 7:00pm.  It was busy; the kids each wanted there turn with him and I was anxious to get things situated for the long night ahead.  I’m an experience mother.  Canyon was my 6^th baby.  I knew he would nurse every few hours throughout the night.  I started to do the math and was a little concerned he hadn’t nursed much since mid-morning.  He had latched on only to fall asleep.  His diapers had been wet so when I mentioned it to the nurse before we left, she reassured me to keep nursing, that I was only producing colostrum and if necessary, supplement with a bottle. 

Come 10:00pm.  The kids were all in bed and I tried to wake the baby to get him to start nursing. After all, his last serious meal had been around noon.  He kept falling asleep, but certainly any moment he would wake crying and eat again.  But nothing.  He didn’t want to latch on or suck on a bottle.  He was passed out, exhausted from the whole “just being born” he’d experienced.  Around 2:00am I called the hospital a bit frantic. 

“My baby isn’t eating.  He’s not even 48 hours old,” I said.  “What should I do?”  Again, the nurse on call asked if his diapers were wet, which they were.  She said I should keep trying and call my pediatrician in the morning if the baby still wasn’t eating.

I was up all night holding my precious son.  I rocked him in the rocking chair, holding him close, watching for him to wake up in need of food.  He would wake up groggy, latch on and than fall back asleep. 

Nothing.  He hadn’t eaten anything.

Tears poured out of my eyes and I cried in desperation.  “Please, baby eat.” 

Come 8:00am.  I called my doctor’s office, crying so I could barely speak and explained quite ineffectively what was happening.  The receptionist was sorry, but there wasn’t an opening to see the doctor for several days.  She reassured me the baby would eat when he was hungry but this didn’t bring me any comfort.  I had tried and tried and tried. With the news I couldn’t get in to see my pediatrician, I did my best to remain calm, checked his diapers, still wet and hoped he would eventually latch on or take a bottle.  I called my friend Alison who had just had a baby and asked her how soon my milk should come in.  She suggested I use a breast pump and had another friend Summer bring a pump over for me to borrow. 

At 11:00am I called the hospital again and explained the situation.  I was almost hysterical now.  Once again, there wasn’t too much concern from the nurse on call.  I asked if I should bring the baby back to labor and delivery.  Could I see the lactation consultant?  The pediatrician in the labor ward? 

“No, you can’t bring him back.  There’s nothing we can do for him here,” she said. 

Due to the difficult pregnancy I’d had and all the emotional support I needed from my mom, I was happy to finally give her some time off from worrying about me.  She’d been with me at the hospital when I’d delivered Canyon and probably felt relieved life was back to normal but I was in full panic mode.  It was now 2:00 pm, my baby hadn’t eaten for over 24 hours.  That was it.  I couldn’t take it anymore.  I was going to the emergency room when my phone rang.  Caller ID said it was my mom and I couldn’t hold back the tears.  I answered the phone in full hysteria, desperate for her to come offer me any help she could think off.   Was there still time to try something from home?  I could tell he was weak and his deep sleep scared me. 

Let me back track for a moment to my state of mind when I found out I was pregnant. 

Scared, overwhelmed, uncertain; I wasn’t even sure I wanted to be pregnant.  When I found out I was having another boy I cried for three months.  Let’s just say I didn’t handle my pregnancy very well and because of that I carried a lot of guilt.  I knew I was blessed, I knew my baby was a blessing but why did everything about having a baby have to be so darn hard.

So with this energy I delivered my baby with anxiety and uncertainty. I prayed for love and understanding, but I was still apprehensive.  I knew I could do it, I just didn’t know if being a new mom was exactly what I wanted to be doing with my life.  Well let’s just say having a new baby that wasn’t eating sure forced me to consider how much I wanted my baby.  Now I was fighting for my baby.  Oh, did I want this baby to be strong and healthy and perfect.

My mom arrived and I was a barrage of questions. 

“Will the hospital give him a feeding tube?” I cried.

“What’s wrong with him?” I asked.

“What did I do wrong?” and I felt the guilt of all the complaining and supplication I’d put myself through.

My mom calmed me down and suggested we try giving the baby a bath.  “We need to really wake him up,” she suggested.  So we stripped him down and put him in a nice warm bath.  He cried a little, not much really, but he did wake up.  After his bath I gave him a little body massage.  Each precious moment touching him, feeling his warm skin on my fingertips; I was bonding with every breath.  My baby was beautiful.  He was what I wanted.  Was it too late to convince God to give me another chance? 

Just at that moment my beautiful neighbor Kristin knocked on the door and my kids motioned her down to my bedroom where I was working with the baby.  I had tried so many times to get my baby to take a bottle, I was certain he wouldn’t latch on when Kristin asked if she could feed him.  I gently handed my baby over and Kristin put the bottle in his mouth.  With the faintest little suck, he latched on and we all cried out in joy. His beautiful little lips hugged the nipple and his tiny neck pulsed as he took each little swallow.   He drank ½ an ounce before falling back to sleep.  Relief rushed through my body and I cried like a little girl who’d just dropped her popsicle.  I cried and cried and cried.  Kristin handed my back my baby and it was all I wanted to love and nurture him.  Nothing was more important.  It wasn’t a sacrifice, but a privilege.  About an hour later, I bathed and massaged him again.  Would you believe he drank almost a full ounce.  Within the next 48 hours, his strength came back. He still didn’t want to nurse, but the bottle provided fast nourishment for his still weak body.  When I did get in to see my pediatrician, four days later, Canyon had dropped the 10 ounces and weighed 8 pounds even.  

Canyon is almost 5 months old. He is a strong healthy 16 pounds.  

He eats and nurses and I love every minute.  

I’ve asked myself why?  Why did he go through that?  Why did I have to go through the not knowing when/if he would eat or if he would be ok?  Why the pain? The uncertainty?  Strangely, it was the pain that turned my heart.  The pain of losing him was unbearable.  The pain taught me a terrible lesson and for that, I am grateful.