They become real people over night.

My son got home last night after spending two days on the farm with his daddy and grandpa. I was immediately annoyed because his newer jeans had a five-inch slice down the back of his leg. I could only imagine how it happened.

He told me his pants got caught...keep in mind, his father is giggling the entire time.

The actual story is that while working out in a pasture, my son decided he needed to cross a barbed-wire fence by himself. And he believed that he was small enough to slither in between two wires without getting poked. Needless to say, he was wrong. His pants got caught and with one leg up in the air, he tried desperately to unhook his pants. Only to make the rip that much bigger.

The lesson though, came from my husband. He went on to tell me that he had no idea our son was over by the fence. All he heard was, "Darn barbed-wire anyway...darn barbed-wire..." Our son, at the age of four already knows that muttering under our breath and cursing whatever thing we ran in to will make any situation better. If he would have had his eyes closed, I bet my husband could have pictured himself or me or any other adult for that matter.

He's growing up...darn it.

(again) We need them as much as they need us.

My husband recently switched jobs, which has left me as a single mom five days a week. The first week, I just concentrated on getting through it. The second, I focused on keeping my kids (and myself) busy. And the third week, I came back down to reality.

As we prepared to leave my husband for his week away from work (yes, we went to see him), my son began sobbing. He didn't want to leave. This was nothing new. We go through it every time we leave grandma and grandpa. Sometimes after we're done shopping. No biggie.

But as soon as we pulled onto the highway, he told me the real reason he was genuinely sad. "I already miss my daddy," he quietly said between sniffles. The lump that was already making it difficult for me to breath doubled in size and I quietly replied, "Me too buddy. We'll get through it together."

Up to that point I tried very hard to hide my tears, but I realized that maybe my son needed to see them. Maybe he needed that reassurance that it's okay to be sad and to miss daddy. Maybe in some way my tears would comfort him.

The same goes for how are sleeping arrangement has evolved since my husband's been gone. I haven't been sleeping well, mostly fearing someone breaking in and taking my children. My son has been making treks into my room in the middle of the night. And my small daughter, the best sleeper EVER is now stumbling into my room for extra love. I tried to fight it-that urge to just pull them in bed with me. But again, in week three, I realized that maybe I would feel more secure and sleep better if we were together. So I pulled my daughter's toddler bed up against my son's full-sized bed. Now we sleep in a row, my baby girl, me and my son. Close enough to touch and make sure each of us is still there and yet enough space so that we don't keep each other up all night.

It's the best I've slept in a month. (oh, and they're much more rested now as well)

They're feelings are just as strong as ours.

My husband recently changed jobs, which has literally changed the course of our life together. He's gone during the week for training and meetings and then home either during the weekend or for a day here and there. It's draining but I know in the long run it's well worth it.

That being said, I realized this weekend that I've really only been seeing this change as affecting myself and my husband. I knew my kids would miss their dad and they'd be confused but, as usual, I'm blown away by how much they notice, what they pick up on and the types of questions they have.

Last weekend I took the kids back to see my parents. We hadn't been there in quite some time and I also needed to sit down with them and talk through the career change as they historically don't take big news overly well. It turned out to be a wonderful weekend. We talked about all kinds of things and played with my kids; the ideal American weekend if you ask me. My husband joined us part way in and I could see the happiness and love he feels for me and our children. By Sunday afternoon, I had a pretty big lump in my throat. I hate leaving my folks because we just don't see each other very often these days. And I'd have to say goodbye to my husband for the week...as well as see him say goodbye to our kids. It was hard and I cried silently so my son wouldn't catch on, but we made it through.

A week into it, I feel like my two kids and I are this little team, keeping down the fort while daddy's away. We play together, cook together, clean together, and every couple nights, we sleep together. But after having him home one night, and hearing my son ask why he hasn't been home and why isn't he working close to home anymore and if he's going with us to see his other grandparents this coming weekend, I realized that home is the four of us together. Caden made it clear that he feels differently when his daddy isn't home. He feels unsettled and confused. He kept saying that he misses his dad and doesn't understand why he doesn't come home every night.

He told me that he feels like he could cry most of the time. I just nodded and said that I feel the same way. This experience so far has been a clear reminder of just how sensitive and wonderful my son is. At the age of four, he has taught me so much about love and about being vulnerable. His openness about his feelings has made it easier for me to share my own feelings with my husband. I feel more comfortable saying the words: I miss you or I love you or in admitting that things just aren't the same-home isn't home-without my husband.

My son helps bond our family even more than my husband or I do. And it's pretty darn amazing.

He's a farmer at heart.

I was born and raised on a farm in the middle of Nebraska. The first job I had was working for my dad, irrigating, walking beans (before RoundUp existed), mowing and anything else he told me to do. Which really means that my first 'real' job was in college. Crazy, I know.

Add to that, I married a farm-raised man. Whose heart is still there, but whose head knows better...for the most part. Both our parents still farm and have livestock. We both love visiting and our children are equally infatuated with the country. Open land. No noise other than the birds and an occasional cow. Yep, this really is the Good Life.

My point is, and I've actually realized this years ago, my son is a farmer trapped in a four year-old's body. His eyes light up like it's Christmas Day each and every time we come within a mile of either of his grandparent's house. And I have to admit, my heart softens a little every time because I love that he see's what I see. That he understands that urban life is great but there's something very magical about rural living.

The most recent trip was to spend three days with my in-laws during their county's fair. We met for pizza half way for the exchange. As soon as we stepped outside, put his booster seat in their gigantic, four-door pick-up, he was asking grandpa to put the windows down so he could rest his elbow on the window frame...just like he's seen grandpa do a million times. It's a sure sign that there's work to be done somewhere on the farm. And the only way to get there is with the fresh air blowing in your face.

I will admit that I am more likely to roll the window down and turn off the air when I'm back home. It's the smell of freshly turned soil, pollinating corn and freedom. From any politics or societal pressures.

And at the age of four, my son seems to get that. Better yet, he genuinely appreciates it.

Creativity is a fragile thing.

As an official 'creative' I vowed that if I ever had children, I would nurture their creativity regardless of how limited their talent or interest is. Luckily, my son seems to have creative thoughts oozing out of him.

But I do have to make a conscious effort to let him be creative. Which could also be a sign of independence I realize. For example, a few weeks ago it rained several days in a row and the end of our driveway was a huge, deep, inviting lake to my four year old. One night in particular, I busted out of the house with full intentions to reprimand him for taking his trucks and shoes and socks and balls and other random toys through the muck. But when I got within five feet, I caught myself. This was a prime example of my son being creative, flexing his free-flowing mind muscle. What he was doing is really no different than what I do every day (and get paid for it).

So instead, I watched for awhile and applauded his ideas. I may have even joined in a little bit.

Skip to a few days ago. We had visited his favorite restaurant...yes, I take him to McDonald's and along with the toy was a sheet of temporary tattoos. This made him very excited and also reminded him that both mommy and daddy have tattoos. I saw him sneak a look at my wrist that celebrates my love for him and his sister and wasn't surprised in the least when he asked if he could put one of his new tattoos on...which was followed by when he'd be able to get one like me that doesn't wash off.

This question arises from time to time and I always tell him that when he's old enough to find some image or words that really mean something to him then I will allow him to get a tattoo. Feel free to judge but not only do I believe that tattoos can be an expression of your creativity; I more strongly believe that they serve as a reflection and a reminder of where you've been and where you're going. I have no regrets and I hope that through my son's gigantic heart and creative mind, that he can find the same satisfaction and empowerment...whether it be a tattoo or job or hobby.

The last thing I want to do is stifle his creative spirit. I happen to think it's his most beautiful trait.

They absorb the good and the bad.

I was having a discussion with my son last night and, while I can't remember what was said, I stopped dead in my tracks when he gave me the raised eyebrow, head wag that I've been known to do on a more than frequent basis. Yes, we had been teasing each other; and yes, it was adorable. But that look...my look...was also way too much attitude for a four year old.

I didn't scold him or get overly serious with him. I know it's all my fault. I know I'm full of attitude toward his father and him and everyone else he's probably witnessed me speaking to. And I immediately felt incredibly guilty for turning my son into that side of me. (who I generally think is funny but dances on both sides of the line between fun and rude)

Two hours later, I was helping him get ready for bed. I was exhausted. So I laid in his bed and started asking about his day again. We had a nice little chat and he took his spot next to me. A few minutes later, my son started rubbing my back and telling me that I could sleep in his bed if I wanted to.

I was immediately reminded of how soft-hearted he is...twice as much as he ever has attitude...and I felt really proud to have played a role in this side of him as well. Although I believe this side of him is less learned and more just a gift. He's always been a cuddler, a kisser, a people person. My daughter on the other hand...well, that's for another time anyway.

Last night's little encounters have got me thinking today. About whether or not, and to what extent we parents instill in our children. Over and over I see my mannerisms in my children, and yet, they have their own twist to those behaviors. It amazes me just as much as it scares me into rethinking how I act.

But if I change how I act, do I ultimately become someone I'm not?

Sometimes our children are a reflection of their parents.

Father's Day is this weekend. I have no gift. No cool craft ideas for my kids. But I did at least make the effort to invite my son to brainstorm gift ideas. Here's how the conversation went...

Me: Hey Bubs, we need to get dad a gift this weekend. Any ideas?
Him: Why we need to get him a gift?
Me: It's Father's Day...when we all show daddy how much we love him and thank him for being so great. We should get him a little gift.
Him: Okay. How 'bout a gun.
Me: Umm...I know he'd like one but what else do you have?
Him: How 'bout cupcakes and a gun? Or two guns?
Me: Well, guns are pretty expensive and I wouldn't know which one to get.
Him: A black one.

Needless to say, that pretty much ended the conversation. He still believes that Saturday we're going into the city to buy a gun (or two) for daddy, along with cupcakes. Little does he know only one of those items might actually make it home.

Lesson learned: my son, at the age of four, knows way too much and is way too comfortable with the idea of guns. The bright side: he knows exactly what his daddy would want.

Love knows nothing about age.

Two weeks ago I witnessed my son's first love and very first loss. It was an amazing experience.

It was just the second wedding reception my son has ever been to. And maybe I should have seen what was coming when a) he asked me to style his mohawk, b) asked over and over and over what time the "dance party" was going to start, or c) when I saw him see her for the first time that evening.

It was the definition of love at first sight. Before I could say or do anything, the two of them were dancing. Holding hands during the slow songs; shaking their booties during the fast ones.


At one point, I was in the bathroom changing my daughter's diaper when I heard these two little voices in the doorway:
Her: Just stand right here and wait for me. I just have to go potty. Just wait here.
Him: Okay. I won't leave.

Sounds like I had better work on helping him "man up" a little already...

After many pictures and even more comments from friends, family and complete strangers about how cute it was and how much of a player my son is already, I was informed that it was over. Their love ended just as dramatically as it had began.

She poked him in the eye.

He punched her back.

The end...for now.

You need to keep things in perspective.

I had a really REALLY bad day last Friday. It was one of a string of 'em. You know the feeling: you don't sleep well, don't feel like eating but when you do it's all junk food, you have to talk yourself into getting out of bed in the morning...only this time, it was the end of the day. I was drained emotionally and mentally. And I was about to begin a weekend as a single mother.

Groceries was first on my list that night. And I wore really high heels that day. But I got over it, got everything on my list and made it to daycare with minutes to spare. Oh, and I actually remembered to order the pizza I promised my kids on the way so we wouldn't have to wait. (three cheers!)

They ate while I unloaded groceries. Then I ate while the movie began. It was then that I realized just how un-dramatic my situation is. How ridiculous I had been earlier in the day stewing about things. I held a very special pity party for myself and now, when I took a minute to look around at my freshly cleaned home and my healthy (and full) kids, I realized that my priorities were all screwed up. I had let adulthood get the best of me. I let the beat-down get to me and affect my real life.

And I instantly changed my perspective. Gave my kids a hug, join them on the couch and thoroughly enjoyed their movie. It was the perfect start to a great weekend full of quality time with lots of laughs, play time and bonding.

And you know what, I actually looked forward to my Monday...

We really have very little control...

We only have one neighbor, and it's a family of four. Two boys, both older than my children but still at an age where they like having a four year old tag along from time to time. The oldest is around 12, and my son thinks he's the coolest kid around. He's always scrambling to say hi and shout from across the street. It's all very sweet.

The other night as my children and I drove down the main street of our town headed home from a long day at work and school, we saw the oldest of our neighbor boys walking to the store (I can't wait until my son's old enough to get last minute groceries for me!). My son got excited and started waving and yelling hello. I waved as we drove by and my son very matter of factly said: Mom, He has his hat on backwards...he looks like a dude. That's so cool. When I get a little bigger, I'm gonna wear my hat like that and look like a dude too.

I'm sure I laughed a little but later, after he was dreaming away, I retold the story (for the second time) to my husband and we laughed together, hard and for several moments. I'm not sure if it was the dude reference, or the fact that he thinks wearing baseball caps backwards is cool or maybe it was both, but one thing is certain, he does not have his mother's sense of style. And I'm afraid it's too late to do much about it!

Needless to say, this is now at the top of my list of strange and funny things my children have learned along the way...

How much I appreciate my son's creativity.

I have an 18 month old daughter and a four year old son. She is fun and naughty and manipulative and a whole lot like her mom. He has two sides: one that's 100% boy with torn jeans, dirty fingernails and rough play; and another that's sensitive, thoughtful and cuddly.

And lately, when they're playing together, he's been bringing out the second side in an unexpected way. There are many nights and weekends I respond to him yelling 'mom' only to find out he's addressing is oblivious little sister. He's trying to play house. Asking if he can play outside; asking to help her cook, etc. And as she walks around doing her own thing, he follows her around and tries to create this imaginary world for the two of them.

When she's a little older, the game might work, but by then he probably won't want her to be the mom and he be the son. But I appreciate his desire to play house and create these scenarios. I am so thankful every time I seen my children using their imaginations. I can't help but think back to the hours I spent creating forts in the backyard. Building homes and towns for my Barbies. And playing mom or teacher to our dolls and stuffed animals.

I can't help feel that it has led me to continue exploring my creative side as an adult. To view things a little differently, and to not be afraid to pursue out of the norm ideas. I'm proud to be a bit of a dreamer and I only hope each of my kids can hold on to that part of themselves for the remainder of their lives. It's a beautiful gift.

The remember everything we say.

It's been a rough week. I'm exhausted. Emotionally drained. Need some kind of escape. But I always look forward to picking my kids up from school. They run to me every night. Seriously, there isn't one night that they haven't come running while I'm signing them out. It's great. But tonight, after they ran to me, they took off again.

My son and his best pal were comparing show and tell toys. I wasn't in the mood for 'One more minute, mom'. I really just wanted to go home and take my painfully cute shoes off and relax. And after the fifth, 'one more minute mom' I could feel my patience exit the room. We finally got out of there and I felt relieved. For a moment.

Not two miles outside of school and my son started in on what's for dinner. I want PB. I want toons...it went on and on. The demands. The inability to listen when I do answer. Seriously it's no wonder some parents go crazy.

But just as I was about to lose it, he says: Mom, I'm the boss. And I want a PB sandwich for dinner.

I couldn't help but smile. It's the line I use when I can't get him to cooperate. The saddest or most funny part is, for the most part, our kids are the boss.

Our kids need a break as much as we do.

My cold arrived the day before my husband and I got home from vacation. I had a hard time focusing and even listening to what anyone was saying. Two nights later, I needed to rest a little before taking on my kids so I laid on the couch...soon after, both kids were in their bedroom.

A giggle here...whispering there. It was enough to get me up and into the doorway. The sight was something I hope to remember forever. My son had tucked his baby sister into his bed with her blanket and his covers. He was next to her, covered up with his blanket and he was patting her back telling her what a good girl she is.

I smiled to myself, my chest getting tight like the typical overly emotional mom that I am and I quietly walked back to my resting place.

Ten minutes later, the giggling ended and there was silence coming from the bedroom. Once again, I got up and crept to the doorway. This time the two of them were sitting on the bed reading books. Nearly as priceless as the first scenario.

What I realized is that in those seven days we were gone, our two children had become even closer. My son took care of his sister and became her safety while they were visiting their grandparents. And the love they have for one another became more obvious than it's ever been before. I have never been so proud, or felt so lucky. (and I might be more easily persuaded to take another vacation sooner rather than later)

This working mom thing is just as hard as it was four years ago.

This entry is a little different than previous posts...bear with me:

I have a strong urge today to say screw being responsible. I want to leave work around five (or stay until 5:45 if I feel like it) and hit the mall. Pay some bills. Just bum around. I want the opportunity to ignore the 6 o'clock deadline that my day care hits me with every single day, five days a week. I would give anything to put the full parental responsibility in my husband's court for a full 24 hours.

Don't get me wrong, I love being a mother. I love spending time with my kids. But there are days, like today, when I just want to break free momentarily. Every once in awhile I get bogged down by the burden of responsibility. I don't wear a watch because I love the idea of not knowing or caring what time it is...but reality forces me to carry my cell phone at all times. Reality woke me up twice last night because he was scared of the dark, and reality is why I was too tired (and maybe a little lazy) to get up and run this morning.

I still hold on to the belief that I can be it all: great wife, awesome mom, excellent employee and standout fashionista. But today, I'm really feeling like none of the above.

Maybe I can find a little piece of carefree me this weekend?