One of These Things Just Doesn't Belong

I love the nuances that are toddler-hood...missing and misplaced items, trinkets stashed in tiny holes, and objects that seem to disappear on their own. Most of it makes me smile....I know it won't last long. That precious, quirky time in their young life is far too fleeting. But there are some things that make you question what is truly going on in their diabolical little minds.

Case in point; I walked into our bathroom (which is always a scary venture anyway), only to discover this:

I have no answers for this distrubing image. But I think I know the culprit. He's short, cute, and blonde! And yes, I threw that particular toothbrush away!





The Return of Mommy Badges

My Badge of Mommy-Honor

Motherhood is full of wonderful moments, rewarding events, and heart-warming memories. This post includes none of those.  I want to share the real true nitty gritty that comes with this Mommy-hood gig. At some point every mama earns her badge of honor…and it’s not always pretty!

My badge has been earned (again and again, I might add) on many occasions by the squishy, squashy, stinky, slimy stuff that has come out of my teeny-tiny beautiful babes!  With each poo-up-the-back-of-the-onesie, every spit-up-soaked-outfit, and the inevitable puke-a-palooza moment, I get another badge to put on my Mommy-hood sash!

We had our first born at a very young age while still in college.  Needless to say, we were quite willy-nilly in our laissez faire parenting style. Oh get over it! He survived and is a wonderful, pain-in-the-butt tween. Anypoopstory, we were quite comfortable with our baby’s nudity…he was actually naked until about the age of 4…maybe we should talk about that at a later time…when the peer pressure of societal expectations started to rear its ugly head.

Every morning I would nakefy my youngster to free his nether regions from that constricting diaper, and then proceed to let his bottom breathe some fresh air while I got ready for the day. Who knows what parts of our apartment he assaulted with his little free-wheeling pee-pee…but we didn’t seem to care (as a side-note we have since begun to care where our four children pee).

I’m pretty sure I was paying zero attention to my little dude…he was happy, I was happy, all was right in the world. Actually, the memory is quite vivid in my mind. I was sitting in my glider/rocker eating a bowl of Honey nut Cheerios and watching the Today show…all of which was obviously more important than playing with, clothing, or interacting with my baby. OK…I was 20 and very laid back. Don’t worry…he gets his revenge!

Out of the corner of my eye I could tell he was playing with something….actually, he was intrigued with some toy that he was moving from one hand to the other. I look lovingly at my perfect creation…..to see him pat-a-caking his poop!! Yep! He was mesmerized by this wonderful new toy he discovered just lying on the floor beside him. He had it pushed in between his tiny sweet fingers that I loved to kiss. And it was smeared up his little arms that daddy always zurberted.  Not just a little bit of poo….a big, black, man-sized, giganotosaurus sized turd rolling around in my baby’s hands!!

Needless to say, I’ve since become much MUCH more aware of what my naked baby was doing!

I'm Stuck on Bandaid Brand

Sleep is hard-pressed when a mind is unsettled. Very often I'm awake in my bed with troubled thoughts, worries, and fears. Thoughts, worries, and fears that some how, some way my scars that are buried so deep will tear open or worse, history will, indeed, repeat itself.

Many scars boast of dare-devil stunts or funny debacles. But some scars are deeper...harder to see...more difficult to explain. Some are hardly yet scars; resembling more of an open wound...one that was once thought to be buried deep and bandaged tightly.

I may not be the soldier serving, but my boots are just as dirty. My uniform may not be emblazoned with a badge from battle, but it exists none the less. My soul carries the burden, my heart carries scars of bitterness and hate, my memories are tainted with secrets and fears.  A soldier doesn't leave a war...it follows him forever; it becomes part of who he is, who he was, and changes a family. What I once thought was forgotten is now ever present. I thought I packed it away to be lost in a dusty storage room. But now it is ever-present on my mind. No help was sought; no discussions were had; no closer was granted; no forgiveness was spoken. No need to declare a bad guy because all carry the title of victim.

The damage has been done. Unable to undo the past or circumstances or outcomes, I struggle getting past "the past". I struggle granting forgiveness for which has not yet been requested; I struggle letting go of hurts for which have yet to be apologized. I am more guarded and detached because of what resides inside deep within my soul.

What I once thought was a battle scar seems to be an open wound...one that chokes me in the dark of the night...one that becomes more real with every passing hour...one that taunts me with memories I thought were hidden...one that I fear may be revisited..............