School's In Session

Today is the first day of school in our city. Most parents are overjoyed to send their high-energy, "I'm bored" complaining, kitchen emptying precious bundles back to school. But I'm not like every other mama. I enjoy having my entire crew at home all summer. It's my favorite time.

So I embarked on my morning with a fake smile and mustered excitement as my boys scurried around the house excitedly preparing for the "First Day of School". Morning chores...check. Special first-day-of-school breakfast....check. Backpacks and home lunches....check. And out the door they rushed for mama to drop them off for the first day.

The 7th grader has rejected first-day-of-school hugs and kisses since kindergarten, but my second born has been a mama's boy since day 1. I always get to hold his sweaty little hand as we stand outside the classroom door and wait for the bell to summon my departure. Then both of us give long bear hugs and fight to blink back tears. I kiss him as his teacher gives me a reassuring smile (as she does to all the other crazy mamas too), and I wave and blow kisses as I reluctantly leave my baby in the care of someone else.

I was prepared for that same scenario today as I carted my dudes off to their respective schools. First drop off...middle school. No kisses or hugs or shows of affection at this establishment. No...such behavior will likely get your child beat up in the parking lot. I've learned those hugs are required in the confines of my home...where no one 10 and up can be witness.

After my budding teen bails out of the barely stopped vehicle, we travel toward the elementary school...prepping myself to successfully let go of the little dude beside me. However...and much to my dismay...my son unexpectedly rejected my presence on the playground. He didn't even let me exit the van stating, "I don't need you too, mom." A prompt kiss and hug were planted on this stunned (and slightly heartbroken) mama as he shimmied out the door quicker than I could unbuckle my seat belt.

I'm not quite sure when or where it happened, but my second born son seems to have grown up. As much as that should make a mama proud...I'm not. Yes, my goal is to raise Godly men to send out into the world...but there is a large part of me that wants to hold onto them forever.

This mothering thing is tough...where's the handbook? Where's the warnings that, indeed, someday they will no longer be ours? Someday my job will be done...but today I'm going to cuddle the two that are still at home....and cry while they are down for nap!

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..............

A Solid Case of "Crotch-itis"

My history of self-destruction, self inflicted injury, and ungraceful debacles runs deep and wide. I'm a self proclaimed klutz, and the bumps, bruises and scars I have acquired are all evidence to support my case. I've sustained multiple black eyes as a child, several bouts with stitches, broken bones, and even a case of whiplash when I lost an ill-advised "tackling" match. But none have left quite the emotional baggage and unsightly bruising as my unfortunate miscalculation during a track practice while in college.

I was a hurdler back in the day. And as a hurdler, we were pretty accustomed to crashes, bonks and blood. It was a daily challenge to see which hurdler was going to leave practice with the worst battle scars (usually it was me). Such was the case this particular winter day a couple of weeks before our indoor conference track meet. And as you are about to see, my luck is about to get a whole lot worse!

Our last drill was practicing trail-leg technique by using several closely placed consecutive hurdles. Our task was to snap our trail leg over the edge of the hurdle...and so on, and so on. However, the hurdle at its lowest point is still higher than the length of my inseam making this drill a little more challenging for this not-so-graceful hurdler.

We had already accomplished the majority of our practice before this particular drill began. At this point, I had successfully completed a couple of run-throughs, and I'm sure my focus was starting to dwindle. Practice was starting to wrap up (hurdlers were always the LAST to leave...always!), and the college men's basketball team was starting to congregate around the entrances waiting for their designated practice to begin. Unfortunately for me, we were stationed right by the main doors into the facility and were practically the only athletes left on the track.

I'm not sure if fatigue or distraction led to my demise (although I'm not sure it even mattered after the fact), but I'm sure my punishment didn't match my crime! I miscalculated the hurdle and instead of coming down past the hurdle...I came down directly on top of that fiberglass, didn't-budge-an-inch, hurdle. My tenders never saw it coming!

I crumpled onto that cold, hard track holding my delicacies knowing I just ruined any chance at reproduction in my future. As my young, hot, hurdling coach leaned down beside me to assess my injury, I scurried off the floor and jetted into the locker room where I fell into a ball of tears and choked for air. Another hurdler (a female hurdler- thank goodness!) followed me in to check my status. Unfortunatley, the Trainer was not far behind and insisted that I go into the bathroom stahl to check my injury!! She truthfully wanted to assess the damage as well, but I insisted I could handle it on my own (this was obviously pre-mommyhood, because every healthcare provider under the sun gets to see my secrets when I am pushing a baby out of my tunnel! I've lost the will to care!!).

In the days that followed I was restricted from hurdling (thank God) barely able to even walk, let alone run. And my delicacies have never been so black-and-blue as far as the eye could see!

Got Milk?

We need to address this issue of the out-of-control boobage that happens when I am pregnant and then the subsequent "blossoming" that occurs when I am nursing. I'm not sure what happens...but my barely-able-to-fill-out-an-A-cup boobs are now barely-able-to-be-contained in my "big girl" C-cup (and a Z-cup when I'm nursing!)...and they aren't even working at their full potential yet!

I've been nursing babies or baking them in my mom-oven on and off for the past 13 years (more off than on...but still!) And I still haven't quite figured out what in the world is going on with the boobage that seems to take on a life of its own! And they aren't even for fun... they are all business, honey. In fact, in the first couple weeks of new baby's existence, my boobs seem to expand to sizes of which can only be described as scary...very often being bigger than the babies head!! That's scary people! How would you like that coming at you in the middle of the night?! I'd probably put up a fit too.

What seems to boggle me the most is how un-fun they are! You heard me...NO FUN! Aren't bountiful breasts the most coveted body feature?! (To be truthful, I wouldn't mind getting mine fixed once they've served their time.) Workin' boobs don't resemble a 20-something's bouncy, perky pleasures AT ALL! They are just big, voluptuous, bouncy...and completely in the way. Do you know how hard it is to squeeze those suckers into an athletic bra? Not an easy task. And the hassle of trying to find a sexy big-girl bra is one to which I have since thrown in the towel. And let me tell you, those bad boys need to be harnessed at all times...or somebody might just get hurt!

Now, don't get me wrong, I have always loved nursing my babes...but the boob phenomenon has me dumbfounded. I finally have the voluptuous curves I've long coveted....but it's on a swollen pregnant body or worse, a floppy, jiggly post-baby body. Neither of which are what I have been envisioning! And again, they are for functioning purposes only. Just imagine gettin' it on with the hubster and -oops- sorry about that milk in your eye! NOT VERY SEXY!

It deems repeating...These are workin' girls!!

Back To My Roots....Sort Of

I'm ditching the red. As fun as being a red-head was (and as much as it pleased my hubby), I feel my inner (bottle) blonde calling me back. I've missed her sexy confidence and cocky attitude. Although, the red can't be totally to blame. I think the burgeoning belly, mind-of-their-own boobs (which we totally need to talk about later!), and absent hubby defending the world may have a little something to do with it! Never the less, in three days I will be sporting my long-lost blonde in a shorter, bouncier style...and I can't wait.

Red seems to be more high-maintenance than I had anticipated. And my dirty-blonde roots growing in (at a rapid pace, I might add) seem to sometimes resemble the color grey! That issue needs to be addressed! And, fortunately for me, blonde seems to grow out a little more seamless-ly and with much less maintenance.

Pregnancy has a tendency to bring out my inner need for ease and low maintenance. And the "Victoria Beckham" bob seems to fit the bill. I think I will save my drastic hair color changes and trendy do's to the luxury of extensions and wigs...for which, I can't say I've ever tried. However, I strongly think hair extensions/wigs are Hollywood's best kept secret. There is no way all of those actresses have that beautiful, thick, flowy hair all of the time! And I think it's high time, mainstream mamas get in on the action!

I need to invest in a "Bridget the brunette with a no holds barred attitude", a "Katie with feisty red curls that match her temper", and maybe a "Kendra with long, think blonde hair who has a sexy, sultry demeanor". That actually sounds like a lot more fun and a lot less ease than hours in the salon...and way more fun in the bedroom. On second thought, I think it's obvious we've had more than enough fun in that department. (ahem)

What do you ladies think? To fake hair...or not to fake hair?

I'm Searching....

for answers to why I can not seem to be able to successfully comment on any blogger blogs. What's the deal?! Does anybody know how or why this is occurring? Or better yet, can anybody tell me how to fix it?

It's Gettin' Hot in Here...So Take Off All Your Clothes

Well, that's just not going to happen. I'm not sportin' my most flattering figure at the moment. How can baby be 2 inches big and my tummy, boobs, and butt say otherwise. Doesn't the baby only reside in one's abdominal area? Why on earth did my boobs triple, and is the butt to balance out the tummy? Little-unexpected-blessing is only 12 weeks along in his long baking process and he (I say "he" because after 4 boys...I just assume!) has taken over my body.

Let's just blame my "swelling" on the heat! While we are on the subject of heat...can I mention that I am a total wuss in the afore mentioned climate? Our central air conditioner decided that cooling our house was much too much of a difficult task for it to successfully complete, and instead, would just die...keel over; cease to function; kick the bucket (I think you get the idea!). Needless to say, my house heated up quickly in the 90 degree heat. And for the past 6 days, we have been slowly baking to the status of "well done".

Not one to buckle in the face of a challenge, I've tried to make this adventure more fun. I convinced my minion that "camping" in the basement is fun, that ice cream truly IS one of the main food groups (which may or may not be contributing to my blossoming body parts...we'll find out in 2 weeks when I go step on that mean scale at the doctor's office!), and that you don't need a shower as long as you were in the chlorinated pool long enough. I live by "pick your battles"...and in the heat,  I pick very few.

All in all, the week has gone quickly. The kids have enjoyed the change in routine. Mommy has reveled in the guilt-free indulgence of multiple helpings of frozen deliciousness. And the AC/furnace is well on its way to being replaced by 2 very generous companies that have offered unimaginable blessings for my family. All is well that ends well...or at least all is well that stays cool!

Mommy Badges

There is a lot that goes into being a mama...the good, the bad, and the ugly. I talk about earning one of my most-prized mommy badges over at Taste of T.

Motherhood is full of wonderful moments, rewarding events, and heart-warming memories. This post includes none of those. Tanya asked me to guest post while she was on maternity leave, and I jumped at the opportunity (now that I know my current predicament...I may have to ask her to return the favor!). I wanted to share with her 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!

Jump on over to Tanya's place to read more about my badge of mommy-honor and cheer her on as she embarks on this adventure called motherhood!

I'm Going To The Land Down Under

No, not Australia (although...that would be awesome!). No. I'm talking about the "female nether regions"...the "hair down there"...your "preferred coif"..."female-scaping". Yep...I'm going there! I'm intrigued that there is actually trends, fashions, and a general popular opinion when it comes to this particular region of our anatomy. What once was ruled by the "bush" is now ruled by precise grooming, shaping, and maintenance. There is an entire industry devoted to this particular nuance of personal grooming...and I am completely intrigued, baffled, and humored by the phenomenon...albeit, completely sucked in!

I, myself, have sported several "styles", if you will. And I'm curious as to whether or not this is a mainstream concern with which us wives and mothers should concern ourselves. Is your "down-under" keeping up with popular trends? Or have you abandoned the issue all together? I pose the question because as a species, women are quite judgemental. And to that regard...it is almost swimsuit season...which leaves little to the imagination on all areas of the body. Where there was once "bush for the cush", there is now finely groomed or barely there which leaves tight swimsuit clinging to all areas. The dreaded-and much complained about- "camel-toe" runs rampant at the city pool. And I just need to know which way women stand on this issue. Is it acceptable and understandable or not? Not sure. But I do know that I would like to think women aren't inspecting and judging my personal grooming preferences. Camel-toe or not...why are you looking????

On another facet...to Brazilian wax or not to Brazilian wax? The procedure entices me...I have to be honest. The allure of NOT shaving and shaping daily seems like a luxury. And the more my pregnant belly grows...the more and more difficult it becomes to see what I'm doing down there. (Here's a warning to the newbie down-under groomer.....DO NOT use scissors haphazardly! DO NOT wield your razor too quickly. AND my all means respect the tenderness of the delicacies you are handling!) However, the thought of a complete stranger frosting my nether regions- every nook and cranny- with hot wax and then ripping out every single stubborn hair....makes my eyes water...and my "secrets" to become somewhat shy.  But nonetheless, I have debated it several times.

So do share....Au natural, styled coif, landing strip, or smooth as a baby's butt??

Calgon....Take Me Away

Two weeks down...50 to go until hubby returns. And as I've mentioned previously, when daddy's away, chaos and stress shall play! It takes us awhile to get into our single-parent-house-of-5 groove. Needless to say, we haven't achieved that harmony quite yet. And the monsoon that has plagued our region for the past month has left me dreary, crabby, and in desperate need of some sun and fresh air! I have 4 boys...we NEED to be outside! I'm starting to question my sanity.

Leaking roof....check (because this couldn't possibly happen while hubby was here). Lawnmower being a be-yotch and refusing to cut the jungle we call our lawn...check. Day 2 of summer vacation and kids are making me pull out my hair (because I can't send them outside)...check. Wet, mud-covered, doesn't-listen-to-me-dog driving me crazy...check. I need sun. I NEED IT! I need to pack a cooler and head to the pool; I need to play at the park until the kids crash in exhaustion. This muddy rain-soaked weather has me at the end of my pregnant, nauseous rope!

Last night, I succumbed to the innocent blue eyes of my 4 darling offspring as they pleaded to "sleep with mommy"! I know better...but my judgement has been scewed by vomit, fatigue, and stress. It was a disaster in the making. The night ended with super cranky mommy who had been violated all night long by the slumbering 2 year old, who had been awakened by every groan, sniffle, fart, and snort of the otherwise comatose four-some, and who called it quits to the family sleepover at 4 am...to which the 2 year old protested loudly in his crib until 5:30 when he finally screamed himself to sleep.

I'm ready to trade the children for a QUIET day at the spa. And I'm willing to give the dog to anyone who will have him. I've never claimed to be a pet lover....he has been forced upon me. And, unfortunately, for the puppy, I have ZERO patience, energy, time, or extra love for him. My plate is full. Not only do I have the task of being a single parent of 4...but I'm also unexpectedly baking another one. AND I am taking care of all things that surround....life of a family: house, budget, kids, laundry, food (ugh...the very thought of cooking right now makes me barf!) all the while exhausted and nauseous.

Seriously...only 2 weeks down....50 yet to go! Calgon...take me away!

Riddle Me This

I've been gone for awhile enjoying time with my hubby before he raced off to save the world for the next year. I wanted to share with all of you what has been going on in my Mom-dom. In my attempts to formulate a successful riddle to tickle your fancies I discovered my inability to complete such a task. Therefore, I am resorting to....Math. Indulge me for a moment............

Math Problem #1:

+

=

wild, impulsive, making-up-for-a-year, PROTECTED,

pre-war rendezvous with my hubby

Math Problem #2:

wild, impulsive, making-up-for-a-year, PROTECTED,

pre-war rendezvous with my hubby

+

apparent divine intervention

=



Life Is A Highway

Highways take us from one location to another. By definition, they are a direct path or course in which to travel. Some highways are filled with sights to see, places to stop, and adventures untold. However, other highways include twists and turns, bumps and potholes, construction and detours.

Our weekend took us on a long, hot, boring highway...one that lead to a forgotten quiet town. We've been on this highway for the past year now, and our destination, regrettably, gets closer and closer. This past weekend marked the beginning of a journey on a much longer highway, however...one that will most assuredly be stained with tears, questions, concerns, sadness, and now a new set of twists and turns we are trying to understand. This weekend was the yellow ribbon event for our military unit preparing for deployment. It is the launch of what we've been trying to ignore.

In preparation for this highway journey, we organized, prepared, and planned sitters, drop-offs, pick-ups, practice updates, games, and nap schedules. I made sure meals were in place, gear was organized, and details were complete. Briefings, meetings, and informational sessions were attended by just my hubby and myself as we left our 4 kids under the care of loved ones...all the while leaving our unexpected detour in the back of our minds.

I left the event stressed, anxious, exhausted, and choking down thoughts and emotions that I am determined not to express. But the highway leading me home proved to be therapeutic...the hum of the tires on the road and the whir of the wind around us calmed my nerves and eased my tension. What 3 days before was a boring and long road was, on this day, cathartic and relaxing. The green rolling hills kissed the blue sky dolloped with fluffy cotton-candy clouds along the horizon as we drove quietly along this familiar highway....familiarity for which my soul yearned.

We don't always knowingly choose the detours that await us on our life's highway. Some of those choices may leave us wondering, questioning, and unsure. But I must trust that my highway is guarded by God....even if I am struggling to accept His will.

As I gazed across the rolling green prairie just starting to resemble springtime I felt a calming...an assurance. Even if it's not my plan...I can still rise up, ask for strength, and rejoice in the beauty of my highway.

Sleeping Beauty - Mama Kat's

I am linking up with Mama Kat's Writer's Workshop. I'm using a post I have previously written because it fit the prompt so perfectly. 3.) What is going on in the bedroom? Describe a memorable sleeper.

 

I am a fairly low maintenance gal when compared to some of the demanding divas in this world. I can patiently wait while we save money for our home improvements. Some of my shirts and jeans are ones that were worn in college. And my shoes mainly consist of fuzzy blue slippers, flip flops, and sneakers (well, there is that one pair of over-the-knee boots...but that's a different story).

However, when it comes to my personal sleepy time and the rules and regulations that coincide, I am slightly demanding and more than a little particular. I have lost way too many hours of sleep to uncomfortably-overdue-pregnant-body, sleepless newborns, and all-nighters with sick dudes to take the necessity for sleep lightly. It is a basic need to human survival, and I have learned that my body requires its undivided attention.

Have you ever seen "Dirty Dancing" when Johnny tells Baby "This is my dance space. This is your dance space. I don't come into yours. You don't come into mine." OK that may not be the exact words but work with me. Instead of saying "dance", say "sleep". Do you get what I'm saying? I don't want anybody, ANYBODY, entering my sleep space. It is a sacred zone and not meant for visitors or intruders. I don't like to spoon, cuddle, canoodle, or whatever you want to call it. Sleep is for sleeping. I'm very specific about that...much to my hubby's chagrin.

No body parts or freezing cold appendages should cross the imaginary  (but still very real) line that exists down the middle of the bed once I have declared the commencement of sleepy-time. I do not appreciate anyone, either big or small, thinking that it's acceptable to lay their sweet (read heavy and hard to move), slumbering head upon my pillow. Sweet-nothings whispered into my ear are not required for me to drift into La-La Land. On the contrary, I prefer that no air be exhaled toward my designated sleep area at all. Stinky-breath is not conducive to a great night of sleep.

Also appreciated is the absence of air-floofing under the sheets and across the bed as you roll over or adjust your position. That cold rush of air agitates your sleeping mate's slumber by disturbing their optimal sleep-temperature. And if you have, heaven forbid, farted in my Black Friday sheets that stinky butt-air will smack your partner right in the face!

As you can plainly see, I have a couple stipulations when entering and trying to share my sleeping space. However, it is merely for the betterment of my family members and to spare them the negative results that occur when mommy receives either not enough or disturbed sleep. So my attention to detail is actually done to improve the general lifestyle of my spouse and offspring.

Five Days

Five days.

That's how many days daddy and kiddos were home over their Easter break. Skittles are scattered in the corners, grass from the baskets is strewn through every room, the dirty clothes hampers threw up everywhere, and toys, random out-of-place shoes, and sports gear are remnants of a weekend (or 5 days!) filled with tiny terrorists ransacking my house.

Five days.

What you aren't able to see from those five days are hours of giggles, moments of front yard football, smiles after baseball, and fun memories from the park. All of those moments so preciously etched in my mind. A long five day weekend filled with moments onto which I can't put a price tag.

Five days.

A family of 6 laughing, smiling, playing. Five days filled with moments that are fleeting as the oldest is sometimes too cool for mom and dad. Five days of giggles that will echo in daddy's ears for a year. Five days of playing, and running, and tackling. Playing that will soon involve just five of us...as we await daddy's return.

Five days.

Even though my house suffered mass destruction over these past five days...the weekend was a success...which makes it all that much harder to let go. We will hold onto these five days tightly...until we can be together again. 5 days. It seemed as if it would be too long. In fact, it went too fast. And before I knew it my kids were rushed out the door for the bus, and daddy raced off to work.

Five days.

We are now 5 more days closer....5 more days we won't get back....5 more days closer to our actual countdown for a long awaited return. 5 beautiful days that my boys had all to themselves...to laugh, to run, to play....to love.

Doctor's Don't Always Know Best : Mama Kat's Workshop

Storytelling....it's an art, really. One which I learned from my mother. Growing up I remember listening and laughing to the telling and retelling of family stories. My mama is a born conversationalist, a people-person, a storyteller at heart. She even retells some of my own crazy debacles that occur with having 4 little active dudes tearing apart my house and frequenting the ER.

However, the most storied tale that my mother loves to share, her "crowning moment", the piece de resistance that would leave her blog readers in stitches if she indeed had a blog....is the coo de gra of birthing stories...my birthing story. People, I'm unique; from the word "go" I've forged my own path....or so I have been told numerous, numerous times. And if my loving, story telling mama had a blog....well, this would be her first anecdote of humor!

Springtime! It's filled with newness, freshness, flowers, sunshine...and in South Dakota, blizzards. Nary a spring has been spared. Blizzards squelch our springtime joy. Such was the case some odd years (you don't need to know the exact number!) ago in a small town on a quiet farm. Daddy Farmer was in the tractor clearing out the feed lot and paths around the farm from the recent blizzard preparing the farm for his chores in the morning. Mama Farmer was inside the quaint little farmhouse tending to the oldest child, a bossy 2 year old girl (OK....I added that part. My mom never said that!)

Mama Farmer started to feel a familiar discomfort even though Baby Farmer wasn't due for another 3 weeks. An uneasy feeling caused her to call her doctor for advice...they were 60 miles from the hospital, and the spring storm left her more than a little nervous. Dr. I've-Done-This-Before advised Mama Farmer that she was overreacting, probably stressing herself for no reason, and to have a VODKA AND ORANGE JUICE to calm her nerves! Leary but trusting the Dr, Mama Farmer prepared herself a nice relaxing drink of hard liquor...but not before she advised Daddy Farmer on the CB radio that she may or may not be in labor. Again, her worries were dismissed.

With one vodka and orange juice down the hatch, the uneasy feelings actually seemed to become a little more intense. Mama Farmer once again telephoned Dr I've-Done-This-Before with information regarding what she believed were timely and consistent contractions. Again, her concerns were dismissed, and another vodka and orange juice was prescribed to ease her tension. Not being one to argue or confront, Mama Farmer downed another drink...which successfully relaxed her....to the point that labor was moving along very nicely!

From her position on the floor, Mama Farmer used the CB radio to once again inform Daddy Farmer to get his farmer posterior into the house to take her to the hospital. Baby Farmer was most assuredly going to make an appearance...and soon! Still reluctant and without hurry, Daddy Farmer proceeded to put his tractor away, lock up the shed, and head to the farm house...where he realized that indeed his wife was correct and hurry and panic quickly set in. Bossy-2-Year-Old Farmer had to be dropped off at the neighbor's farm, and then Daddy and Mama Farmer proceeded toward the hospital....60 miles away.

At this point, Daddy Farmer is speeding while on the CB radio with the hospital trying to get an ambulance dispatched to intercept this special delivery. Neighbor Farmer is also on the phone with the hospital trying to give them directions to Speed-Racer Farmer. And Mama Farmer is declaring her need to "push"! I'm sure "hold it", "wait until we get there", and "I'm hurrying" were all declared...rather yelled....during this stressful family outing.

Now Baby Farmer is starting to become quite defiant as Mama Farmer tries to hold her in while Daddy Farmer speeds uncontrollably (while talking on the CB radio....and you thought talking and driving was a new problem!!) when.....a tire goes flat! I've stated before that I have terrible luck...this is merely more proof to my statement. No time to change a tire, Farmer Family continues. However, ambulance and police escort assume Daddy Farmer will be taking a different road and can't seem to locate the speeding, flat-tired car with birthing mother and panicked father!

Emergency stop is demanded from the backseat as Mama Farmer declares that "the baby is coming"! Daddy Farmer pulls over......in the parking lot of a liquor store. Daddy Farmer declares the emergency to Liquor store worker who telephones police and ambulance service...then runs frantically to haphazardly parked car with paper towels in tow...to help the cause, naturally! Mama Farmer is panicking...and demanding that Daddy Farmer block Liquor Store Worker's view. I can only imagine the panic and horror poor Daddy Farmer is feeling as Baby Farmer makes an appearance. Mama Farmer reaches down (this is my mom's FAVORITE part....she cries every time) and Baby Farmer wraps her tiny hand around Mama's finger.

Daddy Farmer and Liquor Store Worker wrap Baby Farmer in paper towels and shove her (actually they didn't know I was a girl yet...thanks for caring mom and dad!!) under Mama Farmer's coat. Rescue workers have STILL not found Farmer Family-in-need so they climb back in the car and continue toward the hospital. Panicked, Farmer Parents realize Baby Farmer hasn't made any noises yet. They pull baby out of warm paper-towel-and-coat blanket. Each hold a leg of precious newborn baby as they speed through the snow covered city. Daddy Farmer insists they need to hear the baby cry as Mama Farmer pats naked Baby Farmer's butt...struggling to pat very hard. Apparently, Baby Farmer gets tired being held upside down in the cold, baby's face gets really red, and she starts to scream (my mom says I didn't stop screaming for 2 years and that my temper was evident from birth....whatever).

Eventually, speeding, flat-tired, Farmer Car was discovered and Mama Farmer and Baby Farmer were given an ambulance chauffeured ride to the hospital. Daddy Farmer, however, was quite traumatized and ventured back to the Liquor Store...where he and Liquor Store worker started drinking hard liquor off the shelf!

Long story short....it was quite an exciting night...and next couple days since Mama and Daddy Farmer had to fight the state to get Baby Farmer's birthday correct on the birth certificate. Baby was born before midnight at the liquor store but didn't arrive to the hospital until after midnight. So...not only was I defiant, strong-willed, hot-tempered, high maintenance...but I was also SUPER expensive. Mama and Papa Farmer had to pay for ambulance ride, ER room and ER Doctor, Delivery Room and Delivery Doctor, ICU to monitor Baby Farmer who was born under intense circumstances and outside sterilized, warm hospital, and hospital/recovery stay...oh, and correction of birth certificate. WHEW!!

Needless to say....I like to leave people with a memorable experience!! And THIS would be the story my mama shared with vigor and zest if she had a blog!

I wrote this post as part of Mama Kat's writer's workshop. I chose prompt:
2)  "If my mom were a blogger"

Copy and Paste Code

<a <SPAN class=goog-spellcheck-word>href</SPAN>="http://www.<SPAN class=goog-spellcheck-word>mamakatslosinit</SPAN>.com/" target="_blank"><<SPAN class=goog-spellcheck-word>img</SPAN> <SPAN class=goog-spellcheck-word>src</SPAN>="http://i913.<SPAN class=goog-spellcheck-word>photobucket</SPAN>.com/albums/ac331/<SPAN class=goog-spellcheck-word>mamakatslosinit</SPAN>/workshop-button-1.<SPAN class=goog-spellcheck-word>png</SPAN>" alt="Mama’s Losin’ It" />

Middle School is Tough

My oldest just got braces....and $5000 went racing out of our bank account! See how quickly that happened?! Anycrookedteeth, as parents it's just something you have to do....and pay for...and hold over their heads forever. But my poor kiddo is in misery. First off, he's not my toughest little man. And secondly, braces hurt...and make you talk funny but that's a totally different topic.

Being the amazing mama that I am, I told kiddo #1 that I would bring him a nice cold chocolate shake to school for lunch. He can't chew anything. I watched him choke down scrambled eggs for breakfast because it hurt too badly to attempt to chew. Pity took over...and of course my devoted love to my offspring...but mainly pity. My overly generous suggestion brightened his entire sad, I'm-in-the-worst-pain-of-my-life demeanor and lifted me to level of "Favorite Parent" (muwhahaha.....oh.....sorry!!)

With newly purchased McDonald's shake topped with whip cream in hand, I swaggered -confident I was going to get "mom of the year" for my gesture- into the middle school. I was certain I would be chided and showered with "What a good mom" and "Poor little guy" by the secretaries. However, to my dismay, the secretary (whom I'd never seen before) was in a state of shock and awe. By her expression and wringing of her hands you would have thought I had marched through those doors with peanuts in hand, threatening to throw them at unsuspecting children if my demands weren't met! She looked at me as if "how could you have the audacity to walk into this school with that?".

I was more than a bit confused...this wasn't a bomb...it was ice cream. Pretty harmless. And it wasn't as if I marched into a preschool full of uncivilized toddlers and handed out only one cupcake. This was middle school....full of 12, 13, and 14 year olds. OK. So they could be classified as large toddlers...they still throw tantrums to get their way, they like to color outside the lines, so to speak, and they are defiant to authority. But a brawl over a milkshake might be pushing it a little far.

With my shocked face in place, I asked for my son...whom she wouldn't request to come to the office. Nope. She told me to wait at the corner until his class passed for lunch; she was sure I would see him. Not sure if I was sent to timeout or not, I stood there uncomfortable and fidgety...this IS middle school after all...until my kiddo saw me. She watched us the entire time as I gave my son his soup, shake and pain medicine to which he was very grateful and excited. I stood, defiantly almost, as he boasted to his friends about how "cool his mom was" while he joined them in their walk to the lunch room.

Not wanting to call any more attention to my obvious defiant and socially unacceptable behavior, I scurried out the front doors of the school to my car...and then cursed her all of the way home! Basically, I threw a tantrum after being scolded...but I don't think bringing a milk shake into a school is going to corrupt the system......but I've been wrong before.

Fight or Flight

As my kids get older, more seems to be required of them.....and of me truthfully. I thought having some of my kids attending school would give me a teeny tiny breather. But I was wrong. With school comes volunteering, fundraising, activities, and the art of nickel and diming my pocket book to death! Not only does school require more and more time, the extracurricular activities are getting more and more intense. And only 2 of my 4 offspring are in school and involved in activities. I have an out-of-control color-coded calendar of events, appointments, and reminders that has me spinning circles.

My oldest is now in middle school, and the social calendar that came with this stage of life has me running my very own taxi service sans any compensation. Normally I have dreaded the idea of my own child behind the wheel of a car...but I think the luxury of him driving himself to and from, and from and to, and back and forth...is luring me in!

With the approaching warmer weather (by the way it is still snowing here!) along came soccer, baseball (both boys are in a different league...ie: different schedules), track and field, class field trips, and (apparently this is when I schedule them) doctor appointments! Not to mention, classes are wrapping up...or trying to which is equates to more at-home work. And hubby is preparing for his year-long departure to save the world! On top of all of that my spring "To Do" list is busting at the seams.

I'm spinning circles people...chasing my tail....running around like a chicken with her head cut off! Whatever you want to call it...that's what I'm doing. And in this process, my once well-maintained and pampered exterior has taken a backseat! My body has declared a boycott! Gravity has taken hold...and is winning...all within the last month!! Hair - frizzy and dull and roots are more than noticeable. Skin - lacking luster and freshness. Body- I've had 4 kids and am somewhere past the age of 29....I need maintenance, people!!! In this battle to maintain some semblance of my sanity, sexiness, and my children's blossoming social calendar...my body has declared war!

I need to put myself back at the top of some kind of priority list; carve out some desperately needed "me" time; take a bath; shave my legs; re-introduce myself to my treadmill; jump back into my love affair with the blogosphere!!! My sanity (and my summer wardrobe) is counting on it!

Sweet Valley High

I'm embarking on a new voyage; an expedition of uncharted territory. One that will involve trials and tribulations. A journey that will test my strengths and wit and most assuredly leave me with more than just a few bumps and bruises. This pilgrimage that I must travel and through which I must endure is arduous, exhausting and requires mental toughness. Many have attempted and failed...many have attempted and conquered. Stories of this adventure are mostly told through furrowed brow, nearly broken spirits, and many tears. But it is also an experience from which legends are made. My personal journey has only just begun...and I fear the worst lies ahead. And I'm scared out of my mind.

This venture over which I must triumph.......is the teen years! I know. Even the  mention of it causes many to cringe...either out of fear or trauma. My oldest has only just breached the tip of the teenage-iceberg, but I fear that he will not be spared from it's sickness. Yes...the eye-roll has been known to surface on occasion after I have declared my authority. And that audacious, smarter-than-you tone of voice rears its ugly head more often than not! What's most confusing is the onset of multiple personalities that seems to accompany this right of passage. Nary a mother has been left beaten, scarred, and rambling incoherently after they've suffered an encounter with this overpowering, impractical species!

I once thought I was the chosen one and would be spared this cursed excursion. Thinking I could out smart hormones, peer groups, and the urge to defy your maker that seems to trademark this age group, I have been left cowering in the corner both frightened and confused. Alas, having been proven wrong I am now left licking my wounds with my tail tucked between my legs as fate laughs at my once cocky demeanor.

No, no one is exempt even though many, like myself, have proclaimed their superiority over this inevitable phase. I can only cling to the hope that in order to build me up.....they must first break me down!!