I've often said that I think my family is a box of crazy...all by ourselves. We don't need anything to entertain us, the crazy that comes with one queen, one king (who sometimes falsely thinks he's in charge) and 4 unruly princes is enough to make Dr. Phil run for cover. Testosterone runs amuck, messes create themselves, and things break at random! It's no wonder that sometimes mommy's eyes twitch and gibberish expels from her lips! You be the judge...are we headed to the Looney-bin?
* I have actually been heard to say "Mommy's putting on her angry eyes!"
* To keep the toddler happy (at all times) we have relented and given in to his authority. We now are required to hold a "blankie roll-call" before and during each outing. "Bear...check. Puppy...check. Ephlant (that's elephant for those who don't speak toddlerese)...check" and so it goes until all blankies are accounted for. Most of my trips now consist of me carting around 7 blankies, "Teetle" the turtle, 4 kids, shopping list or two, purse with spare diaper shoved into it, phone for contact to the outside world........and a partridge in a pear tree!
* I have and always will think that drinking soda makes my teeth fuzzy
* The toddler insists on slapping mommy's butt every time I bend over. He seems to find great joy in this!
* I move things around all the time to "more logical places".......where they will be lost to us forever since I can never remember to which place I moved them.
* I have been known, on occasion, to put my underwear on inside out.....we've noticed this tendency in our boys....things are always on inside out or backwards.....there may be a slight chance that they get that from me.
* When my husband first got his blackberry ( a couple years ago), I called it a raspberry....and I was serious!
* I am not functional in the morning.......until I brush my teeth. Hey, in my defense, everybody else appreciates my lack of morning breath.
* I love, love, love the snow...that's why we got married in December.......but I hate the cold. Would that be an oxymoron or a cruel aria???
* I'm slightly paranoid.....I always think girlfriends are mad at me, or talking about me, or lying to me, or faking being nice to me.....I could continue, but I think you get the idea.
*My boys, from the oldest to the youngest, constantly have their hands down their pants!
This seems to be slightly incriminating information. After review this may or may not put me in a slightly skewed or schizophrenic light. It is quite possible that it is I that is suffering from a case of the crazies. I blame the lack of estrogen in my environment......I'm innocent by reason of insanity!!!
Thursday, February 17, 2011
Tuesday, February 15, 2011
Sexy Mama's At The Mommy Mambo
I am guest posting over at The Mommy Mambo today! I'm so nervous...this is my first time...I'm totally a guest-blogging virgin! So help me "get around" and come over to visit me!!
Jennifer is the creator of The Mommy Mambo and she is hilarious! She is a fellow boy-mama (we have to stick together). And likes to find the humor in all-things mothering!
What is "the mommy mambo" you might ask? Well, my partner in crime puts it this way:
"Have you ever answered the phone with Cheetos grease on your hand while you make star shaped peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, and grab the dirty underwear away from the dog who raided the hamper yet again, as you stop the baby from washing a hot-wheel in the toilet that his older brothers have peed in 6 times without flushing or putting the seat down? Yes? Then you are doing the Mommy Mambo"
Now get your blogging booties over there and check her out...while you're there you can enjoy in my own personal debacle with boots that definitely weren't made for walking!!!
Jennifer is the creator of The Mommy Mambo and she is hilarious! She is a fellow boy-mama (we have to stick together). And likes to find the humor in all-things mothering!
What is "the mommy mambo" you might ask? Well, my partner in crime puts it this way:
"Have you ever answered the phone with Cheetos grease on your hand while you make star shaped peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, and grab the dirty underwear away from the dog who raided the hamper yet again, as you stop the baby from washing a hot-wheel in the toilet that his older brothers have peed in 6 times without flushing or putting the seat down? Yes? Then you are doing the Mommy Mambo"
Now get your blogging booties over there and check her out...while you're there you can enjoy in my own personal debacle with boots that definitely weren't made for walking!!!
Monday, February 14, 2011
Love Letters- 3rd Installment
Happy Valentine's Day! I am joining FTLOB to celebrate in style by sharing some love letters throughout February. When hubby was deployed to Iraq in 2003 and 2004, we exchanged lots and lots of letters since any other form of communication was sparse. I have shared 2 of those letters with all of you, and today I would like to share a letter daddy wrote to his 2 little boys. Ty was 4 when daddy left and was 5 at the time of this letter. Tyson was born while daddy was gone (daddy did get a 72 hour pass to meet him, though) and wasn't quite a year old when we got this letter.
26 Feb 04
Tyler and Tyson-
How are my two favorite boys doing? I hope you are still taking care of mommy the best you can. I know you are doing a great job.
Tyler, how did you like your stay at Grandma's house? Did you play with M and J? You told me that you liked Midnight the cat more than you liked Thunder the dog. Well I hope you still enjoy puppies because I would like to get one when I get home. I hope you will help me take care of it. I'm not sure if I know how, do you?
Tyson, hey my little bud. I can't wait to get home and get to know you a little better. Last time I held you was almost a year ago. I understand you are mommy's little buddy, but remember you received your good looks from me. I'm sure you will realize this the moment you see your "Da".
Well, boys when I get home it will add one more weenie-wacker mom will have to take care of. We will certainly take it easy on her to start with since we have her unfairly outnumbered. After this past year, I'm sure she has learned a few tricks to manage.
Let's see, I guess I should clear up a few questions since I've been gone so long and a lot of things have changed. Is the bathroom where you boys have your baths the "Boys" room, or do I have to shower in mommy's shower? Do I still have a bed? I see a lot of photos with you two sleeping in the bed in MY room. Do I have to sleep somewhere else? Or is there going to be room for me. Well I guess all these will be solved when I get home. Which will be pretty soon. The Army is almost done with daddy.
I want you two to give mom a big hug and kiss from me ok. I love you guys and miss you very much.
Love,
Daddy
26 Feb 04
Tyler and Tyson-
How are my two favorite boys doing? I hope you are still taking care of mommy the best you can. I know you are doing a great job.
Tyler, how did you like your stay at Grandma's house? Did you play with M and J? You told me that you liked Midnight the cat more than you liked Thunder the dog. Well I hope you still enjoy puppies because I would like to get one when I get home. I hope you will help me take care of it. I'm not sure if I know how, do you?
Tyson, hey my little bud. I can't wait to get home and get to know you a little better. Last time I held you was almost a year ago. I understand you are mommy's little buddy, but remember you received your good looks from me. I'm sure you will realize this the moment you see your "Da".
Well, boys when I get home it will add one more weenie-wacker mom will have to take care of. We will certainly take it easy on her to start with since we have her unfairly outnumbered. After this past year, I'm sure she has learned a few tricks to manage.
Let's see, I guess I should clear up a few questions since I've been gone so long and a lot of things have changed. Is the bathroom where you boys have your baths the "Boys" room, or do I have to shower in mommy's shower? Do I still have a bed? I see a lot of photos with you two sleeping in the bed in MY room. Do I have to sleep somewhere else? Or is there going to be room for me. Well I guess all these will be solved when I get home. Which will be pretty soon. The Army is almost done with daddy.
I want you two to give mom a big hug and kiss from me ok. I love you guys and miss you very much.
Love,
Daddy
Sunday, February 13, 2011
The Circus Has Come To Town...And I'm The Ring Leader
Running to Walmart is a necessary evil on the weekends when your list contains milk, dog food, tampons and pepto (thanks, by the way, to whichever kiddo gave those germs to my clan!). With daddy gone so often for training, briefings, and the like I seem to be frequenting Walmart with 4 little boys in tow more and more. Not exactly the same as having my cake and eating it too, but I've learned that not all things in life are fair (or fun for that matter) so instead of pouting or grumbling about my predicament, I try to make our outing as fun as possible.
Since the older boys grumble in regards to all-things shopping, I decided to allow them to make a small purchase of their choosing while at the store hoping that this would deter the afore mentioned whining. With money in hand and spirits risen, we loaded into our van trying to beat the winter storm that was creeping closer.
Navigating any store with 4 kids isn't for the slight of heart. It's a stress-inducing task that threatens to defeat the weak. However, I am one tough cookie and never crumple in the face of fear...I took the challenge head on determined to conquer this store, my list, and the toy aisle all without tantrum, lost child, or breaking the budget.
The first obstacle in this shopping extravaganza involves navigating the parking lot. Our weather has been willy-nilly and indecisive so the streets are muddy, slushy, and full of puddles...which, of course, need to be addressed by the 2 year old. Avoiding tantrum, I hold his little hand as he proceeds to splish-splash and stamp his future date with a bath all the way across the parking lot. Once inside, he refuses to be restrained or otherwise detained in the cart. The 12 year old is put on alert and is assigned to toddler duty while I keep a "twenty" on the wandering 7 and 4 year olds. To keep the dudes focused, we form a choo-choo train as I decipher which items are hiding in which aisles....mama is the engine (I think I can, I think I can, I think I can!) and the 4 year old takes up residence as the caboose. This all goes down complete with chugga-chugga's and choo-choo's! We are truly a sight to behold!
Pharmacy...check. Pet supplies...check. On to the toy aisle which is an adventure in and of itself! All in all the toy selection went off without a hitch. Each child clenched their prized selection impatiently waiting to open their treasure as we headed off to groceries. This section is always a slippery slope. So our train chuggs onward adding cargo as we go. However, the 2 year old is getting sleepy and I foresee meltdown in our near future...so we chugg through the rest of the grocery section singing "ah! ah! ah! ah! stayin' awake! stayin' awake!" Yes, I receive many stares, glares, giggles, and roll of the eyes...but I've lost my will to care.
With cart full of items and toddler we head to checkout....usually the straw that broke the camel's back...but my hopes for success are still high! Of course, Murphy's law insists that I occupy the line with the ssssslllloooowwwweeeesssstttt customers and/or clerk. So I divert the impatient children's attention with the selection of candy and allow them to pick out a treat. (as a side note...I hate this part of the checkout line....those items are deliberately placed there so parents HAVE to purchase unnecessary junk in order to avoid meltdown and tantrum!) Here is the kicker....in this instance I am that mom that we all love to hate. Each of my boys has their own money clenched in their tight sweaty fist ready to purchase their desired treasure. Instead of being behind 1 customer...you are, in fact, behind 5 customers!!
Each of us exit the store with our bag of goodies and our pockets a little bit emptier...but I did it without tantrums or meltdowns. The kids had fun, didn't complain (too much) and even enjoyed some giggles watching mommy bust a groove in the cereal aisle!! All in all, my kids had fun! Hey, we can't possibly be any crazier than any other family packed into our Walmart!!
Since the older boys grumble in regards to all-things shopping, I decided to allow them to make a small purchase of their choosing while at the store hoping that this would deter the afore mentioned whining. With money in hand and spirits risen, we loaded into our van trying to beat the winter storm that was creeping closer.
Navigating any store with 4 kids isn't for the slight of heart. It's a stress-inducing task that threatens to defeat the weak. However, I am one tough cookie and never crumple in the face of fear...I took the challenge head on determined to conquer this store, my list, and the toy aisle all without tantrum, lost child, or breaking the budget.
The first obstacle in this shopping extravaganza involves navigating the parking lot. Our weather has been willy-nilly and indecisive so the streets are muddy, slushy, and full of puddles...which, of course, need to be addressed by the 2 year old. Avoiding tantrum, I hold his little hand as he proceeds to splish-splash and stamp his future date with a bath all the way across the parking lot. Once inside, he refuses to be restrained or otherwise detained in the cart. The 12 year old is put on alert and is assigned to toddler duty while I keep a "twenty" on the wandering 7 and 4 year olds. To keep the dudes focused, we form a choo-choo train as I decipher which items are hiding in which aisles....mama is the engine (I think I can, I think I can, I think I can!) and the 4 year old takes up residence as the caboose. This all goes down complete with chugga-chugga's and choo-choo's! We are truly a sight to behold!
Pharmacy...check. Pet supplies...check. On to the toy aisle which is an adventure in and of itself! All in all the toy selection went off without a hitch. Each child clenched their prized selection impatiently waiting to open their treasure as we headed off to groceries. This section is always a slippery slope. So our train chuggs onward adding cargo as we go. However, the 2 year old is getting sleepy and I foresee meltdown in our near future...so we chugg through the rest of the grocery section singing "ah! ah! ah! ah! stayin' awake! stayin' awake!" Yes, I receive many stares, glares, giggles, and roll of the eyes...but I've lost my will to care.
With cart full of items and toddler we head to checkout....usually the straw that broke the camel's back...but my hopes for success are still high! Of course, Murphy's law insists that I occupy the line with the ssssslllloooowwwweeeesssstttt customers and/or clerk. So I divert the impatient children's attention with the selection of candy and allow them to pick out a treat. (as a side note...I hate this part of the checkout line....those items are deliberately placed there so parents HAVE to purchase unnecessary junk in order to avoid meltdown and tantrum!) Here is the kicker....in this instance I am that mom that we all love to hate. Each of my boys has their own money clenched in their tight sweaty fist ready to purchase their desired treasure. Instead of being behind 1 customer...you are, in fact, behind 5 customers!!
Each of us exit the store with our bag of goodies and our pockets a little bit emptier...but I did it without tantrums or meltdowns. The kids had fun, didn't complain (too much) and even enjoyed some giggles watching mommy bust a groove in the cereal aisle!! All in all, my kids had fun! Hey, we can't possibly be any crazier than any other family packed into our Walmart!!
Thursday, February 10, 2011
Kids Have More Fun
Do you remember going to the bank as a kid? Maybe it wasn't a family outing for you, but in my family it was a special trip into town...and it was very exiting. I remember going through the double glass doors...I can even remember the smell. Right inside the doors to the left was the water fountain which we all had to get onto our tippiest of tippy-toes to steal a drink. While mom waited in line we would walk around the tile floor being careful not to touch the cracks (we didn't want to break mom's back...unless I was mad at her, and then Cracks R Us came to town!), giggling, and jumping from square to square. When it was finally our turn, the teller would give each of us a sucker! And then my mom would give each one of us a penny to get a gumball. I remember how excited we were as we jockied for position to decided who got to go first, second and last. With our 2 treats in hand we would skip out to the vehicle to help mom with more errands or to venture back home to the farm. The bank was a blast...a joy...an exiting outing!
As an adult, I have lost that joy of going to the bank. Excitement....it lacks. I see it as a chore...a dreaded errand...another item on a never-ending To-Do list. The line never moves fast enough, and sometimes I am greeted my a less-than-cheerful teller. It's just another thing I "have" to do that used to be something I "got" to do.
Yes, the bank has lost its joy in my adulthood. Disappointment and mundane ring true...and the little girl in me misses the joy she found in such simple things. Now, the bank has a very different vibe: The water fountain probably has germs.There are no gumball machines. The floor has no allure and fails to call to my inner-child. And I never get a sucker at the end of my transaction!
As an adult, I have lost that joy of going to the bank. Excitement....it lacks. I see it as a chore...a dreaded errand...another item on a never-ending To-Do list. The line never moves fast enough, and sometimes I am greeted my a less-than-cheerful teller. It's just another thing I "have" to do that used to be something I "got" to do.
Yes, the bank has lost its joy in my adulthood. Disappointment and mundane ring true...and the little girl in me misses the joy she found in such simple things. Now, the bank has a very different vibe: The water fountain probably has germs.There are no gumball machines. The floor has no allure and fails to call to my inner-child. And I never get a sucker at the end of my transaction!
Wednesday, February 9, 2011
Throw Me In The River
Hubby, #1 and I were watching something random on TV one night after the 3 youngest had already gone to bed. And somehow the subject of an urn, what it is and its purpose became our topic of conversation. Don't ask why we were talking about this with or around our son...just go with it. Hubby cringed and stated matter-of-factly that he wants to be buried in the Black Hills National Cemetery. No "ashes to ashes, dust to dust" for my man! But he doesn't want anything flashy either...just to be quietly laid to rest with fellow veterans. This was all stated very light-hearted as our 12 year old was a part of the doomsday conversation.
I, on the other hand, don't have any strong feelings one way or the other. So I stated that I was totally OK with my family deciding to cremate me...hence the urn conversation came full circle. #1 thought having my ashes loving placed on our mantel in a vase (his words not mine) was disgusting and looked at me as if I was an alien mutant asking to stay for supper. In order to regain his favor, I offered a secondary option of "disposal", if you will, for my ashes. Since my family loves to camp I excitedly told them to sprinkle me in the Black Hills Forest where we camp...of course, this would have to be done on the sly since I'm sure it is a Federal Offense to sprinkle your dead relatives ashes amongst the campground.
However, federal offense aside, I added some stipulations to how and where my ashes could be dumped. I forebode hubby from dumping me in the fire pit because I watched my boys pee on the fire pit to put the fire out last camping trip, and I am somewhat weirded out by people roasting marshmallows over me (as should be the future campers of the campsite where I'm dumped!). With that said, I offered up the suggestion of sprinkling me in the trees that my boys like to hike. But then it occurred to me that people and animals do, indeed, sh*t in the woods. I grabbed hubby's arm and told him not to sprinkle me where people or animals are going to "do their business". I don't want to be pee-ed on! I wanna rest in peace not pees! My son laughed, and hubby looked at me exasperated and jeered, "You're high maintenance even when you're dead!" And with that he and #1 continued to laugh at me and joke about my apparent level of required maintenance....living or dead!!
I, on the other hand, don't have any strong feelings one way or the other. So I stated that I was totally OK with my family deciding to cremate me...hence the urn conversation came full circle. #1 thought having my ashes loving placed on our mantel in a vase (his words not mine) was disgusting and looked at me as if I was an alien mutant asking to stay for supper. In order to regain his favor, I offered a secondary option of "disposal", if you will, for my ashes. Since my family loves to camp I excitedly told them to sprinkle me in the Black Hills Forest where we camp...of course, this would have to be done on the sly since I'm sure it is a Federal Offense to sprinkle your dead relatives ashes amongst the campground.
However, federal offense aside, I added some stipulations to how and where my ashes could be dumped. I forebode hubby from dumping me in the fire pit because I watched my boys pee on the fire pit to put the fire out last camping trip, and I am somewhat weirded out by people roasting marshmallows over me (as should be the future campers of the campsite where I'm dumped!). With that said, I offered up the suggestion of sprinkling me in the trees that my boys like to hike. But then it occurred to me that people and animals do, indeed, sh*t in the woods. I grabbed hubby's arm and told him not to sprinkle me where people or animals are going to "do their business". I don't want to be pee-ed on! I wanna rest in peace not pees! My son laughed, and hubby looked at me exasperated and jeered, "You're high maintenance even when you're dead!" And with that he and #1 continued to laugh at me and joke about my apparent level of required maintenance....living or dead!!
Tuesday, February 8, 2011
Red, Red, Whine...picture
Ok, ok, ok........so do you want to see my new rockin' hair color?? Here it is (remember I've been blonde my entrie life!!) My friends who have seen it thus far have been less than enthused. Good thing my hubby thinks it's smokin' hot!!......................
Red, Red, Whine!
I'm not normally very adventurous with my hairstyle. I don't aim to rock any boats, and I am pretty comfortable with my girl-next-door look. However, my hubby recently developed a thing for red-heads. This is new information to me, and I've known him for 14 years. Since I have limited time with hubby until he is deployed, I decided what hubby wants, hubby gets. So off to the salon I went to jump into the world of red! I've been a blonde most of my life...except for a short stint with a deep rich brown...so this was quite a leap of faith for me.
My hairstylist was excited for the change and eager to see the results which made me less nervous and more excited too. However, once I sat in her chair prepared to take the plunge...something started to stir inside of me. See, the only reason I'm going red is to please my hubby...because I am truly struggling with the reality of his approaching departure. It weighs heavy on me...and I fail to let it out. Now, my hairstylist has a son who is also a veteran of the Iraq war, and we have shared lots and lots of emotions....emotions now that seem raw, at the surface, and threatening to erupt. And going red seemed to have weakened my normally strong-as-steel demeanor.
I was weepy, teary, and frazzled the entire appointment...all 3 1/2 hours of it. I couldn't hold the tears in...they were at the surface at every single moment. Contrary to my normal strength, I was unable to control and close off my emotions. Even now, I am confused as to what truly happened. But all of the ladies offered empathetic squeezes, understanding looks, and heartfelt words. I was taken aback at their willingness to allow me to cry...and laugh....and cry again...all while taking up residence in their salon. Most women come to the salon for "me" time, a day off, or some pampering. My day at the salon was much different than the norm. My normal composure was stripped away as red was added to my "do". Apparently, my soul needed to cry...it just took some red to do it!
My hairstylist was excited for the change and eager to see the results which made me less nervous and more excited too. However, once I sat in her chair prepared to take the plunge...something started to stir inside of me. See, the only reason I'm going red is to please my hubby...because I am truly struggling with the reality of his approaching departure. It weighs heavy on me...and I fail to let it out. Now, my hairstylist has a son who is also a veteran of the Iraq war, and we have shared lots and lots of emotions....emotions now that seem raw, at the surface, and threatening to erupt. And going red seemed to have weakened my normally strong-as-steel demeanor.
I was weepy, teary, and frazzled the entire appointment...all 3 1/2 hours of it. I couldn't hold the tears in...they were at the surface at every single moment. Contrary to my normal strength, I was unable to control and close off my emotions. Even now, I am confused as to what truly happened. But all of the ladies offered empathetic squeezes, understanding looks, and heartfelt words. I was taken aback at their willingness to allow me to cry...and laugh....and cry again...all while taking up residence in their salon. Most women come to the salon for "me" time, a day off, or some pampering. My day at the salon was much different than the norm. My normal composure was stripped away as red was added to my "do". Apparently, my soul needed to cry...it just took some red to do it!
Monday, February 7, 2011
Love Letters-2nd Installment
I'm linking up with FTLOB today and every Monday through February for Love Letters. I shared a love letter (I started early) last Monday sharing a letter my hubby sent me just before he returned from Iraq. You can read that here.
The following love letter is from my hubby in 2004 when he was at Camp Warhorse in Iraq. He had been away from home a year by this point (he didn't come home until April 2004). As mentioned in my previous love letter, at this point in the war communication was mainly via written correspondence. I treasure these letters, notes, and messages.
"Hey, Baby-
I want to start this one out by reminding you that I love you very much. Tonight, the 12th of January seems to be a unique evening for me for a couple reasons. The emotions overwhelmed me so much that the only thing I could do was put it in writing.
First off, I'm all by myself tonight. All of my roommates are working. So the only noise to be heard tonight is sounds that I produce. But here comes the parts that are special. I was sitting here on my chair reading Lance Armstrong's autobiography when I thought to myself it must be really rotten for my roommates to have to work outside tonight because it's raining. I didn't think anything of it as first, but as time went on, I found my mind constantly diverted to the tap, tap, tap sound of the droplets hitting the metal roof. So finally, without disgust, I slowly closed the book and closed my eyes. I pictured us back in the apartment with our thunderstorm CD. You made certain everything was perfect.
I quickly remembered that your mom sent me a candle in a small little patriotic candle holder. So I got out my matches (every good soldier has some) and lit a single little lite. So with the rest of the country in darkness, I write to you by candlelight with the sounds of raindrops bouncing off the roof.
When I sit back, let out a sigh, the lone shine dances in the darkness, not much different than the thoughts of you in my mind. Sometimes it's the only thing that keeps the candle burning. While I'm here, I'm protective of that flame. It will NOT go out. So as I lay my head down tonight...the flame...the rain...I love you honey. you're the one piece I'm missing. Soon the puzzle will be back together.
I love you,
J"
The following love letter is from my hubby in 2004 when he was at Camp Warhorse in Iraq. He had been away from home a year by this point (he didn't come home until April 2004). As mentioned in my previous love letter, at this point in the war communication was mainly via written correspondence. I treasure these letters, notes, and messages.
"Hey, Baby-
I want to start this one out by reminding you that I love you very much. Tonight, the 12th of January seems to be a unique evening for me for a couple reasons. The emotions overwhelmed me so much that the only thing I could do was put it in writing.
First off, I'm all by myself tonight. All of my roommates are working. So the only noise to be heard tonight is sounds that I produce. But here comes the parts that are special. I was sitting here on my chair reading Lance Armstrong's autobiography when I thought to myself it must be really rotten for my roommates to have to work outside tonight because it's raining. I didn't think anything of it as first, but as time went on, I found my mind constantly diverted to the tap, tap, tap sound of the droplets hitting the metal roof. So finally, without disgust, I slowly closed the book and closed my eyes. I pictured us back in the apartment with our thunderstorm CD. You made certain everything was perfect.
I quickly remembered that your mom sent me a candle in a small little patriotic candle holder. So I got out my matches (every good soldier has some) and lit a single little lite. So with the rest of the country in darkness, I write to you by candlelight with the sounds of raindrops bouncing off the roof.
When I sit back, let out a sigh, the lone shine dances in the darkness, not much different than the thoughts of you in my mind. Sometimes it's the only thing that keeps the candle burning. While I'm here, I'm protective of that flame. It will NOT go out. So as I lay my head down tonight...the flame...the rain...I love you honey. you're the one piece I'm missing. Soon the puzzle will be back together.
I love you,
J"
Sunday, February 6, 2011
Screw the To-Do List
Kids have been sick, people have been cranky, and the laundry has taken over! In light of my desire to eat bad food all day, drink some wine, and cuddle with my 5 dudes while we diligently watch hours of pre-game and then the Super Bowl, I am going to re-post (I think this is becoming a theme!!) a previous post that I really liked...it even got the stamp of approval from my 12 year old (which is a really big deal!!).
Seize the Moment
I know. I know- "seize the moment"- what a cliche. But I've decided I need to do just that. I don't normally think of my day in "moments"; it's more of a "to-do" list and "schedule of events". Dishes-check; laundry-check; dusting-check; prepare supper-check; pick-up from cross country and deliver to soccer-check. Very often I get all caught up in what I have to do, what I have to get done, where do I need to be......that I have forgotten that my most important item on my "to-do" list has absolutely nothing to do with the state of my laundry, the cleanliness of my home, or what time I need to chauffeur my kids. No, my most important job - or privilege- is making the most of my moments with my boys.
I have to confess that I quite often, put my kids off to do "just one more thing". I make them try to tell me their super important story while I switch the laundry and then run upstairs to check supper. But when I am speaking to them, I require their undivided attention and eyes to be looking into mine. Shouldn't I offer the same consideration back to the ones who are the MOST important to me?? Of course the answer is yes, and of course I believe that. But why is it so easy to make my children wait for my attention while I scurry to pick up toys, rotate laundry, brown the hamburger, and (gasp) check my email!?
Shame on me, shame on me, indeed. My children are my greatest accomplishment, blessing, and responsibility. My mother has always told me that my children will never remember if the house was dirty or the dishes weren't washed. What they will remember is playing (another) game of Candyland, taking time to play Frisbee- even if it is chilly out, listening to my son tell me about "this really cool thing that happened at school", or sitting down to read a story that my child has been begging me to do all day. Those are the moments my boys will grow up and remember.
So the next time my kiddo is following me around trying to tell me his story, I'm going to STOP what I'm doing and look him in the eye...because I really do care and want to know...and it makes him feel important and loved. My 11 year old is on the verge of trying to become a man, and I have limited moments where he is going to chase me down trying to tell me about his day. My 7 year old isn't going to want to sing me his songs from music class forever- I need to listen now. My 4 year old isn't going to carry a Frisbee around all day for too much longer waiting for me to take 10 minutes to play with him. And my 2 year old isn't going to want me to "hold you" (that's how he says he wants held) forever. My little boys are growing up. I only get to have them in my grasp for a short time. So today....I'm going to "seize the moment" and make it count.
Seize the Moment
I know. I know- "seize the moment"- what a cliche. But I've decided I need to do just that. I don't normally think of my day in "moments"; it's more of a "to-do" list and "schedule of events". Dishes-check; laundry-check; dusting-check; prepare supper-check; pick-up from cross country and deliver to soccer-check. Very often I get all caught up in what I have to do, what I have to get done, where do I need to be......that I have forgotten that my most important item on my "to-do" list has absolutely nothing to do with the state of my laundry, the cleanliness of my home, or what time I need to chauffeur my kids. No, my most important job - or privilege- is making the most of my moments with my boys.
I have to confess that I quite often, put my kids off to do "just one more thing". I make them try to tell me their super important story while I switch the laundry and then run upstairs to check supper. But when I am speaking to them, I require their undivided attention and eyes to be looking into mine. Shouldn't I offer the same consideration back to the ones who are the MOST important to me?? Of course the answer is yes, and of course I believe that. But why is it so easy to make my children wait for my attention while I scurry to pick up toys, rotate laundry, brown the hamburger, and (gasp) check my email!?
Shame on me, shame on me, indeed. My children are my greatest accomplishment, blessing, and responsibility. My mother has always told me that my children will never remember if the house was dirty or the dishes weren't washed. What they will remember is playing (another) game of Candyland, taking time to play Frisbee- even if it is chilly out, listening to my son tell me about "this really cool thing that happened at school", or sitting down to read a story that my child has been begging me to do all day. Those are the moments my boys will grow up and remember.
So the next time my kiddo is following me around trying to tell me his story, I'm going to STOP what I'm doing and look him in the eye...because I really do care and want to know...and it makes him feel important and loved. My 11 year old is on the verge of trying to become a man, and I have limited moments where he is going to chase me down trying to tell me about his day. My 7 year old isn't going to want to sing me his songs from music class forever- I need to listen now. My 4 year old isn't going to carry a Frisbee around all day for too much longer waiting for me to take 10 minutes to play with him. And my 2 year old isn't going to want me to "hold you" (that's how he says he wants held) forever. My little boys are growing up. I only get to have them in my grasp for a short time. So today....I'm going to "seize the moment" and make it count.
Friday, February 4, 2011
My Kids Are Frickin' Funny
* TJ (4yo) was running down the hallway and jumping over daddy (daddy is a long a triple jump coach at the high school)
daddy says, "you need to drive that knee a little more buddy!"
TJ pipes in, "I don't have a steering wheel on my knee daddy!"
Duh daddy!!!!!
*Teagan (2yo) told mommy to "Suck it! Suck it, mommy!!" He was holding out his newly-found-once-discarded old sucker.
*We were watching the playoffs and our 7yo kept hearing the announcer talk about one of the teams quarterbacks. When he tried to say the name it came out "Motroplosberger" and then later as "Broccolisberger".....no son that would be "Roethlisberger"!!
*TJ (4yo) was running through the house- he does that a lot. I was cleaning up a lotion mess from the 2yo. TJ had to run around me, and as he did he stated very annoyed at my incredulousness, "you gotta watch where you're going mommy!"
* I was trying to give my 7yo a human anatomy lesson. We are looking at the veins on my hands and arms, and I'm trying to explain the cardiovascular system (much easier said than done...kudos to teachers everywhere!) I tried to explain that there are veins everywhere going back and forth to and from the heart. In the infinite wisdom of a little boy he looks at me mischievously and asks, "even on my weener?" and runs off to the bathroom. Awesome! Are all boys like this......or just mine???
* The 4yo doesn't wipe his own butt. It's still my job. However, the 2yo thinks that anything going on in the bathroom and all-things-poo need to have his stamp of approval. Whenever the 4yo yells, "mom, you gotta come see this great poop!" My dedicated poo inspector races to get to the bathroom to investigate, congratulate, and supervise the dismount and wiping process!
This is how the scenario plays out: TJ (4yo) assumes the position which is brown-eye pointing skyward while hands are holding his ankles. Mommy straddles said 4yo in order to have more control, to ensure adequate cleaning, and keep the 4yo focused! 2yo (who's head is now at the same level of his brother's skyward-facing naked butt) leans in about 3 inches from the area under investigation and watches dubiously as the process unfolds. Every....single....time! And then we all cheer and say goodbye to the poop....every...single...time!!
If laughing keeps you young....then my kids at the best anti-aging technique out there!!
daddy says, "you need to drive that knee a little more buddy!"
TJ pipes in, "I don't have a steering wheel on my knee daddy!"
Duh daddy!!!!!
*Teagan (2yo) told mommy to "Suck it! Suck it, mommy!!" He was holding out his newly-found-once-discarded old sucker.
*We were watching the playoffs and our 7yo kept hearing the announcer talk about one of the teams quarterbacks. When he tried to say the name it came out "Motroplosberger" and then later as "Broccolisberger".....no son that would be "Roethlisberger"!!
*TJ (4yo) was running through the house- he does that a lot. I was cleaning up a lotion mess from the 2yo. TJ had to run around me, and as he did he stated very annoyed at my incredulousness, "you gotta watch where you're going mommy!"
* I was trying to give my 7yo a human anatomy lesson. We are looking at the veins on my hands and arms, and I'm trying to explain the cardiovascular system (much easier said than done...kudos to teachers everywhere!) I tried to explain that there are veins everywhere going back and forth to and from the heart. In the infinite wisdom of a little boy he looks at me mischievously and asks, "even on my weener?" and runs off to the bathroom. Awesome! Are all boys like this......or just mine???
* The 4yo doesn't wipe his own butt. It's still my job. However, the 2yo thinks that anything going on in the bathroom and all-things-poo need to have his stamp of approval. Whenever the 4yo yells, "mom, you gotta come see this great poop!" My dedicated poo inspector races to get to the bathroom to investigate, congratulate, and supervise the dismount and wiping process!
This is how the scenario plays out: TJ (4yo) assumes the position which is brown-eye pointing skyward while hands are holding his ankles. Mommy straddles said 4yo in order to have more control, to ensure adequate cleaning, and keep the 4yo focused! 2yo (who's head is now at the same level of his brother's skyward-facing naked butt) leans in about 3 inches from the area under investigation and watches dubiously as the process unfolds. Every....single....time! And then we all cheer and say goodbye to the poop....every...single...time!!
If laughing keeps you young....then my kids at the best anti-aging technique out there!!
Thursday, February 3, 2011
For the "If" in Life
It stuck out like a sore thumb. The moment it came out of his mouth, it grabbed me by the collar and knocked me to the floor. My husband said "if". We were talking about upgrades and possible remodeling we wanted to do "down the road". And my husband said "if". "If" I come home from war.........The rest of the sentence, or conversation for that matter, doesn't matter because time stopped for me. "If" is still hanging in the air. I can see it. I dodge it daily. And sometimes at night I awaken in terror as it grabs my throat and threatens to choke the life right out of me.
"If" is an uncomfortable place I've been before. There is something scarily familiar about the "if" in my life. I remember dodging any and all news and conversations that hinted toward events in Iraq. Every gun fight, every road-side bomb, every RPG that attacked a convoy, every "casualty of war" had the possibility of being or involving my soldier. So I avoided that "if" with all of my strength....until he finally came home. And now, with only 52 days (all the rest of the days of the next 3 1/2 months before he goes are spoken for by the military for pre-deployment training) until he leaves for a year I am fighting desperately to avoid the issue of "if".
Most of the time we plan...we plan for the good, we plan for the bad. "If (_____), then (______)." It is a safety net, good financial planning, hopeful family planning, vacation planning...I could go on and on. We all do it....if this, then this. It's the way the world spins round...everything has an if/then statement. But what do we do when "if" scares the hell out of us? What do we do when "if" is so unimaginable that the fear of it occurring threatens to cripple my ability to function?
"If"? Then what?
"If" is an uncomfortable place I've been before. There is something scarily familiar about the "if" in my life. I remember dodging any and all news and conversations that hinted toward events in Iraq. Every gun fight, every road-side bomb, every RPG that attacked a convoy, every "casualty of war" had the possibility of being or involving my soldier. So I avoided that "if" with all of my strength....until he finally came home. And now, with only 52 days (all the rest of the days of the next 3 1/2 months before he goes are spoken for by the military for pre-deployment training) until he leaves for a year I am fighting desperately to avoid the issue of "if".
Most of the time we plan...we plan for the good, we plan for the bad. "If (_____), then (______)." It is a safety net, good financial planning, hopeful family planning, vacation planning...I could go on and on. We all do it....if this, then this. It's the way the world spins round...everything has an if/then statement. But what do we do when "if" scares the hell out of us? What do we do when "if" is so unimaginable that the fear of it occurring threatens to cripple my ability to function?
"If"? Then what?
Wednesday, February 2, 2011
It Hurts In A Good Way
I don't do New Year's resolutions as I mentioned...well, at the new year...because I don't want to set myself up for failure! But I do like to set goals, aspirations if you will, for myself. You see, I am a high achiever....if I can't do it and do it well, then I tend to not do it at all. I want to be the best...at everything! Right, wrong, or indifferent, that's the way I roll! I also enjoy rewarding myself for a job well done (maybe that's why I only do things I know I'm good at...hmmmm....touche`). With that said, I decided after my last hour-long massage (courtesy of my husband's volleyball team...thanks ladies!!) that I deserved this kind of pampering more often than allowed or indulged upon. Enter.......my super clever mind! I decided that I was going to do my P90X (again) and reward myself after the final phase with a massage (and maybe pedicure and manicure and cute summer outfit, but I digress). It seemed perfectly logical to me that my body would need some pampering and relaxation after 90 grueling days of being "x-like". Those are the words of Tony Horton the P90X trainer, not mine.
With plan -and reward- in place, I set out on my 90 days of super intense workouts. Again, I'm going to say that I have a problem. I like to be the best.....and I think I'm She-ra (you know from He-man...if you don' t know what I'm talking about, then we have no business speaking to each other any more...just kidding. I'm equal-opportunity here...keep reading!!) So instead of PACING myself (as stated during the first workout...and I've done this workout 4 times before), I decided I would go pull-up for pull-up and push-up for push-up with the King of Fit himself. Not my best decision...but you know what they say, hindsight is 20/20!
Day # 2 was uncomfortable. I realized I did indeed have some muscles that I was neglecting. Nonetheless, I busted out the plyometric workout (this workout sucks...I hate it!), sweating, panting and cursing my workout decision the entire time. Day #3 proved to be difficult to dismount my bed. I didn't know there were so many areas of my butt that needed attention. And my core area felt as if I had an active role in clash of the Titans! However, the toughie that I am, I forged ahead for my workout....which was an entirely new set of muscles (who knew we had so many that required such devoted and thorough attention!). By the night of day 3, I was unable to stand fully erect (get your minds out of the gutter...that was the LAST thing on my mind!) Every movement and task proved more painful than the last...so much so, that hubby and son #1 offered to clean up all of supper and the mess that goes with it. Hubby did his best to wait on me hand and foot...for the next 2 days...and nights, because I was summoning drinks and Motrin! He felt too badly to protest.
I bailed out of the Thursday, Friday, and yes even Saturday's workouts with the excuse (it really was the truth!) that I was just in too much pain. With that behind me, I am on to week 2 of my 90 days! A massage has never sounded so good! I will survive and conquer the rest of the program...if only for the allure of the spa!!
With plan -and reward- in place, I set out on my 90 days of super intense workouts. Again, I'm going to say that I have a problem. I like to be the best.....and I think I'm She-ra (you know from He-man...if you don' t know what I'm talking about, then we have no business speaking to each other any more...just kidding. I'm equal-opportunity here...keep reading!!) So instead of PACING myself (as stated during the first workout...and I've done this workout 4 times before), I decided I would go pull-up for pull-up and push-up for push-up with the King of Fit himself. Not my best decision...but you know what they say, hindsight is 20/20!
Day # 2 was uncomfortable. I realized I did indeed have some muscles that I was neglecting. Nonetheless, I busted out the plyometric workout (this workout sucks...I hate it!), sweating, panting and cursing my workout decision the entire time. Day #3 proved to be difficult to dismount my bed. I didn't know there were so many areas of my butt that needed attention. And my core area felt as if I had an active role in clash of the Titans! However, the toughie that I am, I forged ahead for my workout....which was an entirely new set of muscles (who knew we had so many that required such devoted and thorough attention!). By the night of day 3, I was unable to stand fully erect (get your minds out of the gutter...that was the LAST thing on my mind!) Every movement and task proved more painful than the last...so much so, that hubby and son #1 offered to clean up all of supper and the mess that goes with it. Hubby did his best to wait on me hand and foot...for the next 2 days...and nights, because I was summoning drinks and Motrin! He felt too badly to protest.
I bailed out of the Thursday, Friday, and yes even Saturday's workouts with the excuse (it really was the truth!) that I was just in too much pain. With that behind me, I am on to week 2 of my 90 days! A massage has never sounded so good! I will survive and conquer the rest of the program...if only for the allure of the spa!!
Tuesday, February 1, 2011
Love Letters- Part 1
I wanted to join in on something that warmed my heart. Over at For the Love of Blogs they are hosting a "love letters" edition through February. It doesn't technically start until February 7, but I thought I would start a little earlier.
Now, I am NOT a hopeless romantic....I am more of a realist. Rose petals, candlelight, and sweet nothings being whispered into my ear have never played much of a role in my life. But I've always longed to have those moments...I just don't seem to have that romantic strand in my DNA. I try, but it always seems to come off "cheesy".
With that said, I have to admit that I have learned to treasure love letters...not just any love letters...love letters that were sent from my husband from war. My husband was deployed and in Iraq for a total of 15 months. He was there at the beginning of the war....their mission and duties were very dangerous...and communication was sparse at the best. We would go a month or two without hearing from him....I learned to plan for the worst and hope for the best. When hearing his voice was so rare, I learned to treasure the letters and cards I would receive from somewhere around the world. Since we had no idea if he would return to us at all, we learned to pour our hearts out to each other with written words that I now hold very dear to my heart.
If you would indulge me for a moment longer, I would like to share with you a letter my husband sent me from Camp Warhorse in Iraq in 2004........
(this is what the card said) When we first fell in love, every time you looked at me, smiled at me, or touched me, you made me feel so good about myself...as if I were the most desirable person in the world. I couldn't wait to be alone with you, to share my most intimate self with you. I love you even more now (if that's possible!), and I hope you realize that the excitement I felt when we first fell in love hasn't faded with time. You still make me feel as special as you did the first time we kissed.
(this is what my hubby wrote) "Babe, Hey I was looking for a birthday card and I was having trouble deciding whether or not to go with a "funny" or "serious". Anyway, being a typical guy, I really don't read the whole card before deciding to buy it....BUT, this particular card said words that made bumps appear on my arms. As I came to the last line, I thought 'perfect'. Everyday I think of the little things that I can't wait to get home to. I realize now (and during the past year) that I don't want to live without you. It makes me sad and hurt in my heart when I can't see you. I really need you! You are truly my 'better half'. I want to cuddle on the couch and giggle, eat a candlelight spaghetti supper at an indoor picnic, I want to find a set of swings and let the wind brush our hair, I want to go camping somewhere nobody can find us, I want to hold hands in the mall, I want to jump in a "moon walk" with you, I want to stay home on Halloween and play dominoes in the dark, go to the movies and share a straw, rub your feet, kiss your belly, play with your hair, paint your toenails, and Be Your Best Friend! Thanks for giving me this feeling!
Love
J"
This letter arrived about a month before he returned home from deployment. When we found out we were pregnant with our first child (in 1998) we were penniless college students. To celebrate, I set up a candlelit picnic on our living room floor (we didn't have any furniture yet). He always painted my toes for me when I was pregnant, and our first Halloween (while pregnant with baby #1) we played dominoes to candlelight as we handed out candy. We had been through some very tough times in our marriage months before he left for Iraq...as you can imagine "absence makes the heart grow fonder"! God put us in opposite parts of the world in order to find Him and re-commit us to our marriage.
****come back next week for the 2nd installment of Love Letters. I will also have the the link to FTLOB where you can enjoy even more Love Letters
Now, I am NOT a hopeless romantic....I am more of a realist. Rose petals, candlelight, and sweet nothings being whispered into my ear have never played much of a role in my life. But I've always longed to have those moments...I just don't seem to have that romantic strand in my DNA. I try, but it always seems to come off "cheesy".
With that said, I have to admit that I have learned to treasure love letters...not just any love letters...love letters that were sent from my husband from war. My husband was deployed and in Iraq for a total of 15 months. He was there at the beginning of the war....their mission and duties were very dangerous...and communication was sparse at the best. We would go a month or two without hearing from him....I learned to plan for the worst and hope for the best. When hearing his voice was so rare, I learned to treasure the letters and cards I would receive from somewhere around the world. Since we had no idea if he would return to us at all, we learned to pour our hearts out to each other with written words that I now hold very dear to my heart.
If you would indulge me for a moment longer, I would like to share with you a letter my husband sent me from Camp Warhorse in Iraq in 2004........
(this is what the card said) When we first fell in love, every time you looked at me, smiled at me, or touched me, you made me feel so good about myself...as if I were the most desirable person in the world. I couldn't wait to be alone with you, to share my most intimate self with you. I love you even more now (if that's possible!), and I hope you realize that the excitement I felt when we first fell in love hasn't faded with time. You still make me feel as special as you did the first time we kissed.
(this is what my hubby wrote) "Babe, Hey I was looking for a birthday card and I was having trouble deciding whether or not to go with a "funny" or "serious". Anyway, being a typical guy, I really don't read the whole card before deciding to buy it....BUT, this particular card said words that made bumps appear on my arms. As I came to the last line, I thought 'perfect'. Everyday I think of the little things that I can't wait to get home to. I realize now (and during the past year) that I don't want to live without you. It makes me sad and hurt in my heart when I can't see you. I really need you! You are truly my 'better half'. I want to cuddle on the couch and giggle, eat a candlelight spaghetti supper at an indoor picnic, I want to find a set of swings and let the wind brush our hair, I want to go camping somewhere nobody can find us, I want to hold hands in the mall, I want to jump in a "moon walk" with you, I want to stay home on Halloween and play dominoes in the dark, go to the movies and share a straw, rub your feet, kiss your belly, play with your hair, paint your toenails, and Be Your Best Friend! Thanks for giving me this feeling!
Love
J"
This letter arrived about a month before he returned home from deployment. When we found out we were pregnant with our first child (in 1998) we were penniless college students. To celebrate, I set up a candlelit picnic on our living room floor (we didn't have any furniture yet). He always painted my toes for me when I was pregnant, and our first Halloween (while pregnant with baby #1) we played dominoes to candlelight as we handed out candy. We had been through some very tough times in our marriage months before he left for Iraq...as you can imagine "absence makes the heart grow fonder"! God put us in opposite parts of the world in order to find Him and re-commit us to our marriage.
****come back next week for the 2nd installment of Love Letters. I will also have the the link to FTLOB where you can enjoy even more Love Letters
Monday, January 31, 2011
Service Engine Soon.....Revisited
After a busy weekend of juggling a wrestling tournament and a swim meet for my two oldest boys, I find myself a little behind in my "mama-chores". I also have a girly doctor appointment which is stealing from my time this morning. Hence, I am finding myself a little crunched and in need of a little help. I am re-posting an earlier post that I really liked (I think I'm so clever sometimes...my hubby makes fun of me!) I hope you enjoy the read....I'm off to shower and primp before my OB/GYN checks out my nether regions!!
Service Engine Soon
I've been married for almost 11 years (some days it feels like it's been A LOT longer than that but that is clearly another topic for another day) during which I've delivered 4 beautiful, healthy, BIG baby boys (my smallest was 8 pounds). I've also become much more of a "girly-girl" than I was when I met my hubby at 19 (wow that was a long time ago). I was pretty simple- didn't use a lot of makeup, didn't color my hair, had no money so clothing was more of a necessity than a luxury- low maintenance, if you will. However, I've come into my own regarding the unique requirements of the female species. Basically, I've become more high maintenance. My hubby says I've gotten better with age.....kind of like a fine wine (I'm taking that as a compliment- what it really means is I wasn't as attractive when we met as he finds me now- or so that's how I am interpreting it). I am going to chalk it up to the simpler days in life.....when I didn't NEED to do as much to be cute (those were the days).
Now I look in the mirror and scare myself. I certainly hope my children aren't scared by the Crypt Keeper serving them breakfast! My hubby says I'm beautiful, but we all know he would like sex tonight (and future nights) so telling me that I'm getting scarier with age doesn't bode well for him. I am, regrettably, at that age where preventative and corrective maintenance and necessary repairs are no longer a suggestion acquired from a magazine article later to be disregarded. Quite the contrary, they are now necessary improvements essential to prevent hubby from trading me in for a younger model.
With that said, there is significant expense that accompanies this so-called required maintenance. I am currently suffering from the "Too many unexpected expenses prevent mommy from visiting optional (read-necessary) hair appointment" syndrome. In short, I have very visible roots. My hubby referred to me last night as a "half-n-half". You see, I am a blonde by nature, but somewhere in 30+ years....that changed. Now I must pay incredible amounts to restore my once youthful natural color. To my chagrin, I have also noticed my less-than-vibrant skin tone. Makeup isn't an option, it's a necessity. Freckles, sun spots, wrinkles and the like that comes with "aging" have all left their mark. Some say it's the sign of wisdom; I say it's the sign that I need to invest in some serious anti-aging arsenal and make an appointment with a local Botox professional asap!
Requirements of clothing have gotten more difficult and demanding now that I have had kiddos. Bras that define, lift and accentuate are a must- and they come with a hefty price. Apparel needs to fit and flatter the right curves in the right way, and all of a sudden, I am faced with the issue of "age appropriateness". Slimmers, shapers, smoothers....the likes of which I'd rather still be unaware.
As we travel downward, I would like to mention that I am completely NOT against the restoration and "plumpification" of my once perky, but now unresponsive, breasts. They now lack the ability to "stand at attention", if you will. I think breastfeeding should come with a warning label: "Constant and continual use will lead to shrinking, sagging, and possible deformation". We should have to sign a release before proceeding.
Stretch marks and skin that has lost its ability to "bounce back". Spider veins. Disappearing butt. Achy swollen feet. All lead me to believe that my trade-in value is decreasing by the moment. I am convinced that I am in need of my 100,000 mile overhaul. My "service engine soon" light demands attention!
So I ask , fellow woman, do we run from this challenge? Do we hide in the shadows? Or do we turn and face it head on? I choose to "fight the good fight" and employ any and all means possible to defend against the wrath of age. Salon visits I shall attend; creams I shall apply; peels I shall suffer through; going under the knife- the money I should only hope to find. I am prepared for this battle. And if I can't beat and overcome the maladies of age, then I will mask it every step of the way.
Service Engine Soon
I've been married for almost 11 years (some days it feels like it's been A LOT longer than that but that is clearly another topic for another day) during which I've delivered 4 beautiful, healthy, BIG baby boys (my smallest was 8 pounds). I've also become much more of a "girly-girl" than I was when I met my hubby at 19 (wow that was a long time ago). I was pretty simple- didn't use a lot of makeup, didn't color my hair, had no money so clothing was more of a necessity than a luxury- low maintenance, if you will. However, I've come into my own regarding the unique requirements of the female species. Basically, I've become more high maintenance. My hubby says I've gotten better with age.....kind of like a fine wine (I'm taking that as a compliment- what it really means is I wasn't as attractive when we met as he finds me now- or so that's how I am interpreting it). I am going to chalk it up to the simpler days in life.....when I didn't NEED to do as much to be cute (those were the days).
Now I look in the mirror and scare myself. I certainly hope my children aren't scared by the Crypt Keeper serving them breakfast! My hubby says I'm beautiful, but we all know he would like sex tonight (and future nights) so telling me that I'm getting scarier with age doesn't bode well for him. I am, regrettably, at that age where preventative and corrective maintenance and necessary repairs are no longer a suggestion acquired from a magazine article later to be disregarded. Quite the contrary, they are now necessary improvements essential to prevent hubby from trading me in for a younger model.
With that said, there is significant expense that accompanies this so-called required maintenance. I am currently suffering from the "Too many unexpected expenses prevent mommy from visiting optional (read-necessary) hair appointment" syndrome. In short, I have very visible roots. My hubby referred to me last night as a "half-n-half". You see, I am a blonde by nature, but somewhere in 30+ years....that changed. Now I must pay incredible amounts to restore my once youthful natural color. To my chagrin, I have also noticed my less-than-vibrant skin tone. Makeup isn't an option, it's a necessity. Freckles, sun spots, wrinkles and the like that comes with "aging" have all left their mark. Some say it's the sign of wisdom; I say it's the sign that I need to invest in some serious anti-aging arsenal and make an appointment with a local Botox professional asap!
Requirements of clothing have gotten more difficult and demanding now that I have had kiddos. Bras that define, lift and accentuate are a must- and they come with a hefty price. Apparel needs to fit and flatter the right curves in the right way, and all of a sudden, I am faced with the issue of "age appropriateness". Slimmers, shapers, smoothers....the likes of which I'd rather still be unaware.
As we travel downward, I would like to mention that I am completely NOT against the restoration and "plumpification" of my once perky, but now unresponsive, breasts. They now lack the ability to "stand at attention", if you will. I think breastfeeding should come with a warning label: "Constant and continual use will lead to shrinking, sagging, and possible deformation". We should have to sign a release before proceeding.
Stretch marks and skin that has lost its ability to "bounce back". Spider veins. Disappearing butt. Achy swollen feet. All lead me to believe that my trade-in value is decreasing by the moment. I am convinced that I am in need of my 100,000 mile overhaul. My "service engine soon" light demands attention!
So I ask , fellow woman, do we run from this challenge? Do we hide in the shadows? Or do we turn and face it head on? I choose to "fight the good fight" and employ any and all means possible to defend against the wrath of age. Salon visits I shall attend; creams I shall apply; peels I shall suffer through; going under the knife- the money I should only hope to find. I am prepared for this battle. And if I can't beat and overcome the maladies of age, then I will mask it every step of the way.
Friday, January 28, 2011
Snips and Snails and Puppy Dog Tails
We've had an unusually warm streak of weather lately. So I decided to ditch the confines of our home and head to the mall...actually, to the mall play land with the 4 year old and 2 year old. Not nearly as fun as just shopping but ya count your losses and move on. I am quite the hermit in the winter so I considered this a fairly ambitious move. Gold star day for mommy!
However, there were lots of mommies with the same idea as me. Great minds must think alike. So instead of mindlessly watching my kids play in the the play area, I had to be in full-on referee status...making sure play was fair. For the most part, all the kiddos in attendance were running off what was left of their morning rush of energy enjoying its high before the crash of afternoon nap started to set in. Of course, the boys were all being super heroes or ultimate fighting champions or wrestlers or monsters...typical, I know. I'm not really sure what the girls were doing...I don't have any girls, so their mere existence seems mystical and foreign to me. I don't usually pay attention to what the little girls are playing.
I am much more comfortable with my kids roaring and growling and jumping off of things. I do know, however, that the cliche that little girls are full of "sugar and spice and everything nice"....isn't always true. As I was sitting by myself in my corner ( I don't really like to socialize with people so much....we'll talk about that later) I watched a little girl open a can of whoop-a** on my 2 year old son who was trying to take a turn on the lily pads. She decided otherwise and proceeded to employ a WWF smackdown on my youngest. Now, I'm not naive. I'm sure my little man was not sans guilt, and more than likely provoked the little Miss Wanna-be Boxer. However, I watched her give my son a round-house, upper-cut and a left hook before he retaliated with a shove.
Both were crying by this point so I nonchalantly rescued my little man not wanting to make it into a big deal. But Mama Sugar Ray proceeded to swoop in as if it was her child under attack. While giving me the evil eye across the play land scattered with kiddos, she proceeded to tell her daughter (in a voice loud enough for all of us to hear) how boys are naughty and that she should stay far away from him. I think my jaw hit the floor!
Normally, I don't encourage violence but I was all "oh it's on, now!" Against my better judgement....I kept my mouth shut and endured the evil glances from her and her friend as they alternated from watching my son like a hawk and shooting accusatory glances in my direction. I left feeling awful, angry, embarrassed...and a little proud that my kiddo fought back. I know it's not the lesson we are supposed to teach...but give me credit for not starting my own WWF smackdown mommy style!
However, there were lots of mommies with the same idea as me. Great minds must think alike. So instead of mindlessly watching my kids play in the the play area, I had to be in full-on referee status...making sure play was fair. For the most part, all the kiddos in attendance were running off what was left of their morning rush of energy enjoying its high before the crash of afternoon nap started to set in. Of course, the boys were all being super heroes or ultimate fighting champions or wrestlers or monsters...typical, I know. I'm not really sure what the girls were doing...I don't have any girls, so their mere existence seems mystical and foreign to me. I don't usually pay attention to what the little girls are playing.
I am much more comfortable with my kids roaring and growling and jumping off of things. I do know, however, that the cliche that little girls are full of "sugar and spice and everything nice"....isn't always true. As I was sitting by myself in my corner ( I don't really like to socialize with people so much....we'll talk about that later) I watched a little girl open a can of whoop-a** on my 2 year old son who was trying to take a turn on the lily pads. She decided otherwise and proceeded to employ a WWF smackdown on my youngest. Now, I'm not naive. I'm sure my little man was not sans guilt, and more than likely provoked the little Miss Wanna-be Boxer. However, I watched her give my son a round-house, upper-cut and a left hook before he retaliated with a shove.
Both were crying by this point so I nonchalantly rescued my little man not wanting to make it into a big deal. But Mama Sugar Ray proceeded to swoop in as if it was her child under attack. While giving me the evil eye across the play land scattered with kiddos, she proceeded to tell her daughter (in a voice loud enough for all of us to hear) how boys are naughty and that she should stay far away from him. I think my jaw hit the floor!
Normally, I don't encourage violence but I was all "oh it's on, now!" Against my better judgement....I kept my mouth shut and endured the evil glances from her and her friend as they alternated from watching my son like a hawk and shooting accusatory glances in my direction. I left feeling awful, angry, embarrassed...and a little proud that my kiddo fought back. I know it's not the lesson we are supposed to teach...but give me credit for not starting my own WWF smackdown mommy style!
Wednesday, January 26, 2011
Let's Get, Let's Get, Let's Get, Let's Get Rocked!
I am not a party girl...never really have been. That's not to say that I have never partied or thrown my cautions to the wind. On the contrary, the 9 or 10 times (which is really more like 6 or 7 times) that I've busted loose...I've REALLY busted loose. However, I've learned that I don't much care for the "after" feeling the next day. Excessive alcohol seems to have an adverse effect on my good senses and inhibitions. My wild side is released, and my "life of the party" side comes out in full force! Apparently, I'm a riot! But since this is such a huge shift from my "girl next door" personality, everyone seems to enjoy telling and re-telling stories of the "crazy girl" at the party.
To avoid my inner Jeckyll and Hyde dilemma, I forgo parties, drink rarely, and mostly keep to myself (that would be myself...along with hubby and 4 kiddos and their ever-blossoming schedules....I'm far from a hermit, people!) On top of harnessing my alter ego, a night out is also expensive when you consider babysitter, meal, and entertainment. Not to mention that I still have to get up the next morning and be a functioning mama ALL DAY LONG. A quiet night at home sounds more and more appealing, doesn't it?! However, I was sucker-punched into attending a military party with my husband last spring. I've mentioned casually in previous posts that I don't much care for these events and my "social butterfly" candle was extinguished long, long ago. With that said, I have managed to successfully avoid military parties, gatherings, and events.....that is, until the Spring of 2010.
Since my husband is not a high ranking officer, he is pretty much everybody else's be-yotch. Yep, that's how it works. But in 10 more years, I'm sure he'll have his own low-ranking officer as his personal punching bag as well. Hence, it should come as no surprise (to you anyway) that my hubby came home from work-very timidly I might add- and informed me that he had been ordered to tell his wife that she WILL BE attending the yearly shindig...all 3 days of it. Of course the diva in me pulled her shoulders back, wiggled her head all dramatically and shook my finger as I asserted my authority stating that NO MAN tells ME what to do. Turns out, I was wrong...so I swallowed my pride and accepted my defeat determined to NOT HAVE ANY FUN at the party I was ordered to attend.
Night one was pretty uneventful...if you consider getting a red-beer spilled down the front of my brand new outfit uneventful. I may not want to be at that party but I'm darn sure gonna look amazing while I pout! With the debacle of party #1 under my belt I was even more negative toward the prospect of party #2. However, I was still dressed to kill...or at least my hubby thought so...and that's all that matters at the end of the night (y'all know what I'm saying right??!!) Now party #2 was actually....wait for it.....pretty awesome. The entertainment was hilarious and some other high-ranking officer took pity on us poor low-ranking couple and kept the drinks flowing. My night's looking better and better! Except no one was monitoring the alcohol consumption of the nearly-virgin party-attender. Many, many sour vodkas later, I decided to slam some beers with my hubby. Did I mention that the party was basically over, and we were apparently "closing down the bar"! So unlike me. But, oh my gosh, we were having a great time...well, I was...I'm not sure what hubby was doing. I was sitting on the table entertaining 2 of my hubby's higher-ranking bosses...keeping up drink-for-drink with the high rollers! Oh yeah...life of the party!!
Said party continued at home with hubby....no candles and rose petals....we were all "bow chicka wow wow"...well...at least...I think, because it is all a blur by that point. Some time during the night all of those vodkas and beers mixed together and created a very unpleasant morning which included me taking 4 kids to soccer all by myself (hubby was still in briefings) Ugh! Once home, I laid moaning and groaning, cursing my partying decisions for the remainder of the day until I was carted off to the last of the 3-day hoopla. I walked around hungover with kids in tow at "Reptile Garden" and then joined in (read: watched everyone else eating...trying not to gag) on the complimentary grill-out. I have sworn to never drink again...until I am ordered to have fun....when I will apparently turn into the likes of Snookie!
To avoid my inner Jeckyll and Hyde dilemma, I forgo parties, drink rarely, and mostly keep to myself (that would be myself...along with hubby and 4 kiddos and their ever-blossoming schedules....I'm far from a hermit, people!) On top of harnessing my alter ego, a night out is also expensive when you consider babysitter, meal, and entertainment. Not to mention that I still have to get up the next morning and be a functioning mama ALL DAY LONG. A quiet night at home sounds more and more appealing, doesn't it?! However, I was sucker-punched into attending a military party with my husband last spring. I've mentioned casually in previous posts that I don't much care for these events and my "social butterfly" candle was extinguished long, long ago. With that said, I have managed to successfully avoid military parties, gatherings, and events.....that is, until the Spring of 2010.
Since my husband is not a high ranking officer, he is pretty much everybody else's be-yotch. Yep, that's how it works. But in 10 more years, I'm sure he'll have his own low-ranking officer as his personal punching bag as well. Hence, it should come as no surprise (to you anyway) that my hubby came home from work-very timidly I might add- and informed me that he had been ordered to tell his wife that she WILL BE attending the yearly shindig...all 3 days of it. Of course the diva in me pulled her shoulders back, wiggled her head all dramatically and shook my finger as I asserted my authority stating that NO MAN tells ME what to do. Turns out, I was wrong...so I swallowed my pride and accepted my defeat determined to NOT HAVE ANY FUN at the party I was ordered to attend.
Night one was pretty uneventful...if you consider getting a red-beer spilled down the front of my brand new outfit uneventful. I may not want to be at that party but I'm darn sure gonna look amazing while I pout! With the debacle of party #1 under my belt I was even more negative toward the prospect of party #2. However, I was still dressed to kill...or at least my hubby thought so...and that's all that matters at the end of the night (y'all know what I'm saying right??!!) Now party #2 was actually....wait for it.....pretty awesome. The entertainment was hilarious and some other high-ranking officer took pity on us poor low-ranking couple and kept the drinks flowing. My night's looking better and better! Except no one was monitoring the alcohol consumption of the nearly-virgin party-attender. Many, many sour vodkas later, I decided to slam some beers with my hubby. Did I mention that the party was basically over, and we were apparently "closing down the bar"! So unlike me. But, oh my gosh, we were having a great time...well, I was...I'm not sure what hubby was doing. I was sitting on the table entertaining 2 of my hubby's higher-ranking bosses...keeping up drink-for-drink with the high rollers! Oh yeah...life of the party!!
Said party continued at home with hubby....no candles and rose petals....we were all "bow chicka wow wow"...well...at least...I think, because it is all a blur by that point. Some time during the night all of those vodkas and beers mixed together and created a very unpleasant morning which included me taking 4 kids to soccer all by myself (hubby was still in briefings) Ugh! Once home, I laid moaning and groaning, cursing my partying decisions for the remainder of the day until I was carted off to the last of the 3-day hoopla. I walked around hungover with kids in tow at "Reptile Garden" and then joined in (read: watched everyone else eating...trying not to gag) on the complimentary grill-out. I have sworn to never drink again...until I am ordered to have fun....when I will apparently turn into the likes of Snookie!
Sunday, January 23, 2011
You Get Days Off?!
I read a post from Boobies, Babies, & A Blog (whom I love, by the way) about how a mama's job is NEVER done...we never get to clock out....and coffee breaks don't exist. Being a mama is tough...from butt wiping and laundry to helping with homework and life lessons...it's our purpose, our passion, our heart's desire. And even though nothing compares to those cherished peanut butter kisses and good morning hugs, every now and then mama only wants to work 9-5! So I dug out a post I have previously written to piggy-back on Mrs. Boobies' thoughts over the weekend.
Calling In Sick
Have you ever gotten up and wondered "why don't I get vacation days...or sick days, at the least?" True I can stay in sweats or even my jammies all day if I wanted. But I am far from lounging around eating bon bons all day (although, wouldn't that be great? Even for just one day.....) There are some days that I truly kind of wish I had to get up, look fabulous, and go to work.
The upside-I get to socialize with adults, I don't have to lose as many arguments (the 2 year old ALWAYS wins), I can drink my coffee without cute little moochers sneaking around for a quick little sip, I would actually get to use "sick" and "vacation" days, and my accomplishments are noted, monitored, and reviewed.
The downside-I would have to get up every morning, look good, take kids to daycare, and be sociable (ouch-that's gonna be tough), I have to hang out with people I may not even like let alone love, I still won't get to win many arguments-it's not very smart to argue with the boss, I always end up going to work when I'm sick anyway, and sometimes supervisors and bosses don't care about your feelings when they give you your review.
Aside from all that, I do think us SAHM types should get 1, maybe 2 (see, now I'm gettin' greedy), days a year that we can use for....well whatever; be it sick (because, darn it, when we're sick it really stinks to have to be mom and wife all day), to play hookie (oooh, like a spa day), or a true vacation day (meaning NO laundry, NO dishes, NO cooking - and maybe some sex on the side).
It's true that I have enabled the double standard to exist in my home. My hubby has a day off and he uses that excuse all day to avoid the "honey-do" list on the counter. My boys comment all the time that "mom doesn't work". Oh contrare my dear boy. Clean underwear doesn't magically appear in your drawer, and those toothpaste slobbers in the sink and smudges on the toilet don't disintegrate on their own (although that would be awesome!). No, the work of a mom/wife is NEVER done, hardly noticed, and rarely appreciated. But to the fault of only myself, I make sure those tasks are completed daily under the cover of my "Super Mom" alter ego. Hence, my unknowing family is never made aware of the Toothpaste Titan that I have defeated or the Dish Dilemma that is so swiftly vanquished by my mighty powers or even the Laundry Quandary that I have subdued. Alas, they are never the wiser.
On behalf of all moms everywhere, I will stand up and say "No More!" We demand our sick days and vacation time! I'm calling an all-mom revolt..."Super Mom"......well, she needs a coffee break.
So, I think tomorrow I'm doing just that. I'm calling in sick. I'm not going to shower (that's nothing new), I'm going to wear tights and a baggy T, and lounge with my boys. Call it an early weekend, playing hookie....or maybe just being lazy. But, every couple years I think we need to take the day off...........and boycott the laundry!
Calling In Sick
Have you ever gotten up and wondered "why don't I get vacation days...or sick days, at the least?" True I can stay in sweats or even my jammies all day if I wanted. But I am far from lounging around eating bon bons all day (although, wouldn't that be great? Even for just one day.....) There are some days that I truly kind of wish I had to get up, look fabulous, and go to work.
The upside-I get to socialize with adults, I don't have to lose as many arguments (the 2 year old ALWAYS wins), I can drink my coffee without cute little moochers sneaking around for a quick little sip, I would actually get to use "sick" and "vacation" days, and my accomplishments are noted, monitored, and reviewed.
The downside-I would have to get up every morning, look good, take kids to daycare, and be sociable (ouch-that's gonna be tough), I have to hang out with people I may not even like let alone love, I still won't get to win many arguments-it's not very smart to argue with the boss, I always end up going to work when I'm sick anyway, and sometimes supervisors and bosses don't care about your feelings when they give you your review.
Aside from all that, I do think us SAHM types should get 1, maybe 2 (see, now I'm gettin' greedy), days a year that we can use for....well whatever; be it sick (because, darn it, when we're sick it really stinks to have to be mom and wife all day), to play hookie (oooh, like a spa day), or a true vacation day (meaning NO laundry, NO dishes, NO cooking - and maybe some sex on the side).
It's true that I have enabled the double standard to exist in my home. My hubby has a day off and he uses that excuse all day to avoid the "honey-do" list on the counter. My boys comment all the time that "mom doesn't work". Oh contrare my dear boy. Clean underwear doesn't magically appear in your drawer, and those toothpaste slobbers in the sink and smudges on the toilet don't disintegrate on their own (although that would be awesome!). No, the work of a mom/wife is NEVER done, hardly noticed, and rarely appreciated. But to the fault of only myself, I make sure those tasks are completed daily under the cover of my "Super Mom" alter ego. Hence, my unknowing family is never made aware of the Toothpaste Titan that I have defeated or the Dish Dilemma that is so swiftly vanquished by my mighty powers or even the Laundry Quandary that I have subdued. Alas, they are never the wiser.
On behalf of all moms everywhere, I will stand up and say "No More!" We demand our sick days and vacation time! I'm calling an all-mom revolt..."Super Mom"......well, she needs a coffee break.
So, I think tomorrow I'm doing just that. I'm calling in sick. I'm not going to shower (that's nothing new), I'm going to wear tights and a baggy T, and lounge with my boys. Call it an early weekend, playing hookie....or maybe just being lazy. But, every couple years I think we need to take the day off...........and boycott the laundry!
Friday, January 21, 2011
Baby's Got Her Blue Jeans On
I'm on a quest...a quest with seemingly insurmountable challenges. It is an endeavor that if conquered will leave me not only triumphant in my victory but also donning a desirable reward. Many have attempted this feat without fruition. Is it a gest worth attempting or is it merely doomed for failure? Do I dare to defy the laws that be and declare my determination to arise the victor?
What, pray tell, is this challenging expedition I have declared to conquer? It is the pursuit...for a great pair of jeans. A pair of jeans that are void of the peek-a-boo effect when I bend down to assist my child. This applies to both my lacey underwear and my smiling half-moon. Neither are meant for the viewing pleasure (or horror) of the masses. I prefer to keep my secrets a mystery...an enigma, if you will... and revealed only to whom I deem appropriate and deserving of such a "treasure".
This first criteria needs to be achieved and maintained without resorting to the dreaded and widely feared "mom jean" occurrence. The belly button does NOT go under the top band of the jean resulting in "the crotch that never ends". And, on the flip side, the constant pulling up of the jean...due to the vendetta gravity has against all women...because they are continuously in the south-bound lane is also an undesirable feature. The backside, however, should also not be overlooked. The "mom jean" leaves the false, and undesired, illusion of wide and flat. That's a description best left for a newly discovered land mass! Also, cinching in at the ankles can only occur on skinny jeans and jeggings. No other style of jean is allowed to attempt this feature.
Another important element which is sometimes neglected, as briefly mentioned above, is the butt region. Deception and illusion are completely acceptable when addressing this particular area. One must avoid the atomic-wedgie effect which can occur with an ill-fitting pair of jeans. But equally feared is the saggy-bottom effect which should be reserved only when referring to your little one's over-due diaper change. Strategically placed pockets...and possibly Lycra...are a must!
Last but certainly not least is the issue of cost. Since most of us do not have a sugar-daddy, money tree, or bottom-less bank account we cannot overlook the desire to find a great fitting pair of jeans without the requirement of selling a necessary organ or possible your first born child. I would also like to avoid the need for me to "walk the streets" in order to afford my jeans of choice.
I realize I have given several requirements. However, I believe I am up the challenge...with maybe a little assistance. Is there such a jean that exists or has delusions of grandeur skewed my judgment? Are they simply reserved for the likes of the chosen ones (aka celebrities) or can all moms have the chance to rock a great pair of jeans without the threat of financial ruin? Urban legend or not, I will face this challenge...and win! "Baby's got her blue jeans on" indeed!
What, pray tell, is this challenging expedition I have declared to conquer? It is the pursuit...for a great pair of jeans. A pair of jeans that are void of the peek-a-boo effect when I bend down to assist my child. This applies to both my lacey underwear and my smiling half-moon. Neither are meant for the viewing pleasure (or horror) of the masses. I prefer to keep my secrets a mystery...an enigma, if you will... and revealed only to whom I deem appropriate and deserving of such a "treasure".
This first criteria needs to be achieved and maintained without resorting to the dreaded and widely feared "mom jean" occurrence. The belly button does NOT go under the top band of the jean resulting in "the crotch that never ends". And, on the flip side, the constant pulling up of the jean...due to the vendetta gravity has against all women...because they are continuously in the south-bound lane is also an undesirable feature. The backside, however, should also not be overlooked. The "mom jean" leaves the false, and undesired, illusion of wide and flat. That's a description best left for a newly discovered land mass! Also, cinching in at the ankles can only occur on skinny jeans and jeggings. No other style of jean is allowed to attempt this feature.
Another important element which is sometimes neglected, as briefly mentioned above, is the butt region. Deception and illusion are completely acceptable when addressing this particular area. One must avoid the atomic-wedgie effect which can occur with an ill-fitting pair of jeans. But equally feared is the saggy-bottom effect which should be reserved only when referring to your little one's over-due diaper change. Strategically placed pockets...and possibly Lycra...are a must!
Last but certainly not least is the issue of cost. Since most of us do not have a sugar-daddy, money tree, or bottom-less bank account we cannot overlook the desire to find a great fitting pair of jeans without the requirement of selling a necessary organ or possible your first born child. I would also like to avoid the need for me to "walk the streets" in order to afford my jeans of choice.
I realize I have given several requirements. However, I believe I am up the challenge...with maybe a little assistance. Is there such a jean that exists or has delusions of grandeur skewed my judgment? Are they simply reserved for the likes of the chosen ones (aka celebrities) or can all moms have the chance to rock a great pair of jeans without the threat of financial ruin? Urban legend or not, I will face this challenge...and win! "Baby's got her blue jeans on" indeed!
Wednesday, January 19, 2011
Unwanted
What do you think of when you hear that word? Does it make you cringe? Does it make you cry? Does it make you want to wipe it off of you and spit it out of your mouth? Me too.
Unfortunately, I put that word, that role, on every now and then and struggle to escape its grasp. It's suffocating at times. You see, I wasn't an overly wanted baby (at least by my own perception). A year and a half before my arrival...my tumultuous arrival I might add...my parents had suffered a great loss of their first born...a son, beautiful and perfect...to an accident on the farm. He was still just a tiny little boy of 3 years old when he was ripped from their arms, and my older sister was merely an infant. They had their perfect family...a son and a daughter....and didn't want any more. But God changed their world in a single horrific moment.
And then I came...in a fury during a blizzard and full of fire. I was not in the plan and didn't agree with their status quo. Older sis was "perfect" as I've been told numerous times. I, however, was fiery, feisty, temperamental, and equipped with a great pair of lungs. And on several occasions have been told how they hated my infancy, that I was the worst toddler, and my mere demeanor, and hence presence in my mind, made them never want any more children. In fact, they cried when the found out they were pregnant with my younger brother...because they didn't want another child like me.
Now as a mom...sometimes I can understand from where my mother was coming. However, being told over and over and over that "you were the worst child ever" and that "they didn't want any more like you" can sometimes tear you down...even if that wasn't the intent. You see, I think all of our parents did the very best that they could. And sometimes we need to forgive them their mistakes because they, too, are only human.
But I find it hard to let go and release the hold that "unwanted" has over me. I feel it at every family gathering even if it isn't intentional. By virtue of losing a child, I think you hold onto the remaining child even tighter. Which I think happened, but I never felt a strong grip toward me. When older sis was perceived as "perfect" all of the time, younger sis (myself) was unable to live up to that expectation...and according to the re-telling of my childhood, I fell short. Big sis was allowed to torment me throughout my childhood with no repercussions, and now, she goes after my kids...still void of any consequences. I feel like the white-trash step-child who descends upon the royal family with my little white-trash posse in tow.
To top it off, when I was 3 my parents had an unexpected birth...a son. He was placed on a beautiful blue pedestal. And I can't really blame them. Little "T" was so loved, cherished...protected. As a mother, I think I understand and can say that I would probably do the same. What I can't wrap my head around is the disconnect that I feel now and felt throughout my childhood. Was I really that "unwanted"? Put those words on for a second. They don't feel very good do they? A little suffocating? Do you feel smaller? Do you feel.....less?
Me too.
Unfortunately, I put that word, that role, on every now and then and struggle to escape its grasp. It's suffocating at times. You see, I wasn't an overly wanted baby (at least by my own perception). A year and a half before my arrival...my tumultuous arrival I might add...my parents had suffered a great loss of their first born...a son, beautiful and perfect...to an accident on the farm. He was still just a tiny little boy of 3 years old when he was ripped from their arms, and my older sister was merely an infant. They had their perfect family...a son and a daughter....and didn't want any more. But God changed their world in a single horrific moment.
And then I came...in a fury during a blizzard and full of fire. I was not in the plan and didn't agree with their status quo. Older sis was "perfect" as I've been told numerous times. I, however, was fiery, feisty, temperamental, and equipped with a great pair of lungs. And on several occasions have been told how they hated my infancy, that I was the worst toddler, and my mere demeanor, and hence presence in my mind, made them never want any more children. In fact, they cried when the found out they were pregnant with my younger brother...because they didn't want another child like me.
Now as a mom...sometimes I can understand from where my mother was coming. However, being told over and over and over that "you were the worst child ever" and that "they didn't want any more like you" can sometimes tear you down...even if that wasn't the intent. You see, I think all of our parents did the very best that they could. And sometimes we need to forgive them their mistakes because they, too, are only human.
But I find it hard to let go and release the hold that "unwanted" has over me. I feel it at every family gathering even if it isn't intentional. By virtue of losing a child, I think you hold onto the remaining child even tighter. Which I think happened, but I never felt a strong grip toward me. When older sis was perceived as "perfect" all of the time, younger sis (myself) was unable to live up to that expectation...and according to the re-telling of my childhood, I fell short. Big sis was allowed to torment me throughout my childhood with no repercussions, and now, she goes after my kids...still void of any consequences. I feel like the white-trash step-child who descends upon the royal family with my little white-trash posse in tow.
To top it off, when I was 3 my parents had an unexpected birth...a son. He was placed on a beautiful blue pedestal. And I can't really blame them. Little "T" was so loved, cherished...protected. As a mother, I think I understand and can say that I would probably do the same. What I can't wrap my head around is the disconnect that I feel now and felt throughout my childhood. Was I really that "unwanted"? Put those words on for a second. They don't feel very good do they? A little suffocating? Do you feel smaller? Do you feel.....less?
Me too.
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