We Will Be Sorry

Someday we are going to be sorry.

Not one fiber of my being is being judgmental. Trust me. I am on the exact same ship as everyone else. But it's a ship that all of us parents are on, and for the life of me, I don't know who is steering the boat.

But as sure as I sit here, I know beyond a shadow of a doubt, that we are all going to be sorry.

We are going to be sorry that we didn't take more family walks. We are going to be sorry that most of our springs and falls were spent running from one sport to the next. And please don't get me wrong, I am a HUGE fan of sports. (If you need proof of this, my ring tone on my phone is Centerfield by John Fogerty because I am so pumped about upcoming baseball season.) I think sports are great for kids. I think they teach life skills, are great exercise, and they keep kids out of trouble. But I do think we will be sorry we did SO MANY sports, and that we did them so many nights a week, and that we will be sorry we didn't take more breaks.

We will be sorry that our children can beat the neighbor's high score on Mario Kart, but doesn't know how to skip a rock across the water. I'm ashamed to admit that my children have never even played charades.

We will be sorry we didn't throw the DSi's off the balcony, and put on our rubber boots and jump in every rain puddle we could find.
We will long for days laying in the grass looking at the clouds. We will wish we had read more, rushed less, and been more laid back.
Someday the laughter we hear outside will not be our children's, but the laughter of the children of our new, younger neighbors.
We will think back, and I don't know about you, but my heart and hugging arms will ache.

What if some of the money spent on traveling teams and hotel costs, Under Armour, and over the moon birthday parties was spent on family trips to interesting places like Nantucket or Washington D.C. There is a place-- in Oregon of all places-- where you sit around a campfire and tell stories at night, ride horses, and sleep in beautifully lit and incredibly high tree houses at night. I want to go there so bad it almost makes my stomach ache. And why don't I? What is keeping me from doing something so beautifully crazy? I could just go to Oregon, with the family, for no reason other than the knowledge that you only live once.

Why not? Why the heck not?

I can honestly say that there is not one minute during the day that I am with my children that I don't feel rushed. Even if we are reading together, I am still thinking about how I need to be starting supper, and the fact that we need to hurry because they need baths or showers, etc., or they won't get into bed on time and then they will be tired and won't do as well in school. In the morning I am a Marine sergeant with bad hair, sheet marks on my face, and an attitude. Our day is never started on a calm note. My oldest might as well be catapulted through the bus window with his jacket half on.

Recently, I have heard a clock ticking. A BIG clock. And it's not a biological clock. It's that clock that when you have children, begins to tick faster and faster each year.

It begins when you realize you are not their whole world anymore, when you realize that they would rather hang with the kid down the street for the umpteenth time than go with you to the movies and eat loads of popcorn and M&M's. It begins when they tell you something crazy great that happened at school, but it's news from a week and a half ago because they forgot to tell you. And it reminds you of those times when they were smaller and jumped into your car from preschool instantly and insanely ecstatic over a piece of paper with one purple line on it that they made for you.

And for those of us with sons, you lay there at night realizing that more than likely your son is going to follow the girl he falls in love with wherever she may go, and it's probably going to be somewhere like Nebraska. And if she wants to spend Christmas with her family almost every year, they probably will. Because she is the girl, and he is the boy whose job is to make her happy.

It's going to hit me one day. Did I really not play Scrabble so I could just finish that last load of laundry? Isn't striving for an uncluttered living area important? Won't that make us an even happer more efficient family?? Won't it??

But the truth of the matter is that one day they will be gone, and there won't be anything much to do except laundry.

That's when it will hit us. That's when we will be sorry.

Because once they have waved to us from that graduation line and gone on to Harvard, or Auburn, or the local commumity college, they are not going to want to learn how to skip rocks anymore.

The time will have passed. 

Stressed Mom's Cafe: Tuna Trouble

Stressed Mom's Cafe: Tuna Trouble: This blog today is dedicated to all of those moms out there who are still dealing with temper tantrums. I am fortunately past that phase wi...

Tuna Trouble

This blog today is dedicated to all of those moms out there who are still dealing with temper tantrums. I am fortunately past that phase with my children, and I really don't think my oldest ever really had a bad temper tantrum. I do recall having to carry him, kicking and screaming, out of a park once. So that certainly qualifies. And I have blocked out one episode at Target which left me sweaty and crying in the parking lot for over an hour. But this is the child that as I was changing his diaper said, "I feel so dehydrated." So he has been pretty verbal which eliminated many tantrums. My second child talked early too, but was born with colic and LOTS of emotion. More than his little body could sustain. The other day I found an e-mail that I had sent my friends about one of his tantrums. Even if your children are older, or even if you don't have any children, this still might give you a laugh. I don't really even remember being all that mad during this tantrum because it sort of seemed like a lab experiment gone wrong. It was scary and maddening and fascinating all at the same time. I never dreamed that I would offer up this e-mail from years ago as fodder for a blog, but it's just too strange not to share. Maybe there are some moms out there who will see the light at the end of the tunnel.

The funniest part is that I sent it out in response to a church morning devotion, so that was the title on it. I forgot to change the title to everyone at my church. It is clearly not a morning devotion, more like a morning glimpse of hell. So I retitled it. Here it is...

Tuna Trouble

 

This is most certainly not a morning devotion, but nevertheless might make someone smile out there
who is having a bad day.

This all started when I offered my youngest a bite of tuna fish. I was making a batch for
myself, and since he had never tried any (I was always hesitant because of all the mercury),
I decided to offer him a bite. BIG mistake. HUGE.

I asked if he would like to try some. He said yes, so I put a little piece on a fork and held it out to him.
He approached cautiously, but smiling. He got close to the fish but then backed away. This went on
over and over again. He wanted it, but then again he didn't want it. After going back and forth with this
one too many times, I finally gave up and put the bowl of tuna fish back into the fridge.

He completely melted. He began sobbing at the refrigerator door, begging for the tuna fish. This went
on for a while and against my better judgement, I got him one more bite. The same thing happened...yes,
no, yes, no. Exasperated, I threw his paper plate with a clump of the untried fish into the garbage. He
went into complete spaz out mode. Red faced. Glazed eyes. Sweating. Screaming bloody murder.
He gets the fish out of the trash, and I take the plate away from him, put it back in the trash, and then
stand in front of the trash. He throws himself down in front of the trash and rolls around screaming,
occasionally hurting his head on the hardwood floor because he is thrashing so much. I get disgusted and
leave the room and go to the bedroom and lay down on the bed. Mommy needed a time out. He comes back there totally hysterical,
and doesn't see me laying on the bed. The bathroom door is shut and he thinks I'm behind the door. He
stands at the door sobbing until finally he sees a pile of clean clothes lying on the recliner. He (while still in
the full throes of a red-faced screaming fit) decided to throw all the clean clothes on the floor. I guess to
get me back for my mishandling of the tuna. Finally he sees me and follows me back out to the kitchen.
I begin laughing because it's either that or end up at the funny farm sitting in a corner chewing on my own
socks. Sooooooo......he sees me laughing and gets so mad that he is jumping up and down and hysterically
crying even harder. Ok, so there is one tiny piece of fish for him left....this is it....it's the finals. I give
him a Gerber fork with tuna and a piece of pickle. This is his chance to redeem himself. Well, he gets even
more hysterical, knocks the tuna and pickle off the fork, and is freaking out rolling around on the floor in
circles around the fish.

 

I have mentally decided that this child will never again be offered Omega 3's in his life.
I lean in to pick up the pickle and he hits Mach 3. Apparently I am supposed to step away from the tuna.
I at least manage to put the tuna back on the fork, which is now laying in the middle of the kitchen floor.
(It's been a half an hour by the way). So now he's on the floor having a fit, rolling around the tuna on the
fork like a beached mackerel. Finally after exhausting himself, he is just sprawled on the floor staring at the tuna on the fork, like
it's the holy grail or something. He is so tired from screaming for so long, his breathing is labored.

 

Finally, after what seems like hours, he gets up with the fork and tuna and wields it like he is doing the last lap of
the torch handoff at the Olympics. I clearly don't want tuna all over my house so I put the tuna away and
try to distract him with cartoons which doesn't work. He's in such a frenzy that I think his neurological
system is shutting down. He simply CANNOT calm down. So I take him downstairs to the
playroom...far, far away from any tuna or any mackaral, halibut, or bass for that matter. He WILL NOT
settle down, gets even more hysterical and then proceeds to vomit red berry Juicy Juice on my carpet.
That was it. He was done with the fit (approaching an hour long) and went off to play. He even handed
me something, I thanked him, and he said, "You're welcome," like nothing had ever happened.

Anyhow, I decided that day that I hate tuna fish.

 

Love,

Mel

Just Pressing Pause

Just Pressing Pause

Basically this is just a quick message to say that, no, I have not stopped blogging. I love it too much. It has changed me in ways that didn't even seem possible. I'm serious. I didn't realize how much I missed writing and how much it is a part of who I am, whether anyone reads it or not. Of course I love the company and feedback, but I know now that I HAVE to write no matter what. I've had friends tell me this, and I should have listened much sooner.

It completely and totally blows my mind that there are people in Germany, Russia, Canada, and the Ukraine reading this blog. I would sooooo love to hear from you guys. I am curious and excited beyond belief. That is simply mind-blowing and humbling. The fact that anyone is reading it other than my immediate family is mind-blowing.

I have been posting about three times a week, but I wanted to explain why I haven't lately, so that hopefully you guys will keep tuning in and hang with me. Basically, our area was hit by a tornado this past week. And with all that is going on and with there being so many people in need and suffering, it just didn't seem right to blog about the crazy, quirky parts of life with all the truly important things going on right now.

Anyhow, to make a long story short, I plan on starting back up again this weekend.

Please just keep those who are suffering in your thoughts and prayers.

Love to all,
Melissa

Crazy? Who me?

First, before I get started, I must make a public service announcement that right now, as I sit here, I have one of the worst migraines I have ever had. I have even had to close my right eye for a large portion of the evening...when I could hold up my headj, that is. Why am I sitting here writing, you ask? Well, that is a good question. But for a large portion of my life, much of my creative expression whether good or terrible, has occurred in the midst of a migraine. I think there have been some studies on this sort of thing, but you clearly didn't visit my blog to hear about all of that. Just letting you know beforehand, in case I don't make any sense.

Tonight I was reminded of a wonderful quote I heard that really resonated with me...or "marinated" with me, as I overheard a girl say at Starbucks while I was trying out my new Kindle. It was funny to hear her say that word, but over time it has grown on me. Marinated could work. We sit and mull something over, "marinate" in it, until we soak up the spices, the understanding of it. It could be a brilliant word.

Anyhow, I cannot to save my life remember where I read this quote, but it was something about how the best gift we can give our children is to discover who they TRULY are and then lead them in that direction.

In the amazing book, Wild Things by Stephen James and David Thomas, they say, "That is why we think 'nurturing' is a better mind-set. It first takes into account who a boy is created to be, and then looks secondarily at our role as influencers on that design. In the classic nature vs. nurture debate, we like to say, 'It's our job to nurture the nature.' Boys need us first to recognize who they are. Then they need the help of wise and committed adults in navigating their way from boyhood to manhood."  

This of course applies to girls as well. But for those who have boys, I cannot recommend this book enough.

But as my children grow and thrive, I seem to be reminded of these quotes more and more every single day, and the deep truth within them.

We all have dreams for our children, and at times, it's hard not to push those onto our children. Just go to any sporting event and watch some of the parents. Sometimes you would think you're at the Olympics, and you have to remind yourself that you are REALLY at a 5-year-old sporting event. Three years ago, I had no idea that coaches actually "scout" five-year-olds. I have so much to say about this, but that will be for another blog, another time.

I do believe that there are huge environmental factors at play with our children. I believe we can can take the characteristics and personalities they were inherently born with and help to mold those fascinating qualities in wonderful ways. But I also know that my children are each very much their own little people. I know that my oldest child was born logical, cautious, and has a very dry, laid back sense of humor. He is truly one of the wittiest children I have ever known. Not everyone knows that, but they do if they are around him long enough. He is amazing at chess and building things with Legos, and is really improving as a baseball player. I am pretty confident that he will never be an amazing tackler on the football team. Not because I don't believe that he couldn't do it if he set his mind to it, but because I know that he will probably never have any interest. He has no desire, and for me to push him in that direction would be ridiculous and not true to who he really is.

My second child, however, I believe was born knowing how to physically take people down. (I'm not into children playing tackle football at a young age, but I'm not going to get on a soapbox about that.) He is rough and tumble, and loves nothing more than making people laugh. But, on the flipside, he is one of the most sensitive children I know. Every time he sees an animal, he immediately wants to know where its mother is and wants to make sure it hasn't been abandoned. There is not a cautious bone in this child's body. He is all impulse. This became abundantly clear when at age two he purposefully rode his little riding car down a flight of stairs. As I helplessly watched his body tumble head over feet over plastic vehicle all the way down the stairs, I was ready to call 911. Without shedding a tear, he got up, put his Batman mask back on and asked me if I had any chocolate.

Just as I know that my older child will always be cautious, I also know that my youngest will always be a free spirit. I cannot change who they are. I do, however, feel it is my job as a parent to be sure that the "free spirit" in him knows that it's not okay to jump off the balcony into the swimming pool on a dare during his high school spring break.

We can help mold them, but we can't recreate them. And why would we want to? Every child is beautiful in his or her own way. It is just our job to help show them how to spin their traits in the positive direction.

And when I say my boys are complete and total opposites, I mean that in a physical sense as well. Physically, they don't look like brothers. Heck, they don't even look like cousins.

I remember one particular post-partum incident that is now hysterical, but at the time, not at ALL. It occurred after my first child was born. And let me tell you that it's a blessing that my first-born looks EXACTLY like me now, or I think this incident would possibly still be haunting me.

One night while I was still in the hospital after giving birth, I was all jacked up on morphine after my emergency C-section. It was dead in the middle of the night when a nurse flung the door open. Don't you love how they fling those doors open and turn on the lights in the middle of the night like you are a lazy teenager who has slept until noon on Saturday instead of mowing the lawn?HELLOOOOOOOOO, just a few hours ago my spleen was laying on my chest, could you give me a few more minutes please?

Anyhow, this nurse entered the room and was actuallly a little quieter than the others normally were. I heard hushed voices as she spoke to my husband. Apparently my new baby had lost his identification bracelet from his wrist in the middle of the night. As I faded in and out of semi-consciousness, I heard something about how some papers needed to be signed and a new bracelet needed to be given. And somewhere, in my hazy, foggy mind, I knew I had suddenly become a victim like every horrible Lifetime movie I had ever seen.

The next morning I was unstoppable. My baby had been switched. There was an evil nurse somewhere in the hospital and she had taken my baby. My hazy mind began collecting evidence. He did look a little different after they gave him a bath. My mind was racing. Then later, while walking down the hall, I saw a baby that resembled the way mine had looked before his bath. It was him. There was no doubt in my mind. Some other couple had my baby. My poor husband knew I was crazy, but probably figured it was easier to let me roll with it than it would be to stop my intense investigation. I got up, in all my abdomen-stapled glory, and was on a mission. I was hunched over and could barely walk. I threw a robe on and grabbed my husband's arm and began shuffling down the hallway. I was going to find my baby. I'm surprised we weren't arrested as I scoped out all the babies in the nursery. Finally I saw him. I identified the last name and cased the halls for his room. I had to get one more look. A close look. Finally, in my crazed state, I found the room. Ha! They weren't fooling me. I knew what had happened. I refused to be the subject of the next made-for-TV movie. Then I looked on the wall. My so called "stolen baby" was a twin.

Alrighty then.

And I calmly went back to my room to nurse my baby.

Watch Out for UFOs

     You can put down your phone. No need to report it. It is actually NOT a UFO. Oh, it's a flying object all right, but I'm getting ready to identify it. If you get out your telescope you might be able to see the small Weight Watchers emblem on it as it flies throught the dark Alabama night. Yes, it will be, in fact, my scale.
     Just a few hours ago, I shuffled into the kitchen with my hands on my hips. "Our scale is broken!" I exclaimed. "I need you to go get on the scale RIGHT NOW!" My husband was in the middle of something at the time, but you know what? As I sit here thinking about it, he never did go "test" the scale. I think there is a message in here somewhere. And I'm sure it has nothing to do with him emerging from the restroom days ago and finding me sitting on the bed not able to button my jeans.
     It's been a good scale, right in line with the doctor's office scale. But tonight, just hours ago, it undoubtedly broke. That is my story, and I'm sticking to it. I mean, there is NO POSSIBLE WAY someone could gain eight pounds in six days...is there? I was on steroids for a week for my "food allergy incident." But I'm not sure it's even possible for me to blame it all on the medication. Could it be that all the temptations of yummy Christmas food has worked on me like a runaway train? Could it be that since I have had insomnia for several weeks now, the late nights are making me resort to my favorite hobby? Could it be the popcorn and orange chocolate I just wolfed down? After all, how could I be gaining weight? I just pinned a great workout from Pinterest. Umm, pass the coffee Haagen Daas please.

     All of these TV shows talk about emotional eating, anxious eating, and all other deep-rooted psychological reasons for constant eating. But folks, I'm just going to cut to the chase. I know EXACTLY why I eat so much. Bottom line...I'm always hungry! It's very simple. I love the way food looks, I love the way it feels in my mouth, and I love the way it tastes. I just love food. Plain and simple. My whole life I have luckily been blessed with a crazy fast metabolism. That pretty much lasted until I was 32 and had my first child. But I am proud to say that while pregnant, I put my child FIRST! If he wanted a 770-calorie milkshake from Chick-fil-A, then by golly he was going to get one. In fact, if he wanted one EVERY day he would get one. He really liked strawberry. It didn't even phase me when my OB showed me a food pyramid, and then pointed out that ice cream was nowhere to be found. I remember passing my husband's weight. None of it phased me. If I was hungry, I ate. Toward the end of the pregnancy, and 60 pounds later, I began to hope that possibly I was having a 40-pound baby.

     My next pregnancy was the same. Sixty pounds exactly. Instead of thinking my pregnancy eating was out of control, I just took it as a sign that my body was pre-rigged for 60-pound pregnancies and there wasn't a darn thing I could do about it. I embraced it. I was with child, and I was beautiful. In retrospect, looking at pictures, ummm, not so much. By SeaWorld standards I was beautiful. Up until I was about six months pregnant I was okay, but then...

     Let's put it this way, there is a horrific picture of me on the hospital bed right before my emergency C-section (who TOOK that picture?) A friend of mine saw the picture a couple of years later and was actually unable to identify my bare leg. I'm afraid she thought it was the trunk of an American Beech.

     But up until this Christmas, I was only about seven or eight pounds away from my target weight. I was so excited. But then Christmas came. And then the allergic reaction and the steroids. I honestly did not know it was possible to gain so much weight so quickly.  

     I'm trying to remail calm about it all, but I want to be healthy. I'm not obsessed with a number, but don't exactly want to go buy a whole new wardrobe. And the voice of Dr. Oz talking about all the dreadful things you are at risk for if your waist is more than 34 inches is ringing in my ear. Maybe it will straighten itself out. Maybe it's just the time of year. Maybe I am like those winter squirrels who store nuts in their cheeks. Perhaps I am storing things for the winter. Perhaps I am storing actual blueberry muffins in my muffin top.
     Once again, I think everyone should be healthy, but not obsessed. Did anyone see Angelina Jolie at the Golden Globes? It was shocking. These poor girls who are seeing these images as they grow up.
     I had a cousin who once purposefully put on 20 pounds because she was upset about her pointed nose. She thought the weight gain might spread out her nose a little bit. I don't think it really worked, but I liked her attitude. In all honesty, I would rather be a tad over my target weight than be underweight like so many of these skeletal looking movie stars. Being too skinny makes you look older and have more wrinkles, while a couple of extra pounds can plump up your face and make you look younger.

     But healthy is key...for everyone. And I have heard that just 10 pounds can make a big difference in your blood pressure. So I suppose trying to hit that target weight, eating right, and exercising is what I need to focus on in the new year. This late night eating is becoming a problem. 

     However, in exactly 10 weeks I will turn 40. And I am starting to see some lines I've never noticed before. I wonder if a few more pounds would...nahhhhhhhh.

      

Open Apology to the Applebee's Mom

      Today there was a teeny tiny, microscopic, miniscule, obscure, hidden molecular part of me that almost...ALMOST...bought Lego earrings. Sadly, I am not kidding.
     I was at a Brick Convention with my husband and two boys, and it was hard not to get swept up in the Lego frenzy. My husband had a perpetual grin on his face which I suspect was due to the fact that I was unabashedly embracing my inner nerd. Toward the end of the event, near the door, I saw that they had even found a way to sneak in a little Lego for the ladies.
     Thank GOODNESS I didn't do it. If I had, some Pajama Jeans, a Snuggie, a Banana Clip, and a Fanny Pack are the only things that would have completed the ensemble.
     Thankfully, I know a team of very hip, trendy, with-it moms who I KNOW would have organized an intervention. These also happen to be the same moms who bought me margaritas for my birthday and then made me bikini shop, but I have learned to forgive. Thankfully their intervention didn't end up being necessary, but the fact that it even entered my mind is extremely scary to me.
     It all brings to mind a very specific event that occurred before I ever had children. Of COURSE it was before I had children because if it hadn't been I wouldn't have even THOUGHT the things I was thinking. We all talk really big before we have kids. We would never wear THAT, or let our kids do THAT. We all do it. And we were all stupid. One of my favorite "Mom" books is titled, "I Was a Really Good Mom Before I Had Kids." Yep, that pretty much sums it up.
     I remember how I was sitting with my husband at Applebee's after church one Sunday when a couple and their two children walked in and took their seats. The man was handsome, with a button-down shirt and khaki pants. The boys were handsome as well, in their little polo shirts, with stylish haircuts and cute mischievious grins. The mom, however...well, THAT was another story. We have all used the phrase, "looked like she rolled out of bed." Well, I really think she might have. Her haircut was outdated and looked like it hadn't been brushed in a week. My memory is a little hazy now, but I think she was wearing a sweatshirt and wrinkled pants. She had no make-up, and basically just looked like she didn't give a rip how she looked at all. I remember telling my husband that that would NEVER happen to me when I had children. Here she was with this handsome man and beautiful children and she just didn't even CARE anymore. She had flat given up!!! I was appalled.
     Well, here goes. On behalf of my younger self, I would like to apologize to that woman-- wherever she may be. I now know...SHE LOOKED LIKE THAT BECAUSE SHE WAS TOO BUSY TAKING CARE OF EVERYONE ELSE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
     I remember right after my first child was born, I was exhausted but somehow managing to shop in a popular boutique. I don't remember what I was wearing, I think because my subconscious has blocked it out so that I can now move forward and lead a normal life. But I do remember that I had spit up on me and was too tired to care or make the effort to just wait and try to go back to the boutique the next day. At the time, getting out of the house might have been a once-in-a-lifetime thing. I recall meandering around the store when I saw her...Super Mom. She was not only pretty, but THIN...ugh. She was also wearing cute clothes, had manicured nails, and looked well rested. Her toddler, who had bouncy curls and a pricey outfit, wanted a snack. Before I could bat an eye, the child's mother plunged her OPI-fied hand into her purse (Coach, I'm sure) and pulled out a Ziploc bag with a snack inside. The mom was prepared, and the snack was a healthy one. At that moment I was sure of two things, one--she was on drugs, two--I wanted to kill her.

     I'm kidding of course...sort of. But I was, and remain, very, VERY skeptical of moms who seem to have it all together, all of the time. I don't fully trust them. Behind the scenes I wonder if their mouths are smeared with bright red lipstick while they scream about no more wire hangers...although we have all had those moments as well:)

     I guess what I am saying is that when we become mothers, sometimes our preconceived notions of what we will and what we will not do, change...a lot. I know for a fact that there are tons of you who swore otherwise, out there totally digging the convenience of your swagger wagons. And I happen to be sitting here typing this in a baseball mom T-shirt. Yep, and I wear it to games too.

     I also confess that there are times after I get my hair cut, colored, and blown out, that I run errands all over town in hopes that someone, ANYONE, will see me and know that my hair can in fact look good when someone else fixes it. But unfortunately those are the times I see no one. BUT, put me in sweats with no shower all day, no makeup, my husband's dark dress socks on with a white pair of tennis shoes, and I see enough people to think I'm on an episode of "This is Your Life." 

     This doesn't mean I've given up on cute outfits or fixing my hair. And there are still even date nights where I see glimpses of my former self. It simply means that as busy, exhausted moms, well, we just can't be on top of our game all of the time. We may have our fabulous moments, or heck, maybe even fabulous weeks, but we also have our weeks when the kids have projectile vomiting and our husband is in D.C. Those are the times we don't need people closely inspecting our armpits or noticing the waistband of our pants is held together with a rubberband.

     Motherhood can be a battlefield, and sometimes those front lines aren't pretty.

     So to the mom at Applebee's nine years ago, I deeply apologize. You did not look frumpy. I now know that you were beautiful. Beautiful because you were taking care of your family. And right now, wherever you are, I hope your time has come. I hope you are rocking a cute pair of jeans and a blowout fresh from the best salon. Because you deserve it.

     In fact, every once in a while, we all do.

 

Stressing, Sorting, and Scratching

     He's. Finally. Home.

     To all of you single parents out there, military wives, etc., I am tipping my virtual hat, bringing you a frappachino, pulling up a comfy chair, and staring at you with wonder and amazement. All kidding aside, I don't know how you do it.

     My husband just returned from being out of town for four days. Did you catch that? Four. Measly. Days. And I am a shell of my former self.

     I love my husband, and I miss him while he is gone, but that is not what ailed me. In fact, sometimes it's fun to fall asleep with the TV on, spread out all my books and magazines, and not worry that the crunch of the popcorn inside my head while I'm chewing might really sound like that outside of my head. I am not scared to be alone. I have a Glock, and I know how to use it. But...FOR THE LOVE...I do not have the energy to do it all by myself. Would it be at least a little different if I were a 25-year-old mother? Perhaps. Would it be a little easier if I had only one child? Maybe. But coming from someone who sometimes has a come apart just trying to get two boys out the door and in the car to go to Target, I do not see how all you souls who are out there doing it alone trudge forward day after day. I really don't.

     Whenever my husband tells me he will be going on a trip, I cringe. And then I whine. Like a three-year-old. But before you decide I am the biggest wimp you have ever encountered, please let me explain.

     I think we have some sort of curse. Kidding...sort of. Let's see, there was the time that he went out of town that my youngest son, a mere infant at the time, had a horrible reaction to penicillin, and I had to grab my older son and dump him with a friend while I drove out into the night to seek emergency medical care. The next time he was gone, my oldest fell and had to get stiches in his noggin. There was the time he was gone that we all got the stomach virus. Another time I got the swine flu. It was yet another time that my oldest was eating fruit before baseball practice and fell out of the kitchen chair jabbing his fork through his tonsil, and the last time my husband was gone was when the tornados swept through Alabama as we all sat in the floor of the bathroom wearing baseball helmets.

     So, needless to say, when he says he's leaving, I begin to whine. And, low and behold, this last time...yep, if you've follwed my blog you know that I've been dealing with an unexplained anaphylactic reaction to a possible sudden nut allergy, at almost 40 years of eating nuts. I'm convinced it occurred only because he traveled.

     While trying to be uber positive minded in the year 2012, the week of hives wasn't all bad. After a week of being on steroids (so bad for you) for the relentless hives, I have gotten more done than I have since we were married. Granted, I am shaking all over, have had hardly any sleep, feel snippy, paranoid, sweaty, and feel like I look like a wide-eyed PTO mom gone rogue. But I will say that I have actually DONE some Pinterest projects.

     Granted, one of my "projects" had my husband laughing more than he has since my son, during his first bath home from the hospital, peed an arch all the way across the room--straight into my confused, and unfortunately very open mouth. My husband who was administering the bath, thought it was the greatest thing since sliced bread. The even more unfortunate part was the amount of time it took my C-section ravaged self to actually figure out where the freakishly powerful stream was coming from and how long it finally took me to close my mouth. Sort of like when you wipeout, but it takes a second for mind and body to connect so you actually release the waterski rope:)

     But anyway, sorry to digress. Let's just say that when my husband saw that project, I'm not so sure he was laughing "with" me.  

     While he was gone, I even found the dog disgusted with my late night shenanigans.  Rather than doing all those things that need to be done, like mopping the floor or doing laundry (my mom might actually hyperventilate reading this), I do all those weird things that if you walked into my house you would never even notice. There it was, 2 a.m., and I was crouched down in the bathroom floor going through bathroom cabinets and deciding the importance of various sample travel shampoos and toiletries. My dog was fed up with these late nights and my complete abandonment of any routine. I didn't know it was possible to actually see disgust on the face of a German Shorthaired Pointer, but it totally is.

     So while I sat there like a maniac trying to decide if that old Ann Taylor blackberry spritz still smells fruity or like something that backed up from a septic tank, the dog was miffed. I finally just threw him two shower mesh pouf sponges to keep him entertained for a while. I continued on my quest to organize the bathroom cabinets with the focus of one of those orangutans picking bugs off one of its peers. After ripping the shower poufs until it looked like a Victorian dress had been attacked by a serial killer, the dog finally put himself to bed, and I passed out not long after.

     So in retrospect, I suppose my husbands absence didn't go as south this time as it has in the past. Of course he might give you a different answer. There is still lots of laundry, and the floor isn't mopped. But there are two new pillows, lots of craft projects, and if you ever happen to crawl under the cabinet of my kitchen sink, you might actually be a bit impressed.

     But back to that one "project" that had my husband so amused. I will give him an A+ for his attempt at subtlety. He suggested that perhaps rather than put it in such a prominent place, it might look really good in one of the boys' rooms. But all I heard in my head was, "Where is the nearest dumpster?"

     Needless to say, the "project" might go on the mantle...with candles. Every great work of art needs good lighting. 

Carrying a Pound of Sugar Does Not a Mama Make!

      So there I was standing at the checkout with the glorious suspense novels I had chosen after meandering around the bookstore for two hours. I was by myself...in a bookstore...alone. If you know me, that equals totally and complete relaxation. And I was happy. Very happy.
     Then they asked for the next customer (which happened to be me). Then came the problem, the suction hose that slurped all the relaxation right out of me. My check card (though my husband and I are both obviously on the account) had my husband's name on it and therefore did not match my license. The young man was sorry, but he could not help me. I worked in a bank for ten years, so I could see his point - somewhat- but it was the exact same card I had used every other time I had been in there. AND they knew I was a regular customer because I had an account there where I trade used books. I didn't use mean words, I really didn't, but I was clearly irritated from my tone as I pointed all of this out. While others waited impatiently behind me, I marched out to the car (and marching is an accurate description, I used way more "energy" needed to get out the door) where I retrieved my checkbook which had my name AND my husband's name clearly printed, the account to which the check card was linked. He looked at me and said, "I'm sorry, we don't take checks." I began trying to explain to him that this showed that I WAS on the account to which the card was linked, but I simply stopped myself and marched back out to my car. After digging around I FINALLY found another card with my name on it and went inside to make my monstrous purchase of $39.98. As I was standing there getting my receipt, I suddenly realized that this entire thing had gone down while I was wearing a "Jesus Loves Me" sticker right on the front of my shirt. A friend's mother had put it on me while my son was getting ready to play his church basketball game. What would Jesus do? Would He have used that tone? Would He have marched out that door to his car like a mad elephant? I was ashamed. But then the more I thought about it, I wasn't really sure if I should be ashamed or not. I hadn't said anything bad, yet, I had clearly been irritated. What should I have done? Should I have smiled and said, "Oh, that's okay, it's my fault, I'll just come back another time even though it did take me a while to get here and I've wasted half of my day and I'm a regular customer and you have always accepted this card before."
     We always say that with our children we have to pick our battles. "Yes, you have to brush your teeth." "No, I don't care if you want to wear a superhero cape on the first day of preschool." Sometimes we fight battles that we shouldn't simply because we aren't in the mood to let them have their way or win, simply because we are the parent. We base it on principle, not because it's really that big of a deal. Sometimes I hear myself saying no to something, and then I hear the "better" side of myself whispering in my ear, "Why not?" And sometimes I honestly don't even know the answer.
     Maybe I'm grumpy, maybe I'm tired and don't feel like dragging out all the paint or Playdough, or maybe sometimes I just get used to saying no so much that it sometimes just flies out of my mouth. And I definitely need to work on that. And there are times I say yes when I shouldn't, when I don't stand behind the promise I made earlier. "If you do that again, no more Wii for three days!" I'm sure I'm not the only mother out there who has made an empty threat only to cave later. All the books talk so big, but when you are out of groceries, are you really going to grab your child, abandon your cart, and go home and eat Ramen noodles just because you said if they acted up at Publix you would leave immediately? I know EVERY SINGLE book in the world preaches consistency, consistency, consistency!!! I've even read where they tell you to leave that cart! But I promise you, if there is one person out there who says they don't cave AT LEAST once a week on SOMETHING, or not follow through on something...well, plain and simple, he or she is lying. 
     But after the bookstore incident, it got me thinking. It's also really hard to pick your battles as an adult, WITH other adults. Do you brush off that comment that the other mom in the PTO made, or do you say it hurt your feelings?  Do you help with that project when they ask for your help, or do you simply say, "No, I've got too much on my plate and I'm sorry," knowing full well that you might be the topic of conversation for the next week. It's so hard as an adult to find the right balance on just about everything. You know you should be spending quality time with your family, exercising, attending and/or helping at church, giving of your time, keeping up the house or attending to a job, sleeping eight hours, spending time on a hobby for yourself so you don't go totally crazy, helping others, etc. But honestly, at almost 40, I have not come CLOSE to figuring out how to make it all work. People joke that their is not enough time in the day, and I really don't think that there is. Seriously. So, is there no solution? Wow, that sounds hopeful.
     The closest thing I have come up with is that you are NEVER going to be able to do it all, at the same time. There will be times when you will be spread so thin at home, with sports, etc., that there is just not time to meet up with friends as much as you would like. And if you are in charge of something at church or with the school, your family might just have to step up to the plate for a couple of weeks. But there is no way possible to keep it all balanced, ALL of the time. We hear or read about all of these neat things that others are doing and they sound wonderful. But then I think, if we did that after homework and supper, the kids would go to bed around 10, then they would do horrible at school because they would be exhausted all the time.
     There really are no easy answers. I am one of these people that hears about an idea and gets all excited about it, and then the reality sets in. Ooooh, yes, that would be great, a family walk every night! What about game night once a week? Perfect, such a bonding experience! But wait, I want to read them each a story before bed. But wait, my husband should too, so maybe we should swap children each night so we can each get that one-on-one time with each child. But maybe we should all be doing it together as a family. But honestly, after we eat dinner and clean up and do baths, it is time for bed and there is not time for much of anything if they are to get enough sleep when the bus pulls up in the morning! So then like some lunatic I research how much sleep they ACTUALLY need at their ages. Then I discover that they grow when they sleep--that they can actually grow one inch in 24 hours! Are you KIDDING me? So they are either going to go straight to bed every night and we can only do fun family things on the weekends, or we get to bond over a game of Scrabble on Tuesday and though the game was fun, I have perhaps stunted their growth by one inch.
     It seems to never end. We always talk about all the guilt in parenting. And there is A LOT of that. But what perhaps is even more exhausting is the constant decision making! Do men really understand how many decisions we have to make in a day? It's not the big ones that wear on you as much as it is the CONSTANT little ones. Should I let them play different sports, or make them play the same one so that we aren't running back and forth so much? Should I make him do his homework right when he gets home from school, or does he need a little break first? Or was the ride home on the bus hanging with friends enough of a break? Yes, my dear husband, I know it's only chicken nuggets, but I read somethere that they preserve the nuggets with some chemical similar to the one used in gasoline!!!" What if I am inadvertantly killing my young???
     When they try to prevent teenagers from having sex when they are in high school by making them schlep around a pound of sugar or carry around a plastic doll all week and change its diaper, they just aren't quite driving the point home. Parenting is so much more than any of us realize, so much more I'm still realizing- every...single...day.
     One of my goals for this New Year (that I haven't actually done yet, wait let me add procrastination to the list) is to make a list of THE MOST important things for my family. I read this suggestion over a year ago, but I am really going to do it this time. I know I want us to eat at the table together-- every night. I know that. I did that growing up, and I want it for my family as well. Would it be nice to have game night and movie night once a week, every week? Absolutely. But I can tell you right now that there is no way that is going to happen every week. I wish it could, but it can't. Reading at night will also be high on my list. I started reading to my oldest child almost as soon as he emerged from my womb. Second child, ummm, not so much. I need to do better on that.
     If any of you have found ways to make it all work, or even a tiny suggestion to make things better, please comment. We all have to help each other out after all. I think as parents we all spend too much time judging other parents, when we only do it because we are insecure about the way we are parenting. We want to think we are the ones doing it right, when really we are constantly worried that we are the one doing it wrong. I do it as much as anyone else. I think we all do because we all feel a little lost in this parenting thing.
    And as for my "episode" at the bookstore, well, I don't have to worry about if I did the right thing in front of my children because they weren't with me. Should I have gotten irritated? Should I have fought for my right to buy books at the store I frequent, or should I have respected the "policy" more? What about good old-fashioned customer service? Shouldn't that count for something? I'm not sure. It's a tough call. Was I making a mountain out of a molehill, or was I standing up for myself? Not sure. Just like I seem to not be sure about many decisions I'm making these days.
     But one thing is for sure, we will all find out down the road that some of our decisions were right and some of them were wrong. No one is perfect. But as long as we let our kids know we love them, then we have certainly done the most important thing right. And that's got to count for something.

Late Night Ramblings

     Okay, so I'm sitting here covered in hives, surfing Pinterest to make myself feel crafty even though out of the 100 plus things I've "pinned," I will probably only do three or four. And heck, even if I do three or four there should be some sort of ticker-tape parade. So here I sit on Pinterest pinning blueberry lemon muffin recipes when honestly sometimes pouring Cheerios in a bowl and just pouring blueberries over them in the morning seems overwhelming. But I feel like a better mother simply by "pinning" them. So that is what I am sitting here doing.
     Isn't this what everyone is doing at 12:24 a.m?
     I am actually staying up until I can take my next dose of Benadryl so I don't take another layer of skin off with my itching hives. Yep, woke up with hives all over my body this morning. Could it have something to do with the 20 plus chocolate covered Hershey almond Kisses I ate before bed? The jury is still out. So anyhow, here I sit until my next dose, so please forgive me if my sentences run on or if I make no sense whatsoever. I'm pretty sure this blog post is going to be the rambling of a itching lunatic.
     First, let's start with Pinterest. Honestly, it's one of the most fascinating websites I've ever seen. If you aren't already a member, beware, it is extremely addictive. Because for some completely illogical reason, I feel like when I find an idea for a craft to do with the boys or a new recipe and I pin it on my board, well, I feel like I have already done it. So basically you sit at your computer for sometimes hours while pinning things, and then you feel like you have done them. You feel crafty, productive, and happy, when basically you have done nothing but surf through a website. Facebook has nothing on Pinterest.
     We are all looking for ways to be better cooks, more crafty, more spontaneous with our children, more fashionable, etc. I say it's high time for us to stop being so hard on ourselves. Yes, I might have lush cascading curls if I roll my hair up with socks, but seriously, who has time for this??? I did an art project on Pinterest, but only because I had a "team" of people at my house for Christmas, kind of like J. Lo's entourage. My husband could be handling the unruly, wild dog who runs with his spindly legs through our house like an antelope, while my Grandmother cooked meals, and my grandfather and Mom entertained both boys with man-to-man defense. So, yep, I finally completed a craft. Woohoo for me.
     I just feel that our mothers and our grandmothers and our great-grandmothers NEVER put pressure on themselves like we do today. I mean seriously, have you noticed some of the birthdays that are getting thrown out there? What ever happened to cake and playing in the yard? Now the cute invitations take up more time then the whole parties did back in the old days. And I am not about to try to convince you that I haven't gotten caught up in all of this too. I have. For my oldest son's first birthday, I had an Easter themed party with a complete hunt, picture board documenting how he looked every month up until the age of one, made a rabbit cake myself, and made a personalized cupcake for each child attending. I clearly still had medication from the epidural in my system. But I have now finally come to my senses. And things have gotten even more out of control now. Our parents had to worry about Santa. Well, now we have these elves. I want the person who created this elf phenomenon to show her face. Just like Nixon was confronted with Watergate, I want the elf inventor to have some accountability and come out of hiding. Making those flippin' elves do something creative every night? Are you kidding me? One of my New Year's resolutions was merely to wash my face before bed. Do you really think I feel like making an elf zipline through my house at midnight? But hats off to all you moms who did something every night. I did not. Our elf was sporadic. He did things when he felt like it. I remember feeling so ashamed one morning as I told my seven-year-old that perhaps we needed to give Terry the Elf a vitamin because he seemed tired. But yes, I did step up to the plate quite a bit. I made the elf make a snow angel in dog food and other silly things. Then I found out that some elves were giving gifts.Shut the front door! Seriously??? So our elf gave the boys a little snow globe. But apparently other elves shopped on Rodeo Drive. These elves were giving big ticket items. But remember, our elf had a Vitamin D deficiency.
Anyway, then I found out there were new things called pocket elves. I want that inventor's head on a platter.
I just wonder if there is ever going to come a time when as mothers we quit making things so hard on ourselves? Everything is so much more, more, MORE than it used to be. No wonder half of the world is on anti-depressants. As one doctor said once, we are putting our bodies through overload, more than they can possibly handle. I truly believe that. We run from this activity to the next because we want to make sure our child isn't missing anything. Oh, that kid got this little gadget, and now that is what all the kids are getting so maybe we should consider one too. We are going to have to worry about much more than our parents did. Our parents worried about drinking and driving. Now we still have to worry about that, and texting and driving, and talking on the cell and driving, and "sexting," and what is getting on Facebook that could keep little Johnny from getting into Yale. On and on and on.
     All these devices that are supposed to make our lives easier are actually making them harder. Are we not washing the dishes before we put them in the dishwasher? We have to check our phone messages and e-mails and Facebook inboxes because we could seriously be missing an important message.
     One woman on TV was actually trying to figure out how to hook up a crockpot in her minivan because they are always running from place to place and never had time for a decent meal. I heard one parent say that they did not want to do one particular sport because it would all be too much, but then said, "But that's what he wants to do." Umm, excuse me, but aren't you the parent?"
    When are we going to just say, enough is enough!!! We are raising overloaded, entitled kids (as Dr. Phil says), and why don't we just stop trying to keep up with the Joneses. And who are the Joneses anyway? Let's throw the Joneses off the balcony along with the Pocket Elves.
     See I told you I had hives and was testy and would ramble. I've gotta go now, time for my Benadryl. 

It's That Time Again...

     Expectations. January 1, is always a day filled with so much promise and so many expectations that we impose upon ourselves. I've never had just one New Year's resolution. Why? Because there are always so many things I want to change about myself. Each year they are usually the same resolutions, and I usually fail miserably. The list usually goes something like this...be more patient with the kids, get organized, stop biting my fingernails, exercise, drink more water, remember to take my vitamins, wash my makeup off before bed, cook healthier meals, lose weight, write more, read more, stop worrying so much, live in the moment, do more spontaneous activities as a family, on and on and on.
     Last night I told my husband that even though it wasn't yet midnight, I had pretty much already stopped biting nine of my nails. There is always that one sacrificial nail for times of stress. Then once they grow out, it looks ridiculous to have nine nails and one nub, so I have to put a Band-Aid on the one bitten to the quick and act like I have an unhealing papercut for two months until that tenth one grows out. I know it sounds a bit ridiculous, but stopping nail biting is harder than most people think. Most times you don't even realize you are doing it. And those darn things are always with you. It would be like a smoker trying to stop smoking with five cigarettes constantly dangling from each wrist.
     Drinking water sounds like an easy one, but I honestly do not enjoy drinking water...at all. On an empty stomach it often even makes me nauseous. So drinking 64 ounces of water every day not only completely grosses me out, but guarantees a lot of time will be spent in the bathroom. The one thing I can drink water with is...chocolate. Are you seeing a problem here?
     The cooking healthy thing will probably be the easiest. We already eat pretty healthy meals. The problem seems to exist during baseball season, which for us is spring and fall. So maybe the resolution should be to FREEZE more healthy meals. I mean, did they have to put Legends Smokehouse so incredibly close to the exit of the sports complex?
     Be more patient with the kids....hmmmm. I remember a mother said one time that when she gets upset with her children and wants to yell, she just starts singing really loud. Odd, but it might work. I do like to sing. I love karaoke. This could work. When everyone gets mad we could just break out in song like the Partridge Family. 
     And you would think taking vitamins would be easy as pie, but I forget those darn things every single night. I will put them by my toothbrush. Problem solved. And washing my makeup off before bed shouldn't be a big deal, but when I am all nestled under those covers with a good book, that task seems as daunting as running a 10K. Plus, I don't want to wake myself up more by splashing water on my face. I guess I will just have to do that around dinner time. Except that I will look all made up for the kids and random strangers at Target, and then look like a frump when Ed gets home. I'll have to think on this one. 
     Get organized. This could be a real problem. My friends can vouch for this one. One day, one of my friends pointed out that she could stand on top of my laundry pile and step directly on top of the washer (my mother is feeling nauseous about right now if she's reading). My friend even called it Mount Wash-a-me. Just five minutes ago I noticed that my four-year-old still had a pumpkin hidden in his room. Shockingly, it was still in good shape. My excuse is, and continues to be, that I do not have a housekeeper. Not even a once-a-month housekeeper, and I have two boys. And not that you need to know this, but one time I did buy a book on getting more organized...and I lost it.
     Lose weight. I still have 10 pounds of baby weight to lose. I'm not sure you can still call it baby weight when you are currently thinking about starting to planning your almost-five-year-old's birthday party. But I say if you gain 60 pounds with two pregnancies when you are well into your thirties, you should get cut a little slack. Of course the losing weight and exercise thing go hand in hand. I have yet to start exercising, and giving up Sundrops seems to be a problem. So I suppose if I really set my mind to it, I should be able to tackle this one. 
     The hardest resolution I am going to attempt to tackle is to be more kind, hold my tongue, and not always feel like I have to prove I am right. That is probably harder than all the other ones put together. I was born fiesty, but the Bible certainly doesn't say the fiesty will inherit the Earth.
     So maybe that is the answer. Whenever I feel like I want to say something that I probably shouldn't, or want to prove that I am right about something, I can just sing at the top of my lungs, run around the house, and then drink a gallon of water.
     That should knock out three resolutions right there.
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     So what are your resolutions? I would love to hear from you below:)