More Important Things Than Punctuality

My goal today:  Make it to Vacation Bible School by 6:00pm. 

I live 25 minutes from church. 

I left the house at 4:25pm.

Why?  Because I am 10 minutes late everywhere I go, and it's never for any one reason....and certainly not predictable ones.  There's always such a conglomerate of things that occur, that I don't even bother trying to explain anymore.  I just accept the pleasant surprise that people display when or if I do happen to be on time, and I just shrug and roll with it when I'm late.

So what happened today?  Was 1 hour and 35 minutes enough time to get 25 minutes down the road? 

1. We left early so we could stop at the library (4 blocks from home).  We had to inspect all 154 board books and 87 children's DVDs before making a selection...even though I offered several reminders that we would be back later in the week and could check out every book in the whole building by the end of the summer, so JUST PICK ONE.

2. While checking out their books and DVDs, I realize that the 2-year-old has pooped in her diaper.  We return home to change her.

3. We get back in the car and start to pull out of the driveway.  The 4-year-old announces that she has to pee.  We go back in the house.

4. We make it all the way out of the driveway and a whole mile from the house, when I realize that I have left my cell phone on the charger.  We go back and get it.

5.  This time we make it an entire 10 miles from home when the 4-year-old announces that she has to pee again.  There are no bathrooms.  We have to get off of the interstate and do a roadside number.  We get back onto the interstate.

6.  Now we have to stop at the dance school to register for summer classes.  The owner suggests that I not pay for the 2-year-old's classes until we see how she does the first week.  Since she is running in circles around the studio, screaming, and slamming doors, I accepted this as solid advise.

7. As we're leaving the dance studio, I realize that the 2-year-old has pooped in her diaper...again.  I change her in the car.

8. The 4-year-old has to pee...again. 

9. We finally make it to church.  It is 6:10pm.

WHAT would be my excuse for being late?  Which thing do I bother picking?  The fact that we got in out of the car 256 times, and each time I was sternly reminded that there was to be absolutely no amount of assistance from myself with their climbing in OR out of the vehicle, CERTAINLY didn't speed things up.  Note: It is a slow and painful agony to stand their grinding your teeth while waiting for this.  I have to chant things about "encouraging independence" in my head the whole time.

I used to stress about being late.  For the sake of my mental health, I now just embrace it.  You can't rush little kids.  I mean, you CAN...but the only one stressed out is YOU.  And is THAT  how I want my kids to remember me?  That I was yelling "Hurry up!" all of the time?  If we have to be somewhere and I start getting everyone ready 3 hours beforehand....and we're STILL late...C'est la vie!  They won't be little forever, and I refuse to waste the time that I do have with them by constantly being frazzled.  THEY are the most important thing in my life...and if I'm WITH them...then what's there to stress about?

So hug your babies tight, make time to stop and examine caterpillars or count rocks...and just avoid making appointments unless absolutely necessary.

"I am always late on principle, my principle being that punctuality is the thief of time." - Oscar Wilde

♥M

Last of the Lasts

I passed out my last set of report cards, packed my classroom for the last time, and waved goodbye to my last second grade class.

I feel... sad... happy... nostalgic... excited... conflicted. 

I will miss my students and all of their unconditional love.  The stories, hugs, handmade gifts and cards...  The quirks, class jokes, and comfortable routines that you fall into...  The joy in their faces when they "get it" and the pleasure they show when you recognize their hard work and success...  Watching them grow and mature and become smarter, more independent people by the end of each year...Those are the things I will miss about "my kids."

 I will miss my co-workers and the bond that we share over a job that no one really understands without actually living it every day.  The people that I've spent years "in the trenches" with... The people that have thrown me baby showers, been reassigned with, suffered through the worst staff development workshops with, laughed with, cried on, and supported me during tough times...  Those are the people I will miss being with every day.

I will miss joking with the janitors, practicing my crappy Spanish with the cafeteria manager, driving the secretary crazy by forgetting to do my attendance, and leaving coupons for headache medicine on the guidance counselor's desk.

I will miss banging on the door while my breastfeeding co-worker is pumping and ordering a milkshake to go.  I will miss out on taking down my friends snowman decorations and replacing them with white paper "puddle" cut-outs in the floor.  I won't get to use my line, "Do you REALLY want me to answer that?" in faculty meetings anymore.

I will miss my second grade team... my "Mama P," my "Bossy Brother," and being the "Bratty Sister."  You rarely in life find a niche that you fit so perfectly into as the three of us have over the years. 

There are a lot of things, and a lot of people that I will miss.

There are some that I won't.

For a big, fat start - I will not miss working somewhere where I am treated like a hostile life form from Planet Idiot every day.  I will not miss being talked down to, being manipulated, or having to watch my back all day, every day.  I will not miss the stress of always waiting for the next "thing" that I've done wrong, said wrong, or haven't done/said at all.  I will not miss the anxiety of being called to the office, but having no clue why.  I will not miss being snooped on, torn down, and picked apart on a regular basis.  I will not miss the anger that I feel when I watch my co-workers go through the same thing.  I will not miss having to smile and pretend like it doesn't bother me.

I will not miss having to "hold it."  Teachers are real people, with real bladders, people.  We deserve accolades for many things, but the number one thing we deserve recognition for is possessing the superhuman power of being able to go 8 hours without a bathroom break. 

I will not miss leaving my own children every morning.  I will not miss trying to get ready for work while they grab onto my legs, pull on my shirt, cry and beg for me to hold them and stay home. 

Teaching is not a job.  Teaching is who you are, what you do, and the thing that you love. 

At what point do you stop accepting the things that "come with the job," though?  When do you say, "No, that's NOT okay."  Just because we've gotten used to being treated a certain way, assigned certain tasks, or being taken advantage of....does that make it okay?  Teachers suffer many injustices for the sake of teaching.  We are told, however, that if we DON'T - then we must not really love our job, don't care about the kids enough, or aren't as "dedicated" as we could/should be.

I will never quit teaching...but I have quit "accepting."

"Sometimes walking away has nothing to do with weakness, and everything to do with strength.  We walk away not because we want others to realize our worth and value, but because we realize our own."

♥M

P.S. I try to never disappoint you when you comes to awkward moments, so allow me to share my "speech" from our End of the Year Luncheon...

I attempted to graciously accept a parting gift and return to my seat sans embarrassing myself, but no such luck.  Right as I got to my chair, The Boss asked, "Aren't you going to say anything?" 

Ummmmm....  What to say on the fly?  What indeed.

"Well...this is awkward.  I guess if you know any 2-12 year-old children that need childcare in the fall, please refer them to Stepping Stone Academy.  Oh, and I'm accepting applications if anyone wants a job."

I did throw in something at the end about enjoying my years at the school, etc. 

Public speaking on the fly is not my forte. 

To My Second

Dear Daire,

 

Two years ago today, you taught me an important lesson about a Mommy's love and how big it could grow (A Second Love).  You changed our world all over again, and filled in an empty piece of our family that we didn't even know was missing. 

I love your spirit.  I love your determination.  I love your "class clown" sense of humor.  I love that you're fearless - even if it does cost me ten years off of my life every time you jump off of something tall...  I love your smile - especially when it's full of mischief.  I love your curly, strawberry-blonde hair.  I love your hugs - little arms wrapped tight around my neck and squeezing me with all the love you have in your little body.  I love YOU.

Your energy and excitement about the world around you makes my heart happy and leaves me confident that you will accomplish anything and everything that you ever set out to do.  While the fact that you don't take 'No' for an answer, push your way through any barriers, and have the athletic prowess of an Olympic athlete at the age of 2 is really quite exhausting for me currently (especially in restaurants, stores, church...in public) - I hope that you keep those qualities forever.  They will serve you well in Medical School...or as a professional athlete...or as a circus performer.

My Daire-Devil - even though you committed the following offenses at your birthday dinner tonight: jumped up and down in the booth, climbed back and forth under the table, shouted "Hellooo!!!" to people in all corners of the restaurant...and in the lady's ear behind us, flung sauce everywhere, got food in my hair, lost your silverware (3 times), destroyed your straw then dumped your drink out on the table, threw the salt and pepper shakers, pulled out my earring and yanked my hair on the way to the bathroom for your "talk," and somehow got choco taco pieces INSIDE of the sleeve of your jacket, which you did not even have on while eating, I still wouldn't trade any of it. 

You're too much fun and have too much fire inside of you for me to wish you any other way. 

Having said that - I WILL be nailing your bedroom windows shut around the age of 13.  And I might homeschool you.

I love you baby girl...always, forever, and upside down.

♥M(ommy)

GO TO SLEEP! (Please. I love you.)

When did bedtime turn into such a debacle?!  We had an established routine (of sorts) that occasionally got wonky, but lately...

Tonight has been one for the record, though.  The hubs and I have begged, pleaded, threatened, bribed, and made all kinds of absurd statements in an effort to convince those monsters (I mean, angels...) to GO TO SLEEP!

First we had to convince them to get in the bed.  No, we are not watching Frozen again.  No, you are not hungry, you just had a snack.  No, you cannot sleep in our bed.

Then I had to go into their room repeatedly for the following reasons:

1. To break up a fight over who gets to be Queen Elsa and who gets to be Princess Anna.  I'm positive that Daire doesn't even know the difference, and she was just antagonizing her older sister.

2. To comfort Jace from a nightmare that I know she was completely fabricating as she had NOT fallen asleep yet. (And still hasn't.)

3.  To confiscate a Lalaloopsy doll from Daire in order to stop Jace from screaming,  "SISSY HAS A TOY SISSY HAS A TOY SISSY HAS A TOY."

4. To turn the night light back on because they turned it off.

5. To AGAIN explain why they could not sleep in our bed.  The hubs tried to get creative here, and told them that they had to pick between sleeping outside with our two cats in their cat house, or indoors in their comfy-cozy bed.  This backfired horribly as they promptly chose the cat house.  He walked them to the front door and opened it....then they cried and had to be convinced that Daddy was NOT, in fact, really making them sleep outside, in the dark, with the cats.  THAT will fun to explain when they tell their version of that story at the babysitter's tomorrow.

Then there were the things that they got of the bed and came into the living room for:

1. Daire walked into the living room, selected a puzzle from the bookcase, and sat down in the floor to play.  "What, this isn't cool with y'all?!"

2. Jace got out of bed THREE times...to tattle on Daire for getting out of the bed.  Hmmm.

3. They both got out of bed to come and request an additional viewing of Frozen - AGAIN - and AGAIN the hubs tried to get creative.  "Look - if you just get in the bed and stay there, I will give you a gummy bear." A desperate plea made by a desperate man.  "Where are you getting gummy bears?!" I asked, alarmed by this promise.  "WE DON'T HAVE GUMMY BEARS?!" His eyes turned mad and I feared for his sanity.  "No, I used those to bribe them in church yesterday!"  We are both panicking at this point.  He pulled it together, though, and didn't let the pressure break him.  "Wait! I think there are M&M's somewhere!  There have to be! Here they are! Who wants an M&M?!"

The next time they got out of bed, I started talking spankings and counting to 3.  I saw flashing pajamas and heard the door slam as they scurried back to their room.  I know they are still awake because I can hear them in there giggling...no doubt plotting their next move.

Hopefully they fall asleep plotting, because I need to recharge before they show up in my room at 3am.  This is their most diabolical move, because they know that at that hour we are too tired to discuss spankings or M&M's.  The hubs grabs his pillows and excuses himself to sleep in the twin bed that his feet hang over the end of, and I fall asleep either hanging onto the edge of our bed for dear life, or with both kids on top of me, like a little pile of puppies.

Oh well....I suppose that these are the things people say they miss when their kids get older.

If it's not, then please don't tell me because that's what I'm telling myself.

♥M

Space Wars

Why do married people have to live together?  I mean, who started that?  I get sharing a house, I suppose, but a ROOM?!  It's too much.

I used to think that the hubs and I just needed more space.  If we had a bigger house, we could spread out more and fight less about what to do with each inch of wall space, what angle each picture frame should be at, and where I am or am not allowed to place a clock. 

Then I realized...it's not the house.

We are both very affected by our environments.  We agree that knick knacks are the devil, and antiques make us itchy.  That's where the similarities end.  Agree on a paint swatch?  Never.  Pick curtains out together?  Please, God, no.

This is what the hubs wants the house to look like:

I could be exaggerating, but I'm not entirely sure.  He doesn't like anything on the walls, floor, or taking up space.  This eliminates decorations, furniture, and pretty much all signs of life, sooooo....

 

 

This is what I want the house to look like:

Despite his accusations, I am neither tacky nor driven to cover the walls with nail holes.  I might get tired of those white walls, though....

 

 

It doesn't really matter WHAT we want, though, because this is what the house actually looks like:

Ok, it's not THAT bad...but that's what it feels like sometimes.

 

 

So really, it's only ever pointless (for now) to ever argue about what WE want the house to look like.  The kids took over.  All of the stuff that I begged to hang on the walls is gone and there are pictures of them hanging up now.  Everything that was on our living room bookshelves is in boxes in the attic - it's full of toys now.  (THEIR bookshelf was already full of THEIR books, duh.)  Our coffee table drawers have puzzles in them now...I don't even remember what I kept in those.  Our DVDs are in the attic and have been replaced with Disney movies and Baby Einstein.  My scrapbook gear got packed up and my craft drawers are full of Hello Kitty coloring books, safety scissors and scented magic markers. 

 

The joke was on us. 

 

One day, however, there won't be Barbie shoes to step on in the hallway, Legos sticking out from under my refrigerator, doll clothes in the laundry hamper, or crayons melted on the heating vents.  And I will miss those things.  I will look around at all of my "grown up" stuff that is now safe from being destroyed, used as weapons, or causing safety hazards... such as anything glass, scented candles, anything with batteries or moving parts, decorative items that cost more than $5.00... and I will sigh wistfully.  I will wish there was a sticky spot on my entertainment cabinet to wipe away, puzzle pieces in the floor to pick up, or a hula hoop to trip over by the front door. 

 

I suppose I shall find comfort in still having the hubs around to argue with.  We can revive the traditions of going behind each other and moving things on a shelf an inch to the left, throwing away ugly rugs when the other one isn't home, and lamenting over the drawer handles being a stainless vs. brushed nickel finish to our hearts content.

 

♥M

 

THE Meltdown

Before you read - If you haven't already, reading the following posts will help make a lot more sense out of this one :)

Love...With or Without the Memories

The Greatest Love Story of [All] Time

Happy Valentine's Day!

A Day to Remember

 

*THE Meltdown*

So I finally had the inevitable tear-fest about my grandparents.  I knew I would get around to having a good cry about everything eventually, and I could feel it coming for a few days before it hit.  I had been cleaning the house like a maniac all week, and while I was ever so vigorously scrubbing the shower the other night, I broke a tile loose.  (Whoops!)  From there, I just pretty much immediately turned into a hot mess.  I cried and cleaned for another hour before I just sat in the the kitchen and sobbed dramatically all over the "was-clean" kitchen table.  The hubs knows better than to get involved when I build myself up to one of these doosies, so he just kept to the safety of the living room.  I was wearing one of his sweatshirts though, so he did request that when I was done snotting all over it, to please put it in the laundry room and not hang it back up.

After I finished crying and blowing my nose (on his sweatshirt, of course, HA!) I decided I needed to drag other people into my meltdown.  (Good grief, M.)  I did this by texting my immediate family and a few close friends and telling them that in light of everything going on and how crazy things had been lately, I felt the need to let them know I loved them and that they were important to me.  I did this for three reasons: 1) Because we don't really tell people how we feel about them very often. 2) Because it terrifies me that one day I might not be ABLE to tell people that I love them because I won't remember who they are. And 3) Because I was in a highly emotional state and didn't really think the whole thing through.

I'm not saying it was a bad idea, just that it might not have been a totally good one.  For starters, I really freaked a few people the hell out.  Not everyone is as "Hey World! This is how I feel!" as I am.  I sensed that those people were more annoyed and/or made to feel awkward by my declaration than anything.  Still, everyone but one said, "I love you, too."

Almost half of them, however, were alarmed that something was wrong.  Like that I was dying or something...I'm not sure.  (Possibly, because I am rarely very serious...)  This told me that maybe I need to "push pause" for the people that are important to me more often - SHOW them they are important,  not just TELL them.  Then they won't think I have a fatal disease when I tell them. 

What stops me from calling it a bad idea, though, is that a few of the messages I got back were things like "I had a really bad day and needed that!"  This reminded me that it's important to BE that positive boost, that pep talk, or that much-needed hug when our loved ones need it.  It's not hard to be there for people if we just SLOW DOWN and notice when they need us.  If I hadn't sent that message, then I never would've known my friend was having a rough time at work, or that my brother was feeling that same way I am about things. 

What started out as me being crazy upset and needing to reassure MYSELF that others knew I loved them, turned into a lot of little lessons about how I can do better at BEING a loved one.  My "loved ones" might be important to me, but that doesn't really mean much if I don't ACT like it...calling them that in my head, through a text, or on Facebook is just NOT enough.

So here's to slowing down!  Here's to letting the world rush by and just waving as it passes! 

(Disclaimer: This will NOT be an overnight process for me.)

♥M

A Day to Remember

This morning, I picked my grandfather up from my aunt's house and we spent the day together. If I learned anything today, it was that the only thing we ever truly need to be afraid of in life is having to regret not stopping and making time to create more memories with the people that we love.

There were sweet moments:
He insisted on carrying any and everything for me - from the fundraiser donuts we picked up at my daughter's dance school, to the grocery bags we left Food Lion with.  He even took my friend's baby carrier to her car for her when she stopped by with her son to visit today.  He helped my oldest daughter ride her bike and listened patiently while my youngest explained the plot of Harry Potter to him in 2-year-old jargon.  He pushed both girls on the swing set and made the appropriate (expected) complimentary remarks when they put their princess dress-up clothes on.

There were rough moments:
I wasn't able to convince him to eat more than one chicken tender for lunch and one slice of pizza for dinner, even though I know he loves both of those things.  He was worried about my grandmother looking for him and not knowing where he was.  He got stressed out towards the end of the day about when and how he was getting home.  He wanted to drive himself, but was frustrated that his car wasn't at my house.  At one point he tried to explain something to me, but ended up crying because he couldn't figure out how to explain it.  I just hugged him, told him that I loved him, and said that the rest wasn't important.

There are some things, however, that he KNOWS for a fact, and can tell you with certainty how he feels about them.   Here are a few:

1. He could not be a teacher "these days" because we are no longer allowed to paddle the students.

2. My younger cousin is "full of bull."  Those are HIS words.

3. If one baseball team is losing so badly to the other team that they cannot possibly come back and win, you are wasting his time (and "the good money that he pays for the cable box") by not simply ending the game right then, and carrying on with life.

4. The movie theater will never be making any money off of him because he will not be paying $12.00 to see a film that he can buy at Wal-Mart.  FYI - it cost $0.12 when he was a kid.  This was also a little pricey at the time.

5. No matter what, he knows he loves my grandmother.  He will tell you every time that her name comes up, "I won the lottery when I met her."  Of all the things he forgot today, he knew he hadn't been to see her since yesterday and wanted to know when we were leaving for the hospital.

No matter what, I feel lucky that I will get to remember today, spending time with my grandfather, and watching him spend time with my children.  They won't remember that he didn't call them by name because he forgot what their names were; they will remember that he helped them ride their bikes and pushed them on the swing.  I will get to remember his smile when they call for him to "Watch this!" and the sound of their laughter when he teases them.

One of the things that we talked about today was why some people end up having Alzheimer's, and some people don't. There is no satisfactory answer to that question.  Different researchers have different opinions on the matter, but the only real truth is this - The only way to live your life is to know that you never know what's coming next, and therefore, should take nothing and no one for granted.

♥M

A Week Summary

To conclude my batcrap-crazy week, I gift you with a list of conclusions.

Conclusions that this week has led me to make...

1.  At any given moment, there are people around you suffering.  You never know if someone just lost a loved one, is dealing with illness, is getting ready for a surgery, is going through a nasty divorce, is worried about their job....so just BE NICE.  It won't hurt...not every time anyway.

2. All children can be loved. Some just make it really hard...on purpose. They have to test you to feel out whether you will "still love them if..." They think that you won't. Prove them wrong.

3.  If I could answer the question "WHY?!" then I would be rich.  So. Rich.

4. I have become one of those obnoxious people who are all, "Man, I haven't been to the gym (or gone running) in over a week.  Poooooor meeeee."  It's so awful to realize this about yourself.  Uuugh.

5.  If a physician has prescribed a medication, it should be taken as directed.  For the sake of everyone.  Please.

6.  Pajama Day at work is not what you'd expect.  It is not "comfy."  You will remain in a state of distress all day and feel like you're in a bad dream where you forgot to get dressed before going to work.

7.  You should have to pass an IQ test before you are allowed to create a Facebook account.  Or have a co-signer who pledges to proof your posts before they go out into the world.

8.  My 2-year-old is possessed by a demon.  Maybe more than one.

9.  Driving home with your car's gas light on and thinking "I'll stop in the morning" is never going to work out for you.  You will ALWAYS be running late the next morning.

10.  There is such a thing as being in a constant state of forgetting something.  At all times, the answer is "Yes, you are forgetting something."  Don't bother wondering what it is; just hope it comes back to you before it's too late and your forgetting causes any damage.

11.  God made earbuds so that I can put them in and ignore people.  Sometimes "people" means my spouse.  (If I can't HEAR you, then I can pretend like you are saying whatever *I THINK* you should be saying.)

12.  Back to #1 - When all else fails, and you feel like you might be slipping into a grouchy, pity-party mode, the best way to put the brakes on that is to reach out and offer your hand to someone who needs your empathy more than you need a "woe-is-me" session.  Had a bad day at work?  Get over yourself - someone else probably had a worse one.  Call a friend who's going through a rough time and ask how they are doing, offer your buddy to help with his project or move this weekend, visit your sick aunt and take her some soup....Why?  Not because it will make YOU feel better about YOUR bad day, but because it will make you realize that you actually aren't the one that the sun rises and sets with after all.  Plus, no one likes the person that only ever complains and never, ever listens.


With all of that being said, I'm fairly certain that I could get at least a solid two-hour head start before anyone realizes that I have run away from home.  Feel free to shoot me an e-mail with a location and meeting time if you have the name of a good source for forged papers.  I'd prefer not to travel under my real name.  Thank you in advance.

♥M

A bonus struggle from my week:  Being torn, while editing this piece of writing, between trying to guess what the "s-word" at the end was supposed to be (shock? strike?) OR just adding "in his pants" after it...

 

To My Oldest

Dear Jace,

Today is your birthday AND the fourth anniversary of me becoming a mom. 

You are my "mini-me."  You are my sweet and sassy oldest child.  You changed my world in so many ways.  No pregnancy book, no parenting article, and no well-worded advice from a loved one can ever truly prepare you for everything that you feel when peering down at that tiny little person for the first time.  The one that you loved before you ever even met.  When they handed you to me in the hospital, time stood still and my heart burst with happiness and pride.  It is not something that one person can explain to another; but rather something that one can only experience and then hold onto tightly, forever and ever, as the most wonderful memory of all time.

You came into this world and I looked at you and I saw a new life, a new reason to live every day, a new reason to be a better person, and a new way of viewing the world.  I fell in love with you; and I fell in love with your daddy all over again, too.  I already loved him as my husband, but this time I fell in love with him as your father.  He loves you so much, that it makes me love HIM even more than I already did.

Your birth marked a new chapter in our life that is a never-ending journey of "firsts."  Your first hiccups, your first bath, your first smile, your first tooth, your first steps...the excitement of every little thing you do makes the whole world a brighter place.  I will never tire of celebrating you and all of the things you do, no matter how big or how small they may be.

You fill my heart with joy, love, and pride.  That will never change...even when you are a teenager.  I am your mother and you are my daughter - I will love you forever and I will forever be here for you.

Happy birthday, sweet girl.

♥M

My favorite "birthday" quotes from Jace today:

Me: Hold up 4 fingers so I can take a birthday picture.
Jace: (holds up four fingers, stops and examines her hands) Whoa...I think my hands are bigger...

Me: I made you cupcakes, but I can't find the candles!
Jace: *Sigh* We should have just done this at Grandma's house.

Me: Why did you act scared when they sang "Happy Birthday" to you?!  (Or rather, "Feliz Cumpleaños" since we were at a Mexican restaurant.)
Jace:  I didn't know what they were SAYING to me?!

Freaky Friday

Today was one of those "Awkward Anonymous" kind of days that made me question being allowed in public. 

I was relatively well-behaved at work; but after leaving there, things just kind of went to crazy, quick.  I had my six-month skin cancer body-screen at the Dermatologist's office and was patting myself on the back for being so well-prepared for it.  I wore my sunscreen all summer, was only 5 minutes late (a real accomplishment for me when going to the doctor straight from work), and had even shaved my legs that morning. 

Normal chit-chat with the nurse, she hands me my gown, she tells me, "Ok, just take everything off except your bra and underwear."  I was all, "Okaaaa....*GAAAAASP!*

"What's wrong?!"
"OMG...I don't have any underwear on."
"Why?!"
"I got dressed really fast this morning...?"

She just kind of stuttered for a few minutes...and then offered me DEPENDS (that was "all she had").  I died laughing and told her I'd rather her see my naked butt than wear a diaper, but I sincerely appreciated her offer. 

In my overzealous effort to tuck the paper lap gown around myself, I tore it in about 4 different places.  I just gave up after that.  "You've had two children, for God's sake," I tell myself.  "HOW could this be worse than being naked in an operating room with a dozen people?!'

I survived that embarrassment just in time to make it to my sorority dinner....and go for broke in the Awkward Games. 

We played a fun game while we waited for our food - one woman called out letters of the alphabet and whoever could produce an item from their purse that started with that letter FIRST, got a point.  Being first meant being quick.  Being quick meant blurting things out.  Being encouraged to blurt things out is NOT ideal for an awkward person, such as myself.  It's like offering an alcoholic a drink, or inviting someone with a gambling problem to go to a casino.  It will not play out well.

I got too excited in the beginning and shouted "Examples!" for 'E' - but what I produced was a SAMPLE of eczema cream from the dermatologist's office.  (No, M. No.)  Other people were pulling out cool stuff, like a leprechaun ('L') and a tazer (T') and an iPad ('I').  I feel like they had played this game before.

I pulled it together and produced deodorant for 'D' and Mickey Mouse bubbles for 'M' (I KNEW those bubbles would come in handy).  I got some weird looks when I produced a chunk of Twizzler from the depths of my bag for 'T', but things reached a really new level when everyone was stumped by the letter 'X'....until I found some Xanax in a side pocket.  I attempted to play that off by announcing there would be an after party in the parking lot with that and the bubbles.  Polite laughter.  Ouch.  (Hey, next time you get nervous on an airplane or break out in hives over a dreadful event you're being forced to attend - you'll think of me and how wise I am to stash the stuff.)  Just stay home, M.  Just stay home.

Well, either they're as crazy as I am or the Xanax compartment of my purse didn't scare anyone too badly, because I was asked to consider being President Elect for next year.  That's what you want, ladies - an awkward president who forgets to wear underwear.  Maybe that will be my campaign slogan...

♥M

My Daire-Devil

Anyone with more than one child knows that it is more than just possible for the same two parents to bear children that are polar opposites, it almost seems inevitable.  The hard part is recognizing their differences in such a way that you don't actually "compare" them and end up turning it into a list of pros and cons for each one.  ALL kids are different...some of their differences just stand out more than others. 

We named our second daughter Daire without even knowing what a huge joke it would turn out to be.  When she starts school, I can only imagine how many "I dare you..." jokes there will be.  And how many trips to the nurse's office will result from them.  I have no hope of her being the kind of  kid that turns down a good dare...

She was the infant that I had to literally wrap onto my body with a baby sling in order to use my arms for anything, because she insisted on being moved around, at all times.  She was the baby that was full-on crawling by 6 months old, and walking around at 9 months old.  (I was actually embarrassed to tell people how old she was when they asked because I could tell they thought I was lying every time.) 

Running and climbing were tasks whose mastery she took very seriously, and still fine-tunes her technique of around the clock.  I have pictures of her dancing on the kitchen counters, hanging from curtain rods, and standing on the entertainment center to push the buttons on the T.V.  All of those things happened in the time it took me to turn around and back again.

She's the kid who falls down, skins her knee, then pushes you off, annoyed by your comfort and attempts at first aid.  She's busy and doesn't care that the blood is dripping down onto her white socks while she runs off.  That's YOUR problem, later.

She's the kid that tells strangers "HI!" in the grocery store, will bite you if you don't pay attention to her as quickly as she would like, thrives off of having an audience, and has no limit when it comes to what she will do for a laugh. 

She's the kind of kid that strikes fear in the heart of pediatric professionals, made my dad suggest inventing an Adderal dart-gun, stopped me from judging people who use those "kid-leashes," and caused the baby-sitter to think about adding a padded room.

We've made a few feeble attempts at domesticating her.  We tried dance.  Once.  A breakdown of Daire's first (and only) dance class: 

First 15 minutes = Sat in my lap, just soaking it all in. (Ok, she's being calm!)
Next 30 minutes = Halfway participated, explored the room a little bit. (Hmm, this could actually work out!)
Last 15 minutes = Wild, heathenistic, demon-possessed behavior similar to that of "Animal" from the Muppets. (WHAT was I thinking?!)

I stood confirmed in my original theory that there was wisdom in holding off on domesticating her through the art of dance until next year.
I have been beating myself up for a while about how we never took Daire to get pictures taken for her first birthday.  Then last Saturday, we took the girls to get their pictures taken - and I was like "Oh, yeah...THIS is why we didn't go last year."  We did get a handful of really cute pictures, but at the expense of major trauma for all involved.  Daire shook all of the lighting poles violently, licked all of the glass walls repeatedly, climbed the photographer's ladder (with the photographer still on it), threw all of the props (a hysterically funny game to her, by the way), and had to be chased as far as the shoe department of the mall store we were in (then hauled back kicking and laughing) - twice.  By the time we left, the photographer was probably scripting a letter of resignation in her head and trying to decide where she would go first after work, to pick up a job application. 

Right now, you probably think that I'm complaining.  I'm not!  Daire keeps me laughing, active, jealous of her energy - and I would never trade her or change her for ANYTHING.  She is perfect and beautiful and healthy....and she marches to NO beat but her own.  When I look at her, I smile and wonder what kind of HUGE things she will accomplish one day with all of that determination, tenacity, and "Daire-devil" spirit.  Until then, I will just keep chasing after her with band-aids and ice packs...and maybe a big net, too.  (There's a thought...)

My only regret is that we don't have a reality show, so that I could at least cash in on all of the chaos.

♥M

Being a Mom Means...

There are some things that just come with the territory....

Being a Mom Means:

1.  I am always tired.  It's enlightening to find how little sleep you actually need to function.  Caffeine is a big part of my life.

2.  I have fruit snacks and bubbles in my purse.  And dum-dum wrappers.  And baby wipes.  And small, plastic toys.  And goldfish.  And glitter chapstick.  And a half-eaten granola bar.

3.  I always inspect my drink before taking a sip.  There are two reasons: First, because kids backwash.  I gagged for five whole minutes one time because I took a swig of my orange juice and swallowed a chewed up piece of hash brown with it.  The memory gives me chills.  Secondly, kids stick stuff in your cup when you walk away - like their booger-finger hands to dig out a piece of ice, or random things like Legos (which, thankfully, float).

4.  I am no longer in control of the radio or the television.  Between the hours of 7:00am and 8:00pm, if the T.V. or radio is on, I would be insane to think that I could put it on anything that doesn't involve a Disney character or a furry puppet.  Kid CDs in the car = physical pain. 

5.  My clothes serve the dual purposes of fashion items (HA!) and napkins/tissues.  Wear white pants around a kid eating Cheetos AT YOUR OWN RISK.  And my two-year-old has walked up and used my shirt to actually BLOW HER NOSE before.  I have explained that this is unacceptable behavior, but am met with a real resistance on their part to accept that fact.

6.  There is no such thing as privacy.  The word does not exist.  Shame on you for expecting it!  (I have addressed this previously in 6 Things You Didn't Expect To Miss Doing Alone) 

7.  Every glass surface in my house has fingerprints on it.  Every window (house AND car)...every cabinet front....every mirror....all cell phone and tablet screens....they are all smudged.  Permanently.

8.  Nothing that belongs to me actually belongs to ME.  If it's edible, I might get a bite.  If it's an accessory, I might get to wear it for 5 minutes.  If it has buttons and/or flashing lights, it is immediately confiscated.  If it's a cute bag, it'll be missing by the next day.  If I get caught chewing gum, I better have another piece. 

9.  I have to keep my ninja skills fresh.  The real reason I workout?  So I can army crawl across the floor of a room with a sleeping kid to retrieve something I forgot to get before they went to sleep.  Then do a soundless tuck-n-roll out of the room if they move in any way while I'm in there.

BUT... 

10.  I have more love, laughter, and compassion than I have ever previously had in my life.  I will proudly wear my Cheeto-covered pants (with the smudged cell phone in the back pocket), my snotty shirt, and the dark circles under my eyes and say, "I'm a mom!" 

♥M

To My Baby Brother

A big sister is your first friend...and your second mother.

 

 

Dear Josh,

Today marks 27 years since my first best friend was born.  I was only 15 months old, so I'm kind of fuzzy on the details; but from looking at pictures, it seems like we hit it off straight away. 

For 27 years, you have been my partner in crime.  From climbing the kitchen table to eat crayons together as toddlers (THAT was a fun diaper for Mom, I'm sure), to sneaking through the cow pasture to swim in the pond next door as kids (It was worth the whippin' we got all the way back to the house), to covering for each other as teenagers ("I'm sure I have no IDEA what you mean, Mom...") - each adventure sealed our bond tighter.

For 27 years, I made it my job to protect you, no matter how much bigger you were than me. From punching the neighborhood bully in the manhood after he knocked you out of the tree house (I never did get in trouble for that), to using my position as Yearbook Editor in high school to pull a girl that had broken your heart out of class in order to quietly threaten her into staying away from you (I snapped her picture, waved at the teacher, and sent her skank butt back to English class...hmph!), to standing on my tiptoes so I could reach a guys chest to shove it while telling him to "back off" when y'all were fighting (sorry about that) - it was all worth it and I'd do it all again. I will never, ever stop being your champion. Again, sorry about that.

For 27 years, I have felt your pain or failures as deeply as I would my own.  There were times when my heart would stand still when the phone rang, because I was scared of what would change in my world after I answered.  I still have all of the letters you wrote me from 2007, and when I look at them, I go back in time and remember how it felt to thank God every day that I still had you.  It didn't matter how mad you made me, or how badly I wanted you to let me boss you around - I never loved you one itty-bitty ounce less.  Not. Ever.

For 27 years, I have been proud of you when you did your best, tried your hardest, and never lost your optimism or your sense of humor.  I have never been prouder of you than I am now.  You've made some of the best choices in the last few years; and I am happy just for your being happy.  You worked hard and got a good job, married a beautiful, loyal woman, and have a sweet, adorable baby girl.  You are welcome for my approval of the wife (screw this up and the rest of us are keeping her anyway...just so you know) and for all of the charm that your child (obviously) inherited from her Aunt M. 

So even though you used to blame me when you had accidents as a kid (M did it!  She peed in MY pants!), and even though you don't always let me boss you around (even though I OBVIOUSLY know everything) - I wouldn't trade you for the world.  Happy birthday, baby brother!

I will always be your big sister and I will always love you.

♥M

A Second Love

I've mentioned before that Baby #2 is more than just a bomb in your marriage, they are a major upheaval of all that is normal for your whole family-of-three's dynamic.  With the first baby you worry about being a good parent and being "ready" for all the things that a baby brings.  With the second baby, you worry about the first baby.  A lot.

I was totally unprepared, and had never heard anyone talk about, the overwhelming amount of guilt I felt towards the end of my second pregnancy.  I was terrified of what this second child would mean to my relationship with my first daughter.  I was excited about the baby, couldn't wait to meet her, hold her, and love her....and that made me feel guilty.

My daughter was a relatively easy toddler....because she was used to the whole world revolving around her.  She played what she wanted, when she wanted.  Her stuff stayed where she put it.  If she wanted a snack or a drink, she got it within a reasonable period of time.  She was our whole world because she was our one and only.  That was about to change - and she had no clue it was coming.  I did know...and it made me feel guilty.

Snuggles on demand were no problem when there was only one kid to snuggle.  Sharing our bed wasn't really a big deal because when she crawled in between us in the middle of the night, there wasn't anyone to be jealous of her doing it.  Stopping what I was doing to do what she wanted was a habit because whatever else I had been doing was only something for me anyway, and she was more important.  There was going to be another person to divide my attention away from her now...and that made me feel guilty.

The last few weeks of my pregnancy, I actually cried sometimes from the overwhelming feeling of change that just felt as if it were swallowing me up.  Jace was only 2 years old - she wasn't going to understand what she was feeling once the baby came and I wouldn't be able to explain it to her in any way that she could understand at such a young age.  My biggest fear was that my sweet baby girl would think Mommy didn't love her anymore.  (Now I'm crying just remembering it, ugh!)

The night before my Cesarean, we left her with my parents and I cried like I would never see her again.  It was ridiculous.  I was being torn in half between how excited I was to finally meet my new baby and how awful I felt about "abandoning" my oldest child to go do it.  Don't judge my irrational behavior - pregnancy hormones are a real B.

The other thing I wasn't prepared for was the next morning when they held that wrinkled up little mess of a strawberry-blonde that is my second child up to my face, and I got to kiss her little fingers and stroke her soft cheek before they whisked her off to the hospital nursery.  "Oh my God...I just fell in love again,"  I told James. 

I was wrong about my heart being split in two for two babies.  I was wrong about having to give up some of my love for Jace so that I would have enough for Daire.  I was wrong to ever doubt that my heart couldn't hold them both at the same time.

My heart got bigger.

Now I feel incomplete without them both in my arms.  My world is not divided, it is more complete.  I have more love, get more snuggles, and make or buy two of everything.  The first year was far from smooth and nothing if not a learning experience, but we made it.  For every time my heart broke for having to tell Jace "hold on" or "not right this second" because of the baby, it has swelled ten times over when I see them hug, snuggle, share, and love each other beyond words. 

I will always remember that first love, but I couldn't imagine life without my second.

♥M

Don't Hide Your Feelins'

Lately, there's been this crazy vibe all around me that makes me feel like I'm stuck in some kind of limbo between the Twilight Zone and The Jerry Springer Show.  I have no idea what the cause is, I'm just saying it's there.

Between family drama and work drama and your own drama, sometimes it just feels like you're in a tornado of other people's feelings and emotions.  The only way to get through it is to figure out how to hold on tight....and make sure you keep your feelings separate from theirs.

 

 

The problem with feelings is that we aren't content to just TELL someone how we feel.  No, no.  As a species we have this driving urge to obtain validation, commiseration, and camaraderie for every emotion we experience.  If we're happy, we share it - we want others to share our joy!  (That's cool.)

 

 

 

 

But if we're sad or mad we often feel the need to urge others into feeling the same way, either for or with us.  It's not enough that someone pissed us off, hurt our feelings, or totally blew our mind - we NEED to hear someone SAY "You're right, you SHOULD be mad/sad/mindblown!"  It's like we don't trust ourselves to have feelings without someone else endorsing it.

 

 

Own your own feelings.  Decide how you feel about something or someone based on your own experiences.  Feedback and advice are good...when it's constructive, informative, and FACTUAL.  Don't confuse fact and opinion or allow other people's passions to influence your own.  And when you do have a messy sea to storm, make sure you don't allow others to keep you drowning in it.  If you are over something, it's ok to move on...just reach back and offer to pull the others out with you, without letting them pull you back in.

 

You are in control of YOU.  No one can make you feel any way about any thing unless you allow them to.  "How you act emotionally is a choice in any situation." - Judith Orloff

 

♥M

 

 



 

Happy Valentine's Day!

Single or coupled, today's about LOVE!  I choose to think it's not just about romantic love, but a day to celebrate all the people in your life that make you feel special the other 364 days of the year. For me that happens to primarily be my husband and children, but also my friends and other family as well.

A lot of people think that if you don't have a significant other, then Valentine's Day sucks.  If you don't have anyone to make you feel special - then go make someone else feel special!  ♥

Tonight the hubs and I cooked dinner for my grandparents while trying to keep the kids from destroying their non-baby-proof house.  We had a great time, ate, laughed and told stories....then I kissed my kids and hubby goodnight, and they went home.  I'm crashing on my grandparents' couch, munching on some Hershey kisses I found in the pantry, and getting my I.D. channel fix.  I probably should have checked the date on the Hershey kisses, but hey, a little extra buzz off chocolate can't be a bad thing...right?

My grandma says I'm here to babysit them, but I don't have the heart to call it that.  I prefer being called "the muscle."  I mean, I DO workout...

Actually, I just thought my aunt might want to spend Valentine's Day with HER hubs, since she's been sleeping here every night.  I see my hubs every day, and we can go on a date whenever (hahaha!) so what difference does it make if we go out tonight? None. And like I said, today doesn't always HAVE to be about romance, it can just be about the little things that let people know you love them.

So don't mope around if you're unattached!  Once you ARE attached,  you're just as indifferent to the balloons, chocolate, and flowers. They're nice, but I like balloons on my birthday, flowers just because it's Tuesday, and chocolate everyday!

Happy Valentine's Day!

♥M

P.S. If you ARE on a hot date tonight....then get off the Internet and do your thing, crazy!

P.P.S. If your night is more "Hershey kisses & chillin' on the couch" like mine, and you'd like a love story to read in honor of our holiday, then check out these posts! ;)

Another Crazy Love Story: So I met this guy...

Another Crazy Love Story: The Honeymoon Phase

Another Crazy Love Story: The Baby Years

Friday Night Lite

Friday nights are not what they used to be. 

I used to think I was having fun, before I had kids; but I just didn't know any better.  Now I know what REAL fun is.  Real fun is coloring a picture together (or twelve), playing Barbies, building blanket forts, and having tea parties that turn into tickle fights. 

I still dress up on Friday nights, only in plastic jeweled tiaras and Hello Kitty necklaces now.  I still go out, but it's in an imaginary carriage... to an imaginary ball... in my living room.  (Way better parking than at the club or bar, by the way.)

I still dance on Friday nights, but now it's to the Elmo Potty Song and the Disney Jr. Soundtrack.  And I can do it in my socks, instead of heels.  Winning.

Eating hot dogs and mac-n-cheese on a blanket in the living room floor beats any meal in a fancy restaurant. (That's their "thing" right now...eating in the floor. I learned that if I throw down a blanket and call it a "picnic," they will eat almost ANYTHING I cook, including "green stuff." I draw the line at spaghetti though. Spaghetti is NOT a picnic food...despite their arguments in an attempt to build a case for it.)

Sometimes, when we're saying bedtime prayers ("Dear God, Tank you ever-ting and ever-body.  Pease let Sissy do not kick me tonight. Amen") or when they put their little hands on my cheeks and kiss me goodnight ("I love you, Mommy!" "Wuv ew, mama!"), I feel like my heart will burst.  I try to remember what things were like before they existed, and it's all a haze of meaningless, skewed priorities. 

Friday nights are not what they used to be... They are much, much better.

♥M

The Greatest Love Story of [All] Time

 

When I took my grandfather to visit my grandmother today, I decided that instead of talking about people he didn't remember and things he had forgotten, we would talk about the one thing that means the most to him - my grandma.  I asked them to tell me how they met, dated, and got married.  This is their love story of 1959 - starring a pretty nursing school student named Myra, and an oh-so charming road design engineer named Charles.

*******************

How did you and grandma meet?
 

Grandpa: I had a date with a girl named Nancy.  I went to her house to pick her up, but she wasn't there.  Her dad said that she had already left on a date with another guy!  It made me hot, but I don't suppose I cared too much one way or another about it.  So my buddy Edsel and I decided to head to Colonial Heights - to Lakeview where the swimming hole and dance pavilion was.  When I got there, I saw a girl named Vicky that I went to high school with, so I started talking to her.  There was a girl sitting on the bench next to her, and I said to her, "Hey, you're in my seat."
 

Grandma: And I looked at the bench and said, "I don't see your name on it."
 

Grandpa: We couldn't stand each other!

  

Grandma: I didn't care if I ever saw him again.  I thought he was a big smartass.

  

Grandpa: That's funny, because that's what *I* thought!  So anyway, then she went around town telling everyone how much she looooved me and....

  

Grandma: I did not!  You had your friend, Edsel, call my roommate, Vicky, and harass her to bring "that girl" out again!

 

 Grandpa:  Well you came!

  

Why did you go if you didn't like him?!

 

 Grandma: For the hell of it.

  

Grandpa: So then 3 months later, we got married.

  

What?!  How did you go from not being able to stand each other - to getting married...in 3 months?!

 

 Grandpa: There was just something about her!

 

 Grandma: Yeah, you'd met your match.

 

 Well, where did you get married?

 

 Grandpa:  My buddy, Edsel, drove us down to North Carolina to find a preacher. 

 

 Grandma:  You had to be 21 in the state of Virginia to get married without parental consent.  I was only 19 and he was 20.  I knew my parents wouldn't give consent because I was in nursing school.  So I put on a white dress and white heels and we rode to North Carolina.

  

Where did your parents think you were?

 

 Grandma: We told them we were going to the zoo for the day.

 

 Wait...so your mama thought you were going to the zoo in a white dress and heels?

  

Grandpa: Probably not - that's just how dumb we were.

  

Grandma:  I wanted to be married in a church, so we drove until we saw a little Baptist church and stopped.  It was a Saturday, but the secretary was there and she called the preacher.  He was in the field picking butter beans, but he stopped, and drove up, and married us.

  

Then what did you do?

  

Grandpa:  I had to pay a $5 fee!

 

 Grandma:  Then we went home.  So broke we couldn't even afford a Pepsi or an order of fries on the way!

  

Grandpa:  You had me!  What'd you need food for?!

  

Did you tell anyone you got married?

  

Grandma:  No, Edsel was the only one who knew.  You had to live in the dormitory while you went to nursing school, no matter what; and you had to ask permission to get married.  I asked after the fact and got permission, but I still had to drop out because I found out I was pregnant.  At that time, you had to spend 6 months in Philadelphia for an affiliate program with the psych hospital there, and I knew I couldn't do that with a baby.

 

 What about your parents?  When did you tell them?

  

Grandpa:  I don't remember when we told mine...

  

Grandma:  I don't know when we told his parents, but I remember that Grandpa talked me into calling my mama and telling her about a month later.

  

What did you do after you left school?

 

 Grandma: We lived with your Grandpa's parents for a few months and then rented a little apartment of our own.  I had your Aunt Terri; and then a year later, had your daddy.

  

Grandpa: We ate a lot of pork-n-beans and potatoes, that's what!

 

 But I know you were a nurse, so how did you get your LPN if you dropped out of school?

 

 Grandma:  I went to work for Dr. Cohen Sr. when your daddy was 6 months old and he encouraged me to to take advantage of a new state program that offered the LPN board testing if you had been in nursing school - even if you didn't finish.  There was another girl in the office who was taking it, but she didn't want me to know about it, so she hadn't told me.

 

Why wouldn't she want you to know about it?!

  

Grandma: Probably because you had to get a 300 to pass and she got a 301...but then I got over a 700.

 

 Go on, Grammy!

  

Grandma:  I'm not bragging!  I just borrowed books and studied for a few months.

  

So whatever happened to Nancy?

  

Grandpa:  I have no clue.

 

 Grandma:  She sent some love letters to your Grandpa a few months after we got married and I called her house about it!  Her daddy answered the phone and said she wasn't there.  I told him to kindly ask his daughter to stop sending my husband love letters.  He claimed his daughter would never do such a thing and I told him he was welcome to come 'round and read them!  ...I had some hell in me when I was younger.

 

 One last question...if you lived in the dorms at nursing school...and Grandpa lived at home...and you didn't tell anyone you were married...how do you explain Aunt Terri?!

 

 Grandma: Well...........your Grandpa's parents went for long Sunday drives.  And we didn't go with them.

  

Gotcha.

 

 Grandma:  This isn't going in the church newsletter or anything is it?

 

 Nope.  Just on the Internet.

  

Grandma:  Oh, alright then.

 

 

♥M