Reality...what does that even mean anymore? I could sit here and blame social media, television, ahem-bloggers...they have all slightly skewed what reality means to all of us. Do I really care if you just ate a handful of almonds? But, it was a fact of existence and your reality stated to you that it was indeed noteworthy. The concept of reality has changed in my brain over the last year. I'm not saying it's for the better or worse, it's just my understanding of my everyday life...it doesn't stop when I want a break...it doesn't 'soft-kitty' me when I'm having a bad day...at times, it doesn't even allow me to use the bathroom without being terrified what (in the brief 1.4 minutes it happens) I might find Atticus doing when I open the bathroom door...maybe my reality states I should be grateful I even get to shut the door?
Nora's reality? She's a consummate noise maker...whether it be idol conversation or just the need to be making some sort of noise. Sometimes it's joyful, sometimes it's nerve racking, sometimes she doesn't even know she's doing it...seriously, it's rare for her to just be quiet. Her latest achievement, besides being a noteworthy party planner for all her stuffed animals, she whistles. Morning, noon, and night. Partly because she can, partly because it's a new trick, and partly because at this point it's almost an unconscious act...only upside? I never have to wonder where she is...
Atticus' reality? He will no doubt drive me crazy before he even enters kindergarten. He is fast. He is sly. He is sneaky. He loves to dig in the trash. He is nimble. He is smart. He has excellent hand eye coordination. He loves to snack. He is a great climber. He has no fear of heights. He is nearly impossible to wear out. His reality is that of pushing the limits at all times, and my only hope is that one day he works in a liquor store that has a sizable staff discount.
Oscar's reality? Orthodontia. I never knew until this morning that that word is also loosely translated into the phrase- you will pay us a bodily organ for some straight teeth...and we give a sibling discount of $100. Really? They might as well have said a penny as I dollar cost averaged four kids with braces in my head. While I know he is responsible enough to handle it, and he has a head full of teeth like that of someone 4 years older than him, he will only have to wear them for two years. In those two years his reality will also be subliminally cemented in him that he will take care of his teeth, and then set up his mother in her twilight years with something 'pretty'.
Abe's reality? Resident wise guy. Don't get me wrong, he is the most tender, loving, caring kid in the world...but a smart-ass-sash should be fashioned for him in the very near future. He has always had timing, but it always sort of came naturally, and was easily excused as, "...he's just a kid...". Now this morning, however, my anxiety was heightened as I heard him saying to our noise maker (aka Nora), "...idiot says what?". Seriously? As if she needs more material to drive me crazy through the day. Then my anxiety turned to terror at the thought of Abe being cocky enough to say that to the WRONG person at school. I hollered from the kitchen sink (seriously, I'm there from sun up to sun down), "...Abe if you aren't looking to get a beat down from me or someone else, I suggest you never say that phrase again...".
Facts of existence...that's what we are talking about. We've all thought about someone at one point in time, "...they are out of touch with reality...". Now, however, my understanding of that statement has changed. In actuality, it's at times a very personal thing. Mine does not have to mimic theirs, or theirs mine. I am reminded of this every day. My daily 'reality' is at times not for the faint of heart. I do what I have to do, try to have a little fun, perhaps not the most conventional mother, daughter, sister, friend, but it's my fact of existence...it's MY daily way of living that has to push me from sun up to sun down, and do it all over the next day. Yes, my life would be different if I weren't a 37 year old widow with four kids. However, that is not a reality. Such facts of existence cannot be changed, put on hold, or ignored. You hope for the best at the beginning of each day, as that's all you can do. For those who don't understand you, you fight the urge to say, "...idiot says what?", as you are in line selling plasma to raise money for the orthodontia fund...
Tuesday, August 27, 2013
Sunday, August 25, 2013
...when the bad cop messes up...
...all any parent can ever want is to hope that at some point they understand their children. Whether it be the babbling toddler who is yelling they want something, but you have no idea what 'GAB TATG' means. Whether it be the drama queen 4 year old, who has to throw a birthday party everyday with decorations for her stuffed animal. Whether it be the overly verbal 7 year old who talks faster than his mouth will allow, constantly making me ask, 'Pardon?'. Then there's the quiet, slightly self indulged 9 year old, who keeps most everything to himself, which is an oddity in this house...he keeps it to himself, until he just can't....
After an evening of wondering if something was wrong with my quiet 9 year old, asking rather fervently if everything was okay, and getting, '...yeah, I'm fine...'. The night ended however, with the ever going debate of why he wasn't allowed to do something. I thought I answered it correctly, still asking him if something was wrong. No? Good....until Abe came down to tell me that Oscar was planning to run away....hmmm.
I quickly formulated a plan, my slightly pathetic '80s cop drama version of 'good cop/bad cop'...at this point I'm not sure if I'm Cagney or Lacey? I walked in the room, looked at him and said, "...well, sport, if you're planning to run away, you'll need a bag,(opening his closet door) I wouldn't bother packing pajamas, you'll probably just have to start sleeping in your clothes. I guess my best advice would be to pack light, and have a couple of clean pairs of underwear..." To which I walked into another room to find a backpack. I came back and he was steadily pulling out shirts from his drawer...bad cop messes up.
I came back into their room and asked him to sit down. I asked him if he knew how hard it would be? I asked him if he'd thought this out? I asked him for seven reasons to run away. If he could give me seven, concrete reasons, who was I to stand in his way of happiness? While he was thinking, I told him that I needed to remind him of something. He had no place to go. He had no money. He had very little street smarts. He had no job....and if he left, it would leave a horrible hole in our family.
I told him, that in actuality, if he thought it was his turn to run away...to get in line, it's not. BUT, I haven't ran away, I haven't given up on us, and damn it, if any one earned that right it was me...but I haven't, I'm sticking it out...the least he could do was stick it out too. So, still blankly staring at me, I asked him if he could tell me what he wanted, maybe I could try to help/fix it? This kid is stone cold. He doesn't let his emotions show. With this one question, his eyes started welling up with tears...finally, he said..."...I just want a DAD..."
I told him, I didn't blame him. I told him I would be pretty sick of me, and that's all I pretty much wanted for him too...not a replacement, but someone to fill in the gap in his heart that is missing. I had to lower the boom, that it took me six years to get married the first time. The look of exasperation on his face was priceless. I told him that the one thing that this house sorely NEEDED was patience. Our scale isn't just low on it, but we have sunk backward into negative double digits. But, the beauty of this whole thing is, our hearts are telling us that we are ready for a-dare-to-be-great-situation...what the future holds might be frightening, mainly because it's unknown, but it also can be exciting to comprehend the possibilities of what wonderful things might happen.
The conversation was ended by me asking for the final time of the evening, if he was okay and if he'd sleep on the decision to run away, at least until he had a game plan...to which he said yes. I told him, all I really want for my four gifted monsters, was a normal life again, but it was just going to take some time. The last thing he said to me was a 'would you rather'...which I thought was interesting...Would you rather have a mean husband and a million dollars, or a nice husband and a thousand dollars? To which I told him that was a no brainer, a nice husband is worth a billion dollars...
After an evening of wondering if something was wrong with my quiet 9 year old, asking rather fervently if everything was okay, and getting, '...yeah, I'm fine...'. The night ended however, with the ever going debate of why he wasn't allowed to do something. I thought I answered it correctly, still asking him if something was wrong. No? Good....until Abe came down to tell me that Oscar was planning to run away....hmmm.
I quickly formulated a plan, my slightly pathetic '80s cop drama version of 'good cop/bad cop'...at this point I'm not sure if I'm Cagney or Lacey? I walked in the room, looked at him and said, "...well, sport, if you're planning to run away, you'll need a bag,(opening his closet door) I wouldn't bother packing pajamas, you'll probably just have to start sleeping in your clothes. I guess my best advice would be to pack light, and have a couple of clean pairs of underwear..." To which I walked into another room to find a backpack. I came back and he was steadily pulling out shirts from his drawer...bad cop messes up.
I came back into their room and asked him to sit down. I asked him if he knew how hard it would be? I asked him if he'd thought this out? I asked him for seven reasons to run away. If he could give me seven, concrete reasons, who was I to stand in his way of happiness? While he was thinking, I told him that I needed to remind him of something. He had no place to go. He had no money. He had very little street smarts. He had no job....and if he left, it would leave a horrible hole in our family.
I told him, that in actuality, if he thought it was his turn to run away...to get in line, it's not. BUT, I haven't ran away, I haven't given up on us, and damn it, if any one earned that right it was me...but I haven't, I'm sticking it out...the least he could do was stick it out too. So, still blankly staring at me, I asked him if he could tell me what he wanted, maybe I could try to help/fix it? This kid is stone cold. He doesn't let his emotions show. With this one question, his eyes started welling up with tears...finally, he said..."...I just want a DAD..."
I told him, I didn't blame him. I told him I would be pretty sick of me, and that's all I pretty much wanted for him too...not a replacement, but someone to fill in the gap in his heart that is missing. I had to lower the boom, that it took me six years to get married the first time. The look of exasperation on his face was priceless. I told him that the one thing that this house sorely NEEDED was patience. Our scale isn't just low on it, but we have sunk backward into negative double digits. But, the beauty of this whole thing is, our hearts are telling us that we are ready for a-dare-to-be-great-situation...what the future holds might be frightening, mainly because it's unknown, but it also can be exciting to comprehend the possibilities of what wonderful things might happen.
The conversation was ended by me asking for the final time of the evening, if he was okay and if he'd sleep on the decision to run away, at least until he had a game plan...to which he said yes. I told him, all I really want for my four gifted monsters, was a normal life again, but it was just going to take some time. The last thing he said to me was a 'would you rather'...which I thought was interesting...Would you rather have a mean husband and a million dollars, or a nice husband and a thousand dollars? To which I told him that was a no brainer, a nice husband is worth a billion dollars...
Sunday, August 18, 2013
...so, I'm never offered a time-out...
Everyone packs a little heat...Everyone has a secret trigger. Something that sets them off, whether spoken or in action. I'm not sure if it's my lack of patience, my lack of tolerance, or just my lack of wanting to waste time on nonsense...yeah, my triggers are nearly tattooed on my skin. Thankfully, I'm the only one who can see them, I hope. My triggers have changed over time. In the last year, I feel like some are still at the surface, some need to be discarded, and some things you just never say out loud to another human being, unless you want to be checked.
Perception is a very funny thing. It's easily taken for granted, and usually wrong, unless you really take the time to understand someone. I'm not that complicated, please don't think I'm trying to come off like some complex being. I sometimes just wish that in life, there weren't so many categories, compartments, or the need for definition. Be happy. Be strong. Be silly. Be crazy, hell be a little inebriated, but what ever you want to be, be happy with it...regardless of who isn't.
When it comes to matters of my kids, my triggers are twitchy...playing 'good cop AND bad cop' with my kids, pretty much sucks. There's no uttering, "...just wait until your dad comes home!!" More along the lines of, "...well, it's 8:15 and I mentally need a cocktail..." Being rolled over or standing my ground is a slippery slope. What seems to be 'worth it' one instant, can become blurred lines the next. Knowing what my triggers are, but not realizing until later, "hey, I seriously needed a time out there...". Listen, if you think these kids might be driving you bat shit crazy, it's important to have that all displayed, on the INSIDE. No one will ever know, at least not until I start wearing my underwear on the outside of my clothes.
The funny thing is, if we could all be so honest, as to say what those triggers are, aloud, to people we know and care about...it would seriously save on a lot of wasted emotions, arm flailing, and abrupt yelling. Today, Nora was given a time out, as she had melted down for about the 163 time about nothing before 9 am (relentless whining, that at some point I'm just going to start mocking, as it might be the only way she ever understands how ridiculous she sounds). With the time-out, her trigger was tripped. She sat, angry faced, in her chair outside. She said, "I'm not needing a time-out, I don't plan to share my stuff, because I don't like to...".
...so, it seems, at times, at 9 am, much to early to fix a cocktail, to late in the morning to take a nap, and slightly content, that my underwear are indeed UNDER my clothes...honesty might be overrated...
Perception is a very funny thing. It's easily taken for granted, and usually wrong, unless you really take the time to understand someone. I'm not that complicated, please don't think I'm trying to come off like some complex being. I sometimes just wish that in life, there weren't so many categories, compartments, or the need for definition. Be happy. Be strong. Be silly. Be crazy, hell be a little inebriated, but what ever you want to be, be happy with it...regardless of who isn't.
When it comes to matters of my kids, my triggers are twitchy...playing 'good cop AND bad cop' with my kids, pretty much sucks. There's no uttering, "...just wait until your dad comes home!!" More along the lines of, "...well, it's 8:15 and I mentally need a cocktail..." Being rolled over or standing my ground is a slippery slope. What seems to be 'worth it' one instant, can become blurred lines the next. Knowing what my triggers are, but not realizing until later, "hey, I seriously needed a time out there...". Listen, if you think these kids might be driving you bat shit crazy, it's important to have that all displayed, on the INSIDE. No one will ever know, at least not until I start wearing my underwear on the outside of my clothes.
The funny thing is, if we could all be so honest, as to say what those triggers are, aloud, to people we know and care about...it would seriously save on a lot of wasted emotions, arm flailing, and abrupt yelling. Today, Nora was given a time out, as she had melted down for about the 163 time about nothing before 9 am (relentless whining, that at some point I'm just going to start mocking, as it might be the only way she ever understands how ridiculous she sounds). With the time-out, her trigger was tripped. She sat, angry faced, in her chair outside. She said, "I'm not needing a time-out, I don't plan to share my stuff, because I don't like to...".
...so, it seems, at times, at 9 am, much to early to fix a cocktail, to late in the morning to take a nap, and slightly content, that my underwear are indeed UNDER my clothes...honesty might be overrated...
Wednesday, August 14, 2013
...I have no regrets...
...and it's a new world...For the first time in two months I have two functioning hands. While I am grateful that I can wash BOTH hands, I look, however, like I'm in a pro-bowling league. I have a four year old daughter. I have a second grader and a fourth grader. We have a hard-fast plan to what our weekly on goings will be, every thing from 'big breakfast Saturday' to Lego Night. We are settling in, seemingly without incident...however, you know that it is never that easy...
We had our first birthday party here last Sunday. At some point in my tour-of-motherhood-duty, I thought it a good idea to tell the kids that they could have a birthday party on their even birthdays...sounds like a nice way of not having an EXTRAVAGANZA x 4 every year, right? Well, I didn't do the full math, and this year? Yep, they are ALL turning an even number...all I know about party planning is to make sure I have some form of cocktail for any adults in attendance...I have a lot to learn. Nora was the first to christen our house with a Mermaid Birthday Party, complete with decorations, mermaid costume, and cake...she grinned from the time she donned her costume until she went to bed the next night. I asked her if she had a nice birthday, to which she said, "the best!!". I asked her, how it felt to be four years old? I asked her if she thought she was ready for this new year of her life? To which her response was, "...I have no regrets...". I was quick to ask her what she had just said, as I didn't even know if she knew what it meant. The next thing she said to me was, "....ssh, we're having a moment..."
Turns out, the Talls, had an adjustment getting back into the swing of school, ever so slightly. The boom as been lowered that indeed, showering is necessary...daily. They love their teachers, but one of them were quick to point out after we met the teacher, "...how do I know she's not just being nice because you're there?" The thought process of an evil genius? Maybe. Oscar's biggest problem, has been that he can't get to sleep...he's a night owl, and a bear in the morning. He actually asked if he could set an alarm, as he was sure that he was going to have issues waking up. I literally hysterically laughed at that comment. I said, "...Sure, you know you already have an alarm clock? It's your kid brother in the room next door to you...If 5:45 isn't early enough for you, than you are out of luck..." to which I think I mumbled something to myself about not having a need for an alarm clock for the last NINE years...someday, I suppose.
The kid brother, who worships the sunrise? Well, I can only see about two weeks out with that one, anything else, I fear would terrify me or drive me to the liquor cabinet too early in the day. He is starting to talk, and I realized today, after whispering/saying 'damn it' after every jag-a-bin thing that he does...that's probably the next word out of his mouth, and he won't be whispering it, that's just not his style. Running,then stopping when he's up to no good to look at you and grin...insert warm fuzzy thoughts of the liquor cabinet. He is going to be my biggest challenge, and I'm already mentally picturing what he looks like in an orange jumpsuit with the letters DOC on the lapel...
This madness, this craziness, this lunacy, this delirium...this is my life, this is my work, these are my blessings. I get to sit back in my pretty little corner, chew on my non-existent hair, and know tomorrow will just about the same, if not better...
We had our first birthday party here last Sunday. At some point in my tour-of-motherhood-duty, I thought it a good idea to tell the kids that they could have a birthday party on their even birthdays...sounds like a nice way of not having an EXTRAVAGANZA x 4 every year, right? Well, I didn't do the full math, and this year? Yep, they are ALL turning an even number...all I know about party planning is to make sure I have some form of cocktail for any adults in attendance...I have a lot to learn. Nora was the first to christen our house with a Mermaid Birthday Party, complete with decorations, mermaid costume, and cake...she grinned from the time she donned her costume until she went to bed the next night. I asked her if she had a nice birthday, to which she said, "the best!!". I asked her, how it felt to be four years old? I asked her if she thought she was ready for this new year of her life? To which her response was, "...I have no regrets...". I was quick to ask her what she had just said, as I didn't even know if she knew what it meant. The next thing she said to me was, "....ssh, we're having a moment..."
Turns out, the Talls, had an adjustment getting back into the swing of school, ever so slightly. The boom as been lowered that indeed, showering is necessary...daily. They love their teachers, but one of them were quick to point out after we met the teacher, "...how do I know she's not just being nice because you're there?" The thought process of an evil genius? Maybe. Oscar's biggest problem, has been that he can't get to sleep...he's a night owl, and a bear in the morning. He actually asked if he could set an alarm, as he was sure that he was going to have issues waking up. I literally hysterically laughed at that comment. I said, "...Sure, you know you already have an alarm clock? It's your kid brother in the room next door to you...If 5:45 isn't early enough for you, than you are out of luck..." to which I think I mumbled something to myself about not having a need for an alarm clock for the last NINE years...someday, I suppose.
The kid brother, who worships the sunrise? Well, I can only see about two weeks out with that one, anything else, I fear would terrify me or drive me to the liquor cabinet too early in the day. He is starting to talk, and I realized today, after whispering/saying 'damn it' after every jag-a-bin thing that he does...that's probably the next word out of his mouth, and he won't be whispering it, that's just not his style. Running,then stopping when he's up to no good to look at you and grin...insert warm fuzzy thoughts of the liquor cabinet. He is going to be my biggest challenge, and I'm already mentally picturing what he looks like in an orange jumpsuit with the letters DOC on the lapel...
This madness, this craziness, this lunacy, this delirium...this is my life, this is my work, these are my blessings. I get to sit back in my pretty little corner, chew on my non-existent hair, and know tomorrow will just about the same, if not better...
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