...hope you can tread water

When my kids were young, as I was waking at dawn to tap a vein for coffee, starting thereafter to attend to all of their needs, my body was busy, but my mind set adrift to the future. Wiping behinds, pouring milk, cleaning up toys and making snacks, I wondered what life would be like when they all were older and wearing their yoke of independence. I guess I had hoped that I would be different from all of the other moms in the world...my kids would grow into those idyllic kind you see on TV, and appreciate me for all that I do for them. Life is not an after school special and when the pre-teen-angst-axis shifts, (I literally just got chills) you contemplate how much time you wasted wondering, when you could have learned Farsi. You suddenly realize, you've hit the "hormonal highway to hell"...again.

At first I thought it was just exhaustion, maybe they were overtired or even coming down with a bug of some sort. Then the eye rolling began, followed by the lack of following directions, lastly the dramatic stare that stood for something or other...I fell for that trick the first time on my hormonal highway to hell. It was when I said, "Stop acting like a dip-shit," while it was under my breath, I heard it and I knew...we're there, again. It's all starting over again. While the view is different, it smells the same. I've done this once, I can do it again? That really shouldn't be a question as I have to do it three more times, but my inner monologue is a little judgy at times. Sometimes when I think of the hormonal road ahead, I wish I could develop a more atune case of Stockholm syndrome, at least until they're 18. While I will always love my kids, I don't always have to love my captors.

So, flushed with fear and loathing, not really sure if I'm referring to myself or my offspring, I head out armed and hopefully ready for the road ahead. Hey, what about a vacation? It's been years since we've had a vacation, even longer the kind where I don't have to do anything but just show up. Wouldn't it be great to take the kids on our honeymoon? That should have been a trick question, but we're making it one big family festivity. The packing began, much to the amusement of my husband, about 3 weeks ago. Living in the frozen tundra of the Midwest, when would these kids be needing shorts? Then came all of the questions...why do we have to pack that? Why would we need that? Why would we care what you pack, just do it for us. All the while, as I'm trying to maintain my composure, reminding myself that I will be sunning myself and doing absolutely nothing in the near future, I start having flashbacks. It's like PTSD, but a special kind only mothers have with whiny voices and arguments...THERE'S NO WHINING IN PARADISE?!?! I have been known to mention to my kids that they could go off and live with the Amish, but saying that in Mexico, no Bueno. Who am I kidding? I'll be grateful to just get through the airport.

I'm hoping the fresh warm air of some far off destination will change everyone's mindset, mannerisms and mood swings. I'm hoping some vitamin D, lack of electronics, beautiful scenery and possibly a very large cocktail with an umbrella in it, will at least once again align us where the winter season had us in mental fisticuffs at times. I'm excited and planning on taking a much needed detour from the hormonal highway to hell, anyone who isn't interested can swim home.

Freedom Choreography

Strange. My overly verbal mind can only come up with ONE WORD...really? It is strange to be alone, for real, for the first time in 5 years. I've dreamed of this day. I've pensively cherished this day. I've mentally choreographed dance moves to this day, and all I can come up with is one word, strange. This day, this time has always seemed sort of elusive to me, like anticipating a solar eclipse-CRAP wait, that's happening next!

Anyway, this morning has been something along the lines of surreal- The laundry is caught up, the dishes are in the dishwasher, he's worked HARD all summer long! I say "he" like a boat is supposed to be called "she" because that dishwasher has worked as hard as a spouse on Mother's Day for the last 3+ months. HE is grateful that the kids are back in school, and occupying "his" time probably chatting up the refrigerator, as "she" has been opened no less than 164 times a day over the summer. Don't even try to talk to the washer and dryer, the happy couple has already left for their well-deserved spa day, as most of my kids changed their wardrobe like they were on tour with Beyoncé over the summer, 50 cities-83 shows-NO JOKE...I never knew they had this many clothes and changed their underwear so little.

Flushed with independence this morning, I'm still stunted. I filled out the MOUND of back-to-school paperwork, signed my name enough times that it is nearly illegible and still know I have one more kid's paperwork to muddle through. I found myself wondering, what now? Do I write? drink? take a nap? For the first time in what seems like forever, the world is my oyster and I don't know whether to scratch my watch or wind my butt. Ululating like a wild dog seems a little extreme, but I imagine today would be the only day where I could completely get away with it. But I am charting peculiar waters, and I have found myself shaking my head in utter disbelief, as the silence is so thrilling and newfangled all at the same time. My mental to-do list resembles something like a scroll, there are projects, closets to clean, things that you can only throw out when your kids aren't there to lament and secret unoccupied mom WOMAN time that will be dooly accomplished. But today...I'm starting slow. I go at everything with a game plan, a mental goal more than anything. I know how this afternoon will be with the kids get out early. I've made promises for popcorn, and hopefully if it isn't raining a play-date with the neighbors.

While I come correct- but I didn't expect to see that look in my youngest eyes this morning. The others took off and went into school or lined up with their friends. I sort of stopped him from doing this because I "thought" he would want me to walk him in...Turns out? Yeah, I think that was mainly for me. Thus, I walked him in, dropped off his lunch box, gave him a quick hug (no pictures-that's how secretly wrought I was at the time) and he walked off to the gymnasium.  I looked back one last time, horrible move on my part, took one last look at his face as he walked behind me, and I had hoped it wasn't as if I was looking into a mirror.

Slightly frightened, slightly exhilarated, slightly constipated, he turned left and I turned right and walked out the door. It was a moment that I probably will never forget, that moment when you know "that phase" is over. He's moved onward, he's ready, he's eager and he needs to learn from someone else, grateful that it is someone (not a sibling) who isn't bent on teaching him fart jokes like he has learned all summer, but I digress. Even three hours later, it still sort of takes my breath away. We've crossed a threshold, a milestone and a turning point onto the next phase of Atticus J Hunt's life. . .and really mine as well. Here is to all the parents doing this either for the first time or/and the last time, let me know if you need any "freedom choreography," it's fairly simple step work and no doubt will be perfected in years to come. Happy first day of school and first day to the rest of your life!

...forever and always...

The time is near...Can you feel it? It is that time of year where you feel the rush of new beginnings, independence, fresh concepts and crisp new school supplies. This year there is a more acute feeling of wonder with the last of my children starting the journey of school. Upon the notion of being alone in my house for an entire eight hours, anoesis descends with illusions of grandeur, i.e. cleaning, loafing, lunches with adults and basically anything I damn well want to do between the hours of 8 a.m. to 3 p.m. As my youngest ergate heads out with a great confidence, I have two phrases that keep echoing in my mind. These phrases are not only the reason why I write this, but moreover, my profound wish that my kids will always understand them.

"No one is born into this world with a timeline, they are born into this world with a purpose." This is a tough concept to really understand, but so many people, my children included, are forced to understand at some point. Life happens, some things are grand and others knock you out at the knees. Questioning why either happens is futile, and distracts one from dealing and moving on. Perhaps derived out of sorrow, it is also an epic silver lining. Live life not based on how many years you have to understand/do/play/love/hate/fail/master something. Live life as a paladin of purpose, understanding that no matter how long it takes or time you are given, you are here for an unmistakable reason. I hope my kids understand that they are the purpose for my being here, and I am grateful for every freckle on their face, every hair on their head, and every Lego that I unintentionally step on/pick up/mutter obscenities at. My greatest honor will be watching them find their purpose.

As my tiniest worker ant heads off to school in two weeks, I'm left sort of gobsmacked. Where has the time gone? He was just a drooling, nearly crawling, squawking six months old when we moved to Canton. He was who I spoke to every morning when I desperately needed it at 4 a.m. feedings in a semi light room. As the youngest, I think I have noticed his development more than the others because he has been my longest unpaid sidekick. This summer he has gone from a baby to a boy, holding his own with his brothers and displaying some want-to-be-bad-ass mannerisms that hopefully will not get him kicked out of school. My solace, at the end of the day, we say our prayers and he makes sure to tell me he loves me and to have good dreams. He's no longer a baby, but he unknowingly was and is my itty-bitty reminder of strength when you need it the most.

Nora is on the cusp of turning eight years old, mentally she's about 47. She is eager to start school, armed with a new bike bearing "pegs" so she can be a Canton's adaptation of a kiddie-uber. She keeps discussing how great it will be to give kids rides to school- I'm seeing many trips to the doctor's office in our future. Abe is excited, like literally was audibly heard saying a week ago, "I can't wait for school to start!" At first I thought he was being sarcastic, but then he went on to explain is declaration, he's ready for sixth grade so it seems, but are they ready for him? Oscar should be the most excited to go back to school as he has had the most changes over the summer- he's taller, his voice is deeper, he no longer has braces and I wouldn't be at all surprised if he starts growing a beard in the next two weeks. So much has changed, but thankfully he still has his sense of humor, which at times borderline on just fart jokes, but that's to be expected.

"Forever and always." A phrase used to express any number of things- life, love and happiness. This expression has taken on new meaning lately. The ability to feel and show others this catchphrase is something to be proud of. There was a time when forever was just the hours of 6 a.m. to 8 p.m., and always was something with a negative connotation...Now this collection of words means more than all of the best words chosen in the English language- I use a thesaurus a lot. Forever and always is how one can love and live. It is a term that while shouldn't be said lightly, gives security and serenity without fear of jettison into the harsh, scary waters of the world.

I'm grateful for these words as they mean more to me now than they ever have before, and I will never apologize for their overuse, but champion the power they hold. Much like the beginning of a new school year, we all open a chapter into a new life, new lessons, new experiences and of course new adventures. While I am eager to be able to pee alone for any 7+ hours of the day I choose, I am eager to see where this new school year takes us, what purpose we hopefully find for ourselves and understanding that "forever and always" is the greatest gift you can not only give but also receive.

...friends, sunshine and fences...

Fences. Some people have emotional, some have psychological and others have independence fences that they yearn to break free from. While these fences are built for protection and security, sometimes they are built for avoidance as it is easier to corral a matter than actually dealing with it head on. Recently, my very eloquent best friend put this whole notion into perfect perspective, begging me to really ponder the idea of merely, testing the fence.

Meanwhile, at the corner of body odor and strange hair growth, I am on the cusp of having a teenager in my midst. It is a young man's yearning for independence while not completely wanting to do everything that is associated with it. The sage advice given to me from multiple people have been filed in my brain, like cheat codes for life. I watch as this once tiny person grow taller than me, voice drops, tastes change and mind grows even further into adulthood. I will never claim to have all the answers or even pretend to know what I am doing at any given moment, but I feel like I'm driving blind into a storm. It is slightly terrifying. My hopeful mantra is that every time I am about to lose my shit, every time I'm wondering what I will ever do correctly by him, every time I'm contemplating the no doubt Karma that I must endure...I need to remind myself that his testing fences, while infuriating, is the healthy and normal.

My fences used to be multiple. Much like the kind you see in pictures of gulags, all barbed wire and menacing. I used them for all of afore mention reasons, but probably most definitely to try to restore some sense of sanity, where there was little found. They were protection, security and avoidance of dealing with life. But as time moved on, the fences came down, and with each one a subtle sense of accomplishment, like a secret badge that only I could see. With every fence I learned something not only about myself but the world around me, and marveling at the view I had closed myself off from. Not seeing what could happen, and worrying about what might happen, is unhealthy and unproductive. With the fences down, I now know more than ever that what I feared on the other side was actually nothing to be scared of. It has given me the chance to know what life could be like and I'm grateful every day.

Fencing or free range? Not on your life, with four kids, free time is where you find it. Sometimes you have to rise before the sun to steal a scant 45 minutes, other times it is the five minutes you allow yourself in the bathroom when your kids thankfully do not know where you are. Even walking through Aldi, I try to time it so that I can have my kids eat lunch in the car while I blissfully, and albeit rapidly, make my way through the isles ALONE. The importance of "kid free time" is something akin to a get out of jail free card while playing monopoly. You know it is in your back pocket, and while you sometimes have to move heaven and earth to make it happen, YOU DESERVE IT. Sadly, I never really understood the importance of this notion until I became a single mom. All of those times that I could have gotten away, and I never used the opportunity, it was a psychological fence I should have crossed, but never made it happen. Oh hindsight, why are you so perfect?

The exhilaration of travel is like jumping a fence while not knowing what is on the other side. It is something that some people have never been lucky enough to experience, while others do it so often it becomes common place. I have been lucky to be able to experience this from a young age. There are some things while on a plane I always notice. The thrust of the engines. The jerk back you feel in your seat when the plane puts up its nose and climbs into the air. The clouds as you rise through them, the beauty of which is never lost on me- the textures/colors/light. It is a sight that probably most take for granted. To me it is a moment when this control freak relinquishes this annoying power and looks out the plane window in awe of the world. But as time has moved on, my experiences dwindled as life did not really allow it. The night before I left I was taking advice from my 18 year old niece as she is a world traveler (a girl after my own heart). The adventure is sometimes in getting where you are going, but you don't want to get there without your underwear or hair gel, you know?

But, every three or so years my mental gulag opens, and my best friend woos my sense of adventure into overdrive. Much like thinking, "Everest? Yeah, piece of CAKE!?" we plan a getaway. This year there were no broken bones the night before thankfully, and my family once again stepped in so that I could make the whole thing possible. Like a NASA space launch, all calculations came together and all of my precious offspring were somewhere so that I could go on a "kid free" vacation with my oldest friend. While connecting all of the dots were painstaking, everything fell into place. My gratefulness to my family cannot be properly put into words, but please know it is very real.

Less like a fence, and more like a small natural stone wall built upon experiences and memories are what I got the chance to have while on vacation with my best friend. The opportunity to experience serious talks, sunshine and meeting strangers. The chance of making memories, laughing, finding new places that you love and talking about loves we are blessed to have in our lives. These kind of times are necessary, needed, priceless and heady. Every three years I've been given the gift to remember where I've been, where I am and where I want to go. This best friend and I have seen each other through some of our worst times, we tell it like it is and champion each other often. Many times on our vacation as we were chatting with strangers, it's our hidden gift, they would ask how we knew each other. We'd tell the story of how we've never lived in the same state let alone the same town. The same thing was mentioned multiple times to us, the concept of friend-soul-mates, our reason for meeting so many years ago was in no way chance.

I actually missed my precious offspring while jumping a fence for excursion, but I needed the therapy of being just myself and not a mom for a few days. I needed the recharge, not only being out of my every day but also being with a person who knows me better than most and picking up where we always leave off. Fences down, fences tested and never a fence on adventure and friendship! Thank you to my family, April and Key West!

...enjoying the journey

Who are you? What do you want to be? Where do you want to go? What do you want to do? These questions sort of rattle me every once in a while. I try not to ask my kids these questions because frankly, they are too difficult to answer, unless you are going to the bathroom or baking a cake at the time of question. My beautiful friend gave me a bracelet that simply says, enjoy the journey. I wear it when I need to remind myself to keep my chin up. And wearing it I am reminded that without such friends the "journey" wouldn't be half as satisfying.

I find it oddly exhilarating to think that a year from now, I will have no children in my house on a Monday for 7 hours. I feel giddy just thinking about it. I love my kids, but the notion that I would be alone is an oddity. At times I find myself not remembering what life was like before I had kids. Did I ever pee alone? Did I ever do one load of laundry a week? Did I ever think I would buy this much ranch dressing? I'm constantly reminded of what a friend of mine told me a few years ago. Bogged down with being a single mother, not showered, little adult interaction, tired and scared, he said to me, "Don't forget who you started out being, the girl I met all those years ago...you weren't always what you are today, sometimes you need to be reminded of that...". It has stuck with me years later. It is a gut and a reality check when sometimes reality is stranger than fiction.

I have been treading water for the last four years. I feel like I've mastered the tread. I can see the waves coming and I try to prepare myself. What I cannot seem to figure out is the breathing part. I seem to lose my breath at the worst possible times, and inevitably I end up screwing up something that really wasn't that difficult in the first place. Where is the balance in life? How does one find that? I get a dozen odd magazines, not one has chronicled the notion of balance and single motherhood. The perfect gluten free pizza crust? Yes. The best exercise for core strength? Yes. Feng shui with bathroom waste baskets? Yes. Any and all of these do me little good. I have been told the answers are within. I have no subscriptions to patience magazine.

Being a mother of four, the vulpine instincts perpetually kicked in, you would think that I had mastered some form of patience. It's more like a sliding scale really, usually calibrated by the season, hormones and the phase of the moon. But then, there's that one afternoon, with nothing to do. I declare it a $5 or free day. You would think that concept would not need explaining, but Oscar couldn't quite get his head around it. Before we backed out of the driveway, again, he was questioning. I looked at him and said, "We are going to drive somewhere and have fun for $5 or less." He said, okay. And for one afternoon, we laughed, told stories, ate frozen yogurt and just got out of the house. It was one of those moments that you catch yourself not hearing an argument or bickering without electronics, it was splendid.

I might have mastered the tread, and my patience is sometimes fleeting, but getting handed a moment of clarity, reminded me of who I am. I am proud to be a overly verbal mother of four, grateful for the experiences I have been able to have and the people that I am blessed to meet. Not knowing what tomorrow will bring, despite throwing my control freak tendencies into hyper drive, is for the best. I have begun to understand that all of the things that I think you need to figure out or worry about, are getting in the way. Be it $5 or free, take the time to enjoy the journey.

...its epic, isn’t it?

That blissful moment when you catch yourself and realize…it isn’t the nudge of spring (don’t get me started on Mother Nature, clearly she was out too late last night). It’s not that world peace is near…not that all of the kids are asleep…not that you have mastered liquid eyeliner at the age of 41. The one quiet moment when you realize…you have all of the laundry caught up. It is a glorious feeling, so glorious so when I caught myself realizing it, I had to sit down and share…because it won’t probably last for more than an hour or so.

My life is filled with laundry…mine, theirs and at times the random Lego or action figure. I used laundry as an ever-present escape for a while, going to the basement to lug/fold/pretreat, time alone to my thoughts and the monotonous action of keeping my offspring clean looking and not smelling. As children grow, so do their clothes and this one time escape became almost an upper body workout of lugging, folding and pretreating. When my oldest children like to have about 4 wardrobe changes a day…not because they have that delicious B. O. that for some reason I can only smell, I went on strike. But I’ll get to that.

Then Mother Nature. As I afore mentioned, clearly she was tying one on last night, as we went from 60 degrees to a real-feel-temp of 22. Really? Just yesterday my children were cheering my name, honestly cheering, as they woke up in the morning because I declared it was a “short day”…obviously our kicks come easy around here. This morning? I was suddenly, enemy number one. Okay, well whatever you are all learning in your science classes at school? Yeah, the jig is up…that’s right, I CONTROL THE WEATHER…just one more perk of my “smother” title. But back to the bliss…

I miss the days of school uniforms. Polo shirt, khaki pants, white socks and done. The most I had to do was put them out and they would do the rest. But when you have a child, who thankfully buys most of his own clothes, but steadily mentions, “…um, that sweatshirt belongs on the gentle cycle, 20 minutes in the dryer with a dry towel and then hung to dry…”. UM….WHAT? I am sorry, I am not your maid or your entertainment director on this cruise ship of life. When it comes to laundry, I don’t sort, I don’t bleach and everything in the dryer if you are not of voting age. That is when the strike began.

Now, my OCD when it comes to life is sometimes like a mole on a person’s face. You see it, you know it is there, but eventually you don’t even notice it because of their sparkling personality or dazzling wit. So laundry was, my monkeys- my circus. But then, in hind sight quite symbolically, on Martin Luther King Day, it hit me…I want to declare, I need to declare, “Free at last, free at last, thank God almighty, I’m free at last…” And the craziest thing happened…it worked. Now we tweaked some things, I’ll be damned if I let a kid wash four things and call that a full load! I collect or ask for collection. I don’t sort. I wash everything together. And the only special attention goes to the ladies in the house and their unmentionables…because that crap isn’t cheap.

It took about a month but a strange realization set in. Suddenly, a few people in my house began to realize that the laundry is like a 24 hour factory, without the OSHA check-ins and the union meetings. Why were they folding laundry so often? How was it possible? They just folded laundry yesterday. As they were asking this, most appropriately it was cocktail time and as I answered them, looking over my cocktail, I responded with, “Welcome to my LIFE…its epic, isn’t it?”

Now, just to be clear, I’m not running a sweat shop out of my home. I just know that at times I’m spread thin, and any little task, otherwise known as a chore on the mean streets of America, that can offset my most convincing “Mommy Dearest” impression is for the greater good. And it was good. It was bliss. Did I mention that it is an early-out today? Someone walked in the back door, and immediately put something in the washing machine…nice while it lasted.

...interspersed with sarcasm and mockery

Well, you might not know this…but we have been chosen. We are special, and not like “eats paste” special. Yeah, it is a pretty big deal. I can hardly believe it myself. I’ve woken up every morning for the last week and nearly pinched myself. My family, has been chosen, out of millions of other families and households in the United States…to be a Nielson Rating family. Was it the vast responsibility? Was it the very crisp $7 I was sent in the mail? What was it that made them choose us?

I have literally spoken with someone from Nielson more times in the last 3 weeks more than I have spoken to family members over a year. They are concise, informative and if I wasn’t willingly doing it, I would be terrified as they almost have risen to that of the Columbia House Music Club in their ability to track me down. So, yes, Brenda, Todd and Alex, I appreciate your calls and I will let you know if I somehow lose the ability to write down what I am watching for the next week.

We are driven by TV in this house. I’m not proud of it, but especially during the topsy-turvy mid-west winter season, it is all we have. However, I was blissfully unaware of the fact that we are “flippers.” We like to channel surf as much as watch shows. Cut to me yelling from the kitchen sink the first morning of the TV diary, “What are you watching NOW?? I have to write all of this down!!”

Seemingly, since this week of writing down every damn thing we watch, the TV has barely been on…Odd but good. The lofty responsibility of being informed humans weighs heavy as you don’t want the shows you do watch to really say that much about you. Do I watch HGTV this much?! How is it possible that I watched “Say Yes to the Dress” this much? We need a little PBS in this diary to make sure we don't look like we are watching Cops, Jerry Springer and the Kardashians...thankfully we do not watch any of those, but I digress. Being chosen? How did that happen and is there a lesson here to learn?

We admittedly watch a lot of cooking competitions. It's entertaining and educational if we ever decided to cook duck confit. We also admittedly mock the contestants and their willingness to throw out some sob story when they need to. Oscar actually said last night, "Is it a qualification to get on these shows if your mom/dad/grandma/grandpa/aunt/cat died? It is the same sob story, just different species!" His statement, which not far from the truth, really got me to thinking.

Why are we chosen? Not just for Nielson, but even the bigger picture. Why are we chosen to experience the lives we do? Is it nature or nurture? Is it predestined or do we always make the bed we have to lie in? As a parent, you hope and pray that your best is good enough, and that you have the ability to recognize when it is not. Oscar's statement said a lot more to me about how he views the path that was chosen for him. Clearly, he doesn't hold being the oldest male in this house as some sort of sob story. Clearly, he understands that life happens, and blaming it will get you no further through it. It was eye opening, this little comment, interspersed with sarcasm and mockery, as most things in this house.

So, thank God for HUMP DAY, as it means we have less than 48 more hours to be part of a Nielson Rating Family...please don't invite us to the reunion this year. Was it worth the $7? Not really sure that it was. We're never going to cook duck confit or stop channel surfing, but thankfully, I paid attention to a few nuggets of wisdom from my overly opinionated 12 year old, and that was totally worth being chosen.

 

 

 

 

 

Nature or Nurture...

A couple of years ago I heard a first time dad sort of half question how I do things in this house. He uttered a phrase that, to this day, sends a chill down my spine…”That’s fine, but is it nature or nurture?” Wait…WHAT? Who the hell are you to question the manner I run my house or that I was blessed with one child who willingly says to me, “I’m ready to go to bed.” I have never forgotten that statement and at times I want to find him (actually hunt him down) and ask him how his parenting is going. I would utter the fact that parenting, or ADULTING for that matter sucks at times. How I handle it, or anyone for that matter is relative and considering I haven’t yet picked my kid up from the county lock up, I say I’m winning! In the meantime, these are the things that I ponder on a daily basis. I’ll let you decide if they are nature or nurture…enjoy.

That look my cat gives me mid-day, when I walk into my room and find her laying on the bed. It’s a look that says, “That’s nice…would you please leave, I’m trying to sleep…”

The fact that my four year old MUST painstakingly remove all toe jam that he has before entering the shower, but cannot wipe the toilet seat when he pees all over it.

The attention to hair, second only to what Vidal Sassoon must have dealt with on a daily basis, but yet has to be reminded that deodorant is not an option.

The point that someone has to say, ever, do not crane kick your sister.

The moment your kids hear a song, and it is “their JAM!!!”

The great detail someone will put into a paper sweater for a stuffed animal, but loses all creative ability when faced with writing a thank you note.

The fact that you hear one child call another a control freak…you don’t know if you should be terrified or proud.

The fact that someone feels the need to dramatically fart.

That moment you catch yourself counting down to a night out, knowing that there will be nothing short of an apocalypse you will have to endure in the meantime.

The fact that you possibly wash and dry more Kleenex in the laundry than is actually used to blow a nose.

The ability to repeat any given thing you have said AT THE WRONG TIME but has no recollection of being told to brush their teeth.

The point where you no longer care what your Tupperware cupboard looks like, but become completely anal retentive to if there is toothpaste in the sink.

The fact that you know your 4 year old will leave more toothpaste in the sink than he ever got in his mouth.

The moment you realize the cat is STILL NAPPING…and become jealous.

The ability to justify going to a wholesale store at lunch time either for the $1.50 hotdog or the free samples to feed your kids.

The fact that my 4 year old could write his own chapter in the book The Art of the Deal.

The point where you are about to tell one kid to stop picking on their sister, and her youngest brother chimes in with, “You guys be quiet, she’s a BEAUTIFUL WOMAN!”

The point when one child appreciates another one’s talent, and actually says it to their face.

The moment when you realize that a magazine has an article on achieving the perfect “O” and you know the safest place for it is in the trashcan.

Having friends with no kids, not only because they are the breath of what your life once was, but further because they see all the things in your kids that you take for granted.

The fact that you know where your kids socks are but have no idea where your own have hidden.

The notion of a sticky residue on your floor, will always, ALWAYS be claimed by no one.

The point of the day when everyone is in bed, you survived another 18 hour day, you really just want to get in bed and watch TV and you lock the cat out of your room.

 

The take away from this is simple...Life is tough but so are you...and cats sometimes stink.

...all about facts...

So, it's Mother's Day. That one day a year when you unwrap things that have to be explained to you. That one day a year when suddenly the small people in your house remember that they indeed were not raised thus far by a pack of wolves. That one day a year when most undoubtedly as a mother, you aren't doing much of anything you'd actually "like" to do and merely saying thank you for all of the above. Except the raised by wolves part, that is pretty much every day of my life, but it's a cautionary tale of motherhood, the likes of which are not for the faint of heart and the moment you see the first reason you became a mother, you know your life will never be the same.

I was given my first Mother's Day gift this morning at 6:25 a.m. while buying doughnuts at the convenience store with Atticus. After picking out every sprinkle covered doughnut we could find, we went to pay, and it seems be paid with less than a compliment. The cashier said, “Is Grandma getting you all the sprinkled doughnuts today?" UMMMM, WHAT? I was quick to say, "...well, happy Mother's Day to me!" As we were walking away Atticus said, "Grandma? What?" My thoughts exactly, pal.

The fact that Mother's Day coincides with commencement weekend at the school where I work and all of the kids' end of the school year festivities, I almost want to say can we put a pin in this and forget about it entirely? Is it wrong that I am too tired to be happy that I am a mother? I love my children, but let's face it, this time of year you are looking for whoever slipped them Jolt Cola when you weren't looking. I fight the urge to yell, CALM DOWN about every 20 minutes to them. I realize that is an oxymoron. It got me thinking about how I could make this day easier.

The phrase that my best friend and I like to coin when necessary, "it's not better or worse, it's just different," comes to mind. This year I wanted to cut a few of my reasons for motherhood off at the pass. I wasn't asking for a grandiose display of motherhood, nothing overly planned or expensive. This year for Mother's Day, I was merely telling what I didn't want. The list isn't long, but poignant and simple...or so I thought.

 I don't want:

*breakfast in bed...coffee in bed...no food or drink in bed-I hope I made the point.

*nothing done that I would normally do myself-no cooking, rearranging, or home maintenance (lawn mowing and babysitting excluded).

 I do want:

*respect-for myself and others

*love-love shown to each other, kind words

*no arguing with me about anything and no arguing with anyone else (yeah, I know, dare to dream)

Will any of these things happen? Will any of these non-gift items be bestowed? Will I get to just sit on my porch in tranquility, peace and quiet? These are all great questions that frankly I'm too scared to answer. I had my tiniest titan fall asleep on my side early, and laughed my butt off with the rest of my kids while curled up on the couch this evening. I wore my kids out today/tonight in the smallest of hopes that perhaps, just perhaps they'd sleep past 6:15 a.m. tomorrow morning...I'm a simple girl.

 For me, it's simple. In fact it's so simple and clearly something I've said enough because I heard Atticus say it the other day, "every day is Mother's Day." It's nothing about fiction and all about facts...The fact that I get to watch these once-so-small-people grow into these totally individual beings is mind-blowing. The fact that I get to be the reason they are in this world telling a joke and totally nailing the punchline. The fact that I get to be the last person they speak to at night and the first person they speak to in the morning...at times WAY earlier than I'd like. The fact that with every mental choke hold they put me into, I know that I get to say with pride, that's my kid...and he's peeing into the street.

 

...safety word

Sometimes lately, I feel like throwing in the towel and I hate it. I'm not sure if I was mentally unprepared for the start of school...or unable to get into a routine again once school has started? Lately I feel like I am seemingly at the brink and out of ammo. Wishing sometimes I could just schedule a mental breakdown in advance, be it for me or my children, just to know it's arrival and departure...Tuesdays at 2:17? Sure that will work. But life doesn't give you the luxury of doing that, I guess I can dare to dream.

In two days Atticus starts preschool. I've been asked numerous times, "...what will you do with your free time?" I always find it funny that people say that. It's not like a week's vacation. It's not like I'm being sent to an island paradise, with cabana servers and a fruity cocktail...It's only four hours a week that I will be alone. But to be honest, it is just as foreign as a vacation...time alone. I don't normally get that during daylight hours. I could count on one hand the times that I have been alone in my own house. It is going to be odd, wonderful, strange, exciting, and bizarre all at the same time. I've waited 11 years for this...sounds unusual to say it like that but it's true. With every other child that has started school, I was pregnant with another one, and the notion of being alone was, well, and alien concept. Right now I'm just happy I have four hours a week that I won't have to worry where Atticus has escaped to...

That's right. I have a little wanderer on my hands. He asks to go outside, and I tell him he has to stay in our yard until I get out there with him. He looks up at me with those big blue eyes, smiling with his dimples deep enough to swim laps in, and he says, "...yes Mommy, I will stay in our yard." Cut to me 4 minutes later, I'm outside looking for him. I wondered if he wandered in to go to the bathroom when I wasn't looking. The next thing I know, he's walking out of the neighbors' back door. The same neighbors (sainted by the way) that he just walked right into their house and started playing with their son. HOLY CRAP! I'm THAT mom. The one who's kid wanders away and into people's homes! Thankfully, I can also look at it like my neighbors are so nurturing Atticus is comfortable to be in their home...either way, the kid is going to give me a drinking problem.

I despise giving up, giving in, or throwing in the towel. There's no shame in it, knowing your limits means knowing yourself...understanding your strengths and your weaknesses. But admitting these things to yourself? Seeing them pointed out to you by your children? Or having to remind said children that there is only one adult living in this house, therefore life is different than "so-in-so" here. We have limits financially. The mental clock-out time of this adult, and the only one in this house, is possibly earlier than they would like to go to their room at night-I cannot wait for the time change in the fall. I guess I should be happy that they don't see the differences that we have with most families they know, but having to admit defeat...makes me feel already defeated.

Then tonight, while the Talls and the Smalls were wearing off their dessert, they started playing this bizarre game of dog pile. Clearly, it wasn't their first time playing it. Oscar says he'll be on the bottom first, but as soon as he says "get off" everyone has to get off of him. Abe immediately chimes in and says "No, no! You need to say PORK CHOPS!" I was like what? A safety word? And that's what they did. They all piled by age order onto Oscar. Nora was squealing the loudest, as this was the closest thing to a hug she gets from her brothers, and Atticus strategically using the coffee table to jump off of to land on top of the pile. There would have been a time when I would not have been able to watch them do this. There would have been a time when I would have been too worried that they were being rowdy and rough. But, fascinated by their use of a "safety word"...it put a lot of things into perspective in an instant. When you're getting ready to loose your shit, throw in the towel, or just give up...maybe you just need to yell out PORK CHOPS?! Maybe...

nonchalant and nude

...that day when it's gone to the crapper before 7:50 in the morning...there's been snark, whining, arguing, smack talk, and it's seemingly endless. It's the day when even a silver lining is swearing at you in another language. It sucks to pretty much start a day, when you know you might not get it together fast enough to turn it around...

Finding it increasingly difficult to reinforce certain things in this house. Maybe it's because I'm not much taller than those who live here. Maybe it's because doing double duty is exhausting some days. Maybe my kids, knowing they have me on the ropes, secretly want to see my loose my shit. Maybe it's my never ending scourge of wanting/needing to know that I'm not screwing my kids up. I no more than think this, when I am greeted by a naked two year old, nonchalantly saying "...hey mommy, what are you doing?"

What ever the reason, my quest to try to raise clean, healthy, upstanding humans out of these kids leaves me at times feeling like a failure. Puberty is just around the corner, with every passing day, seems not to matter how old I am, I KNOW NOTHING. My street cred is gone. The sum of my parts and the sum of their parts do not add up. What would I know about cleansing? What would I know about body odor? What would I know about personal hygiene in general? For that matter what do I know about anything, (getting ready for a direct quote) "YOU GREW UP IN THE 80's!" That's when I no longer have a filter...and end up saying, when your butt stinks, it doesn't matter the decade!!!

It's been pointed out to me that I'm in a pressure cooker 24/7...and I admit it, I probably put myself there. It's still no less terrifying. And some days, I cannot put into words how overwhelmed I am. Some days it feels like the day is never ending. Some days the rut one finds themselves in is more like a canyon. I just wish for one hour, their dad could come back and reinforce anything I've tried to tell them over the last 2 years. For one hour that they would intently listen, reminding them that I am all they have, and I might actually be able to teach them something. However, a wish like that is futile and simple minded. I know it's up to me to keep trying, and hoping for the best.

This is just my routine rant. This is my cycle that I go through. This is sadly not the last time. I'll think to myself, I've had it and I'm exhausted. It's not the last time I'll have to squint to find the silver lining. It's the notion of the finish line. Like if I knew where this was all going to go, if I could see the finish line, maybe it would be easier? Sure, it would take the adventure out of life, but a tiny glimpse of what will be...well, it might make turning today around a little easier.

...the rookie mistake...

Snuggled under a blanket on the couch with Atticus. He turns to me  and says something, putting his head on my shoulder. I speak his language, but the kid is hard to decipher. To the untrained ear it sounds like, "...blah, blah, blah..." I turned to him and said, "...did you just say you're so pretty?" He looks at me and plain as day he says, "...No, I said I have a boogie. See?" Rookie mistake, right?

All day long the phrase has been in my head. So, to end the evening like I did wasn't happenstance. It got me thinking of the 'rookie mistakes'. They are at times hard lessons to learn, and at times they are possibly our greatest blessings in disguise. They can happen at any time, bouncing in to secretly shape and form who we are or who we will become. I think about the 'rookie mistake' I made sitting next to a guy at the first frat party I ever went to...it wasn't a mistake. It was my fortune yet to be unearthed. Four kids later, I'm grateful for that frat party, and the After Shock that was being consumed by some. That rookie move shaped who I was in an instant, and I am forever in his debt.

Being overly verbal, rookie mistake? Maybe, but I can carry on a conversation with all of my kids, even the one I only understand. They get a joke, and can deliver a punch line...If that's wrong, I don't want to be right. New found rookie mistake? Grounding two boys might actually be as much punishment for me as it is for them. I'm out numbered 24 hours a day, how would I have known? We are in the final stretch of said punishment, the light is glimmering at the end of the tunnel. While they have driven me NUTS, I feel like they have truly learned a lesson. So, we'll call it a draw.

Catering to my kids whims? Rookie mistake. I think I have hidden under the guise of 'choose your battles, or just avoid them completely'. I'm here to tell you, that's bull shit, and I now know it. I have created a diva of a monster, who has literally been quoted saying, "...I cannot eat peas (or anything green), they make me shiver..." Her mini-cohort also has an arsenal of tricks. The tiny terrorist won't eat, throws a fit, telling you he's leaving the table. But, if you completely ignore him, he bores himself into eating. Who's rookie mistake is that? (insert evil laugh here)

Then there comes the trinity of rookie mistakes that every parent makes. I'm no different, and they wouldn't matter at all if I wasn't doing this alone. So, these are named ÜBER ROOKIE MISTAKES. Mine are as follows: Not asking for help. Freaking out (on myself and my kids). Over planning, and being scared to meander off said plan. I've been told my house could possibly resemble a Nazi camp...not proud of that. Now, like I said, these aren't really that big of a deal...but, when you are the only drinking age adult in the house? They can add up QUICK. Here is where the "Mental Jenga" comes into play, and sometimes I just don't have it in me. Stock up on the Ginkgo Biloba and hope for the best?

Putting myself out there, after losing Jason, rookie mistake? Hardly. I have been reminded of some of my greatest friendships from 20 years. Most importantly how very lucky I am and  how very valuable they are. I have been so very blessed to have new friendships. Some people I've known, some I have met out of my new circumstances. Letting these people in who love me and all of my flaws, and at times can even toast them! I'm grateful to all of the above who have reminded me of not only who I can be, but what they see in me.

Lastly, the start of blog writing, rookie mistake? What started out as just a way to not seek therapy or get a 'club card' at a liquor store, has become a great release. I did however make a rookie mistake taking the first offer to get it published. It was a scary concept, thinking this may be my only chance. This was on my bucket list. And when it fell through, it was bitter sweet. However, it forced me to go back and read...and edit...and remember. Remember what I've learned. Realize how much we have all grown. And finally, know that even a rookie mistake can be the beginning of something adventurous...

...the vaguely awesome cover band...

There's something about leaving your familiar surroundings and changing it up a little. I never used to be this way. I would rarely go out, voting for mom wear, watching TV on a Saturday night. Home is where it's comfortable, right? I'm not sure if it's because I'm out numbered here. I'm not sure if it's because I don't have enough adult interaction during my day to day. I've said it before, and I'll continue to say it...sometimes you have to go away for a little while to appreciate where you are...

This could mean a multitude of things. Mentally checking out? Yeah, I'm guilty of that at a certain time of day. At times about 45 minutes before I actually should. Sometimes it's getting engrossed in a project that is special to you. Sometimes it's closing the door, turning off the light and being able to hear nothing more than the sound of your own breathing. Then there are those times, when you have to get out of your mom gear. Jason used to always ask, "...who are you getting all dolled up for?" I used to say it was for him. But really, it was for me. You slap on a little make-up. Wear your high heels. Get out of your house and look forward to not only being with friends, but also talking to complete strangers.

Mingle with the people!...those who are over 5 feet tall. I was told by a psychic one time, the only way she saw me being able to really unwind is if I weren't in the solitude of my own room, but in a room FULL of people. I found that odd when I first heard it, but she was sort of right. She probably knew that already too. It's nice to escape, if for only a scant couple of hours. No one knows you are some one's mom. No one knows you do 2+ loads of laundry a day. No one is wise to the fact you can change a diaper with your eyes closed. No one knows that while you are busting a FAT MOVE to a vaguely awesome cover band, you are mentally calculating how you will drive by a gas station on your way home to get doughnuts for tomorrow's breakfast.

There's always a moment. That moment when I'm getting ready to leave the house. I kiss my kids goodbye, and look at them...really look at them. In that moment, I hope they know I'm better for having them. While I'm tired of their bickering, tattling, rough housing that day, and I started earning a night out before the sun came up. As soon as I cross the thresh hold out our door, I enjoy the silence, but sort of miss them already. Hoping they understand, sometimes I have to go away every once and a while to really appreciate where I am...

out of townees

Dinah Washington sang it, "What a difference a day makes..." Very interesting what 24 hours can do to your psyche. Feeling defeated in every aspect of my life. Then, waking up, attacking the day, knowing that if I do the best I can, is all that's really asked of me in this world. Maybe it's just a band aid, but I'll take it.

For anyone who has thought about journaling or blogging, it's worth it. It's like a visit to a therapist, without the copay. Writing has and is been my best way of getting through this whole thing. The act of getting it from my brain, out my fingers and onto a keyboard. It's like a mental cleansing. It is something that has to be felt, at times to the point of madness. Only to wake up one morning and feel like a new day, a new attitude, and new lease on life. And today, I'm not questioning it.

As always, Sundays give millions of reasons to write. Whether it be the ordeal of getting kids ready for church. The madness that ensues when you ask 8 and 9 year old to 'dress nice' (as if I was asking them to cross-dress). The endless toys/snacks/sippy cups/entertainment necessary to keep LOUD kids quiet...they only work so well.

Today, as every other Sunday, no one owns an inside voice. For some reason, Nora sees church as her venue to try out all her new material. Today, she quoted Pee-Wees Big Adventure twice. While anyone might think that is random, it's completely Nora. As the priest raised his hands in church (as any catholic would know, it's often) Atticus took that as if he was being waved at, him only. He continued to wave back and say, "HEELLOO!"

Snacks given out. Church pews thoroughly examined by Atticus. We made it to the end. Our priest always asks every Sunday if there are any people visiting. I hear a snicker behind me, and turn to see Nora. There she is, huge smile on her face, waving her hand in the air to his question. I turned to her and said, "...what are you doing?" She informed me that she really just felt like raising her hand.

What's the point? The point is that 24 hours can change a lot. There is a silver lining somewhere, you just have to try not to trip over it. And finally, anything is possible, if given time, hope for a better day and maybe just pretending you're from out of town. 

...prison break

I love my children dearly. I love that I get to watch them grow into such different amazing people.I'm lucky because they are great kids. I don't begrudge my obligation to be their parent. To be a guiding influence in life, to have short nights, early mornings and loud rowdy days. That being said, it has been three weeks since I have been out of my house WITHOUT them. Tonight, as most anyone I know already knows since I have mentioned it ad nauseam, I'm getting out of the house!

I've already mentioned to my little rays of sunshine that while I love them, when the babysitter steps one foot into the house tonight, I will be stepping one foot out. I try to reassure them it isn't that don't want to be here with them. It's that I have to actually leave them every once and a while for me to appreciate them more. Not sure what I'm going to do (well, I totally do but that's for me to know), but some time away is, at this point in my brain, "critical-need" status.

That's the thing about my life...I miss spontaneity. I never appreciated it when I had it. I never actually took advantage of it ever before. I miss someone saying, "Get dressed, we're going out..." or even, "...no, you head out to the store alone, I've got this...". That's where my 'control-freak' button kicks in. It's cleverly hidden behind my left ear. Not because I enjoy having it, it's necessary for survival. For me to do anything alone, I have to not only plan ahead, make phone calls, try not to sound too needy, and line up everything else in this house so that I can leave seamlessly...and...I hate that. I hate asking for help (I know, this is constantly said, but really I need to wear a sign).  I hate that I can't just slip out and have some alone time. I hate that by the time I actually get out of the house, my brain has already checked out DAYS before. I hate that I might be giving my kids the subliminal message that at times I can't handle...life.

In a perfect world, I'd be independently wealthy. Care.com would actually find someone to help me babysit my kids one day a week. In a perfect world, I wouldn't feel like someone needing a PRISON BREAK...In a perfect world I could handle all of this, well, better. I feel pretty empowered by what I have mastered so far in this new life of ours. I have figured out how to get stuff done, not like I would have done them before, but oh well. My house is 'clean', my kids are fed, the laundry is still getting done. I keep thinking that with more time under my belt, I'll figure out the "getting out of the house" business...you know, before I'm mentally squealing the tires out of my driveway in my minivan screaming FREEDOM!!!