Detachment from reality, party of 5?...your table is now ready...

I watched as a little boy was walked from preschool to daycare...my heart ached and my eyes welled with tears...was I ready for this? Was I ready to let go? Was I ready to contemplate Atti taking that same walk? I'm programmed differently. My self-worth is not a job outside...my self-worth is indoors, in a laundry room or answering questions from a seated position on the toilet...while I was only going in for an interview, was I ready for what might come of it?

 Let me first just say, I am lucky. Since my first child was born Jason and I always agreed that someone should stay home with our kids. Was it always easy? No. Did it mean we went without some things? Yes. Was it at times maddening? Yes. But, it was something we always said was important to us. After Jason passed away, none of that changed. It's been difficult to budget things, but really nothing has changed, and for me, it was one less thing to worry about. It was one less thing in our lives full of immediate change that didn't really have to. It was possibly delaying the inevitable, but it was what I knew. I am grateful to get to stay at home with my kids. I get to do things with them any time of the day, and while at times it is exhausting I am so blessed to be able to do so. It is where I find my pride, solace, it is my business card...my kids.

 Cut to me, going in for my first job interview in 14 years...I'm older, yielding an antique skill set, and completely out of my wheel house knowing how to sell myself. While it is a job that would be exciting and fulfilling, basically a job I have been secretly wanting for years...my self-worth has never come from a paycheck or a title.  I felt like I was impersonating myself at times. I felt so conflicted that I prayed it didn't show on my face. On one hand I know that I will have to be joining the work force outside of my pretty brick house. But it's a slightly terrifying notion to think of all that will be changing when and if that does happen. As I left the morning of interviews I wondered, would I be able to pull any of this off? "Detachment from reality, party of 5?" your table is now ready...

My mind raced to the countless hours in the past as a stay at home mom that I half longed for adult interaction. It was quickly thwarted by the notion of Atti spending his out of school hours with someone else. Was it guilt or OCD that had me teetering? In the hours before the interview I felt like I was going to puke...nerves, fear, and anxiety set in. In messaging my best friend April I found the phrase that would push me through the rest of the morning, I literally chanted it in my head. It was simply this, "...I know this is scary, but you have made it through far worse..." She was completely correct. If this was meant to be it will be. If it isn't, I'm still going to never get to pee alone.

 I was asked during the interview about my worst trait. While I mentally cataloged the multitude that I have, my mind briefly brushed over the notion of change. And I realized in that moment, the horizon has changed. The view from my window while still the same, everyone is now tall enough to see out of it. I cannot confine or hide behind being just a stay at home mom any longer. I'm not betting on getting the job I interviewed for, I did make sure to thank my interviewers for the opportunity to be interviewed. While I might not be in the workforce saddle yet...it might be time to saddle up to some change...

...chicken or beef?

...it's the same song, the same dance. Shopping with children, 4 children to be exact is hectic. It's only a luxury I rarely take to shop alone. Shopping with kids? I take it on as a challenge, with a cocktail medal at the finish line when we are hopefully all back in our home safe and sound. The freak outs, tantrums, arguments, battle of wills...and that is all before we reach the check out lady.

It's a mental battle field...choosing words wisely, strategy and how to get out of the store before DCFS is tipped off. You know the game, and you are willingly playing it because, the kids have to eat, wear diapers, and you are needing to stock your liquor cabinet...the whole process must be done. The freak outs are inevitable. You plan for them as best you can accordingly, like an army ground crew needs a medic, and hope you can charge the front without casualties. However, the best freak outs are those that are some how etched into minds forever in infamy. Only spoken of again in "hushed reverent tones" as a warning of what was one fateful day...

I've learned a thing or two in 10 years. You would never hear me utter "...what would you like for dinner (or any other meal)". This only loosely translates into me being a short order cook or lousy with money. I offer them one thing when we are out. It's an easy out for myself and it is ALWAYS veiled with the idea of look how fun/lucky/yummy/adventurous/fortunate/etc. this could be. But, it seemed this day, it was my turn for the freak out.

I blame Wal-Mart. I think it is a vastly unused form of criminal punishment for anyone to take 4 kids to Wal-Mart on the first of the month or on a weekend. I dare you, DARE YOU, to make it out unscathed. After offering a lunch option I thought would be a viable, not to mention a good diversion from the nightmare that I already lived shopping...it was shot down...laughed at...and thinly implied that didn't I have thousands of dollars to take them out to eat? The only honorable thing I managed to do that day, was wait until I got into the car before I lost my S*#T...it was calm toned, slightly bitter, but dripping with sarcasm.

On the thirty minute drive home they kept asking "...what's for lunch?". I ignored them. They even tried to imply that my freak out was possibly my fault, they each wanted something different. I turned up the radio, to quiet the voices in my head. While driving, I realized it had been a while since I lost it. The fact that these kids were dictating to me what MY next move would be? NOPE, NOT TODAY...where was Wonder Woman's lasso of truth when you needed it?

About halfway home, I pulled into a Wendy's parking lot. Immediately, as if I was already taking their lunch orders, they started calling them out to me as if I were wearing a name tag and a headset. "I want the giant-super-sized-mega-burger-$12-meal-blah-blah-blah". I put the car in park. I turned off the radio and very calmly said, "...your only choice is chicken or beef...you are not paying, so you will not be ordering..." The just looked at me, slack jawed as if I were speaking in another language. This is where calm left. In a rattled, shaken, mom of four voice I managed to shrill yell, CHICKEN OR BEEF?!?!?! I ordered, we pulled back onto the highway, and it was the quietest, most contented drive I have ever had.

Today, in my own home for lunch they were each asked chicken or beef noodles-yeah, I'm a culinary wizard. One of my precious angels turned and said "...well, what else is there? I don't want that..." I repeated the same thing I had before, chicken or beef? Oscar looked up from what he was doing and said in a hushed tone "...for the love of all that is holy, just pick one! Don't you remember last time?" Then suddenly, as if forgetting I was still in the room, he looked up at me. I couldn't contain it, I started busting out laughing...then I heard Abe yell out CHICKEN! Glad to know this freak out left an impression, completely convinced it won't be the last...

What the what?

...sometimes, I catch myself...sometimes, I actually have to remind myself...I live in a hilarious, ironic world, where I'm not much taller than those who I am in charge of...I have to laugh at the notion that I'm the grown-up.What sort of twisted world is it, that I am the one in charge of these gaggle of blue-eyed 'charmers'? It's as if I was attempting to step off an elevator at the wrong floor. Everyone I'm with subtly saying, "...um, chick, this is the wrong floor...you couldn't possibly be in charge of those kids..."

I was discussing with Oscar an issue he had had at school. He began to try to 'set me straight' on the issue. I kept calm and while I didn't appreciate his tone, it didn't make me jump from a 2 to a 10 on the Mommy Dearest Scale...so I didn't think anything of it. All of the sudden, Abe comes into the room and gets right into Oscar's eyes and says rather sternly, "...that woman has a college degree...she puts a roof over your head and food on your table...you will can it, and listen to her because she is your mother...". Then Abe turned around, and walked out the room. What the what?...I got off at the wrong floor?

I am an unlikely parent. My views, while shaped by the experiences I have been lucky enough to have, are unlike that of most parents, or even my own. I believe that I am the most important example for these kids, if they end up train wrecks- I might have had something to do with it. But, their lives will be further shaped by the choices/decisions they make. I always cringe when I hear kids talking about going to college. I value a college degree, please do not misunderstand me. However, who knows what they want to do for the rest of their lives, with a $15,000 a year price tag until they figure it out, at 18? I don't feel like every kid should go directly to college, if they even should at all. I encourage my kids to go to a trade school first...electricians, plumbers, barbers...I can't do any of those things.

In the van the other day, Nora started one of her MANY talking points in the 13 mile excursion that we take once or twice a week. That day's talking points where: Hibernation, why bother? Why does red mean stop and green mean go? Did I know that she knew how to play the bass guitar? Why isn't my favorite animal and elephant like her since we are related? Lastly, she finished with a rousing discussion about how she really didn't know what she was going to be when she grew up...there were so many choices. I told her that she didn't have to really decide today, and that she should just enjoy being 4 years old. She then says to me, "...so, what are you going to be when you grow up?....or is this Mom thing probably it?"...speechless.

I'm not the most conventional woman. I never really 'sought out' a career. I never really felt the need to become a goal setting employee. I entered the adult world, not really knowing what I wanted to do other than be a mom. Instead of fitting my kids into my career life, they became my career. I feel like I did the important things first. Now, I do realize I live a charmed life. This stay-at-home-life won't be lasting too much longer. But, I'm grateful that I made the choices that I have, not only for myself but also for my kids sake. The 28 year old me, would have never imagined the world in which the nearly 38 year old me resides. Ironically, I wouldn't want to be 28 again. Thankfully, with age comes some knowledge of not only who you are, but what you are capable of. I have managed to keep four rowdy blue-eyed charmers alive as the 'adult in the house'. My aspirations become all that more important...I keep learning from them.

How often should you eat Chinese?

"...he's very entertaining, slightly aspiring to be the funny guy. He's a kind, caring little fellow...he does however understand sarcasm...quite well..." And so, goes the time of year when we have to face those sainted people who take our kids off of our hands eight hours a day. Those people who see our little 'angels' hopefully on their best behavior...the parent teacher conference.

For me, it's an interesting time. I'm nearly upon the last 'event' where I can say, "...I've never done this by myself before...". Tonight's conference and then Halloween, and it's like we've started a new year. I've done my best to make sure that with each passing month, we've tried to acknowledge our accomplishments (however lost they are upon me at times), and made it through another month. We are approaching a year since all of our lives have changed...

I broached, with each of the Talls teachers, the subject our lives. I wanted them to know that we are approaching an interesting time. No matter how I spin the month-to-month 'accomplishments', some of the issues I'm currently dealing with as a parent have me baffled whether it's nature or nurture. Does ever 9 year old act like I did when I was 13? Or is this our situation specific. I wanted the Talls' teachers to know that while they seem mild mannered, things could get interesting (insert reference to acting like ass clowns here). I'm not a delusional parent that feel like my children are the picture of perfection...it's lame, boring, and not half as much fun.

This house we live in, for example, has changed around us. I can sit in any room and really have to rack my brain, to find memories. In the beginning those memories were everywhere. Anything I saw, certain times of day, reminded me of Jason. It's as if we've filled it up with new ones. New memories of our new life, ones that leave you smiling instead of aching. The world, our world has changed around us, maybe because it had to. Maybe because we needed it to. Maybe because life has to go on...never-the-less, while I know Jason will always be here in our hearts, I'm actually looking forward to the approaching holidays...something I never would have considered a year ago.

We no longer are able to have anything of value within reach of Atticus. Hell, I can't even store things without his prying little hands exploring every nook and cranny of this house. He went from being this baby who could barely crawl, to a power-house of excitement with juvenile delinquent tendencies in a year. The boys have mastered door frame climbing. Nora is no longer scared of the vacuum. What once was this massive place, we've grown into, filled out...with toys and books and art supplies and school projects and Legos and Barbies. Having surprise parties for smelly stuffed animals. Running from room to room playing keep away from Atticus (Atti Attack!). Eating Chinese too often. Not eating enough vegetables. Watching movies and making fun of them. We are coming up on a time when we will no longer be able to say, "...remember last year when Jason/Dad did this?"...it's a weird feeling...

I was reminded by a my sainted friend the other day, my statue of limitations is about to run out for my situation...I won't be able to use the excuse of not doing this whole thing alone anymore. Our lives have been altered for sure. For me, the day-to-day that everyone might credit me for getting done, really is a beard. The stresses of raising four kids, alone, I at times hide behind so that I don't have to face things. Do I really want to go to family fun night? With four kids, one of which is 20 months old? NOT ON YOUR LIFE...because I'm doing it alone. Do these decisions hurt my kids? Maybe. But there is sure to be another family fun night next year, we'll see how my mental state is then.

We are about to hit this 'mythical time' everyone has told me about, the YEAR mark...it's fascinating how THAT measurement of time means, something? The YEAR mark for me, taking into consideration my day-to-day, mentally happened about 5 months ago. Fact of the matter, it's time. Time to stop making excuses about being a single parent. Time for a gut check. Time to delegate. Time to look at the new year ahead of us...I need to take more time to celebrate our accomplishments...learn from our mistakes...understand that goals are not always met...and appreciate the art of sarcasm, that has apparently gotten us through this far.

Family Visiting Day

Atticus J Hunt...named after the larger than life character "Atticus Finch" from Harper Lee's novel To Kill A Mockingbird. Of course Gregory Peck playing him in the movie didn't at all hinder the name choice either. He's two foot nothing. Faster than lightening. Has already mastered a shit-eating-grin. Has a way with the ladies. Knows how to get what he wants, or drive you insane trying. Loves brushing his teeth. Tasting toilet water with his hands. And always wants YOUR utensil while eating...

I'm sure people think I embellish some of this guy's antics. Not. One. Bit. I have become so accustomed to them, the other night when we had company, they were marveling at what he was doing. We were in the kitchen, I sort of had zoned him out, as he was wanting in some locked drawer. I turned to look, upon my friends request, to find him trying to pry open one of the locks with a spatula. While I wasn't at all shocked by his actions (the kid is an evil genius), it was however gratifying to see that someone ELSE was catching an eyeful of him first hand...

But, a lot of what he does, okay maybe only 7% of it, I mentally write off. I owe him that. When our lives changed last November, he was sort of my unlicensed therapist. At the time I'd be up with him in the wee hours feeding him a bottle, then again, in the twilight of the evening. In the soft light of his room I would whisper things...mainly just think out loud, thankful at times that he couldn't answer. I would look up and see the picture of his Dad in his room. I would at times feel sorry for him...the fact that he would not only not remember him, but also that any story he would hear would never really be his own. We did a lot of therapy sessions in the beginning, he and I, and I was grateful that he was so little, just so that if I wanted to cry, he wouldn't be the wiser...that was then.

Tonight, as he was wearing mac-n-cheese in his ears from dinner, I took just him up for a bath, usually it's a co-ed affair with Nora. His vocabulary is growing, and two words like 'ice cream' or 'bath' elicit a gleeful gasp from him. That is also to say, you never turn your back on him when the tub is filling up, as he will jump in (toothbrush in hand of course), as if he is in an Olympic size pool.  As he was sitting there, filling up cups, brushing his teeth, splashing around...those old feelings sort of flooded in.

Feeling like his life story already is something out of a Greek Tragedy. He has lost a parent he'll never remember. He's told regularly that he looks like his Dad (which I know is at times astounding, however it is also slightly hurtful to the other kids in this house that are in earshot). He's left with his screw-ball mother. And lastly, his three siblings, who lets face it, would at times allow him to play with a badger for some beef jerky....But then, as I was having one of our old silent tear sessions, it occurred to me...While no, he won't remember his Dad, he's not really left with as much loss either. He will be able to hear stories about this really colorful person. However, these stories won't have the same emotional connection, as they will be stories about a great guy who he has no recollection of meeting. His 'loss' as everyone else, including myself, might have seen it, really doesn't have to be.

And as I am talking to him,  20 years from now...using the sanctioned phone, looking through the bullet proof glass on 'Family Visiting Day', complimenting him that all of his tattoos are spelled correctly, at some fine penitentiary...I will remember those hours of twilight that we shared, how much he has taught me, how blessed that I am to have him, and how grateful I am that he's my last.

...the unspoken phrase...

...it's not often, maybe because I suppress it. Maybe because I know it's useless. Maybe because I know there is no way around it. Maybe because just the sound of the phrase pisses me off, no matter who I hear say it...usually, they have no idea the meaning of  the words coming out of their mouths. They couldn't even comprehend what they are saying is so very far from the truth of the matter. More than starting a sentence with the phrase, "...can't I even..."(thank you Nora), the phrase that I hear and at times want to drop kick someone is the phrase, "...it's not fair..."

Of course, it's a relative term, this I know. I would say, pain, is they only way one would get a pass from me on the topic. It's like when they have to ask your pain level in the hospital. I would always look at them and say, "...um, yes?" Who puts a number to that? However, the phrase "it's not fair" is I guess in the eye of the beholder. But there have been times in the last 5 or 6 months that I have wanted to just yell out, "REALLY? THAT IS ALL YOU HAVE TO B**CH ABOUT?...how do you get up in the morning?"

Now, this phrase, as previously mentioned, doesn't always strike a nerve, it comes and goes. Usually, I never take it personally onto myself. This phrase to me, speaks of someone else. It speaks of those who never had a choice. It speaks of those who aren't in a position to change anything. It speaks of those who woke up one day and their lives had changed. It speaks of those who aren't always able to tell how they feel, or even old enough to drink to forget...my children.

There will always be mental images you can't get out of your head, those you hope stay there for ever, and those you wish to never bump into again. My worst fear, after our lives had changed, was how I was going to tell them that their Dad had passed away. How was I going to have it make sense? How was I going to NOT screw it up? Little did I know at the time, that was my stain. The stain I would now carry around, usually in the back of my mind, I'm a little cluttered. The notion that for these people I am supposed to protect, there has been something taken away from them. The fact that there are so many MORE things for them that are not "FAIR", and I can't protect them from it. I can't fix it. And worse, when they are struggling, I can't even take it on for them. That my dear friends, that is the true meaning of the phrase, "...it's not fair".

For me, I've grasped, with two white knuckled hands, the concept of what is fair. I know that life will not always be fair. I know that at times life will not always be how you want it. For me, I've learned that in that moment, when you think things couldn't be MORE UNFAIR, you count your blessings...those you currently have, those you have been blessed to be given, and those moments that have yet to happened. I feel like not only have I earned them, I deserve them, because I can see the forest for the trees...and perhaps, because of that, I appreciate things more than I ever did before.

But, like when the Grinch gets his heart back and his face softens, so does mine. Mine softens at the thought of how great my kids are doing. While they didn't have a choice in waking up one day, and having to do a lot of growing up all at once, they know that life is not fair. They know that if they have something they need to talk about, they can. They know that where God closes a door he also opens a window...now, that's not to say they aren't the same whack-a-doodles that think it's funny to co-urinate (not sure if that's a word, but I think you get it).  They are the ones that can locate a hammer, without even being able to see it, grab it and run through the house with it (I MUST clean out that drawer). They are the ones that can attest that they will not be eating what's for dinner the next day. They push my buttons, the limits, the noise barrier, not because life's not fair, because they are kids. For that, oddly enough, I find some solace. That's their job until they become legal...then, I guess 'fair' will take on hopefully a different meaning...

...most superb snack, pirate mother...

She's girly, only in about 15 minute stints. She knows that if she LOUDLY whispers something, it's important, it's serious, and it usually makes no sense. Her imagination is mind boggling. Her vocabulary is WAY too vast. She carries a smelly stuffed dog, that has now become part of our messed up family. She understands sarcasm, and uses it (as I shutter). Her mortal weaknesses are marshmallows, chocolate milk and candy corn...because we all have our weaknesses.

She's way beyond toys. Don't get me wrong, she wants every one advertised on television, but I think that's just her way on not wanting to break with convention. She's most happy with some object meant to be thrown in the trash can, like a paper towel tube. First it's a telescope on her pirate ship. Then it's her trumpet in her Dixieland Jazz Band...hours later, she's under the table with it, telling it about her day, and how glad she is that they met...if I didn't love her, I'd be frightened of her.

She is logical, and at times can't get past that. I caught her scribbling in a kiddie magazine of hers. I said, "Hey, wait! What are you doing? That's not nice...". She looked at me, sort of tilted her head to the side and said, "...um, mommy...you know this is a magazine?...it doesn't HAVE feelings...". Or the other day when our friend told her to be careful not to get her hands to close to her brother's mouths at dinner time, she's liable to loose a finger. She turned to them and said, "...I never loose my fingers, they're attached to my hand..."

There is sadly, less and less that she can be fooled with lately. However, her ability to be able to include Santa Claus to any possible guest list is compelling, but she's become this character. I know these are her ways, they will always be unique to her, they will fade, as soon as she starts school. As much as I complain, that she will be here two more years before she starts school, I full on know I bore her to death. I know as much as she wears me out, she will be wearing out a teacher someday also. She will also loose that shine of hers just a bit, not in a bad way. In the way that kids become exposed to other kids, drop off their annoying little habits and make new ones. No matter when it happens, she'll always have me laughing...hopefully.

I write this, not as some awe inspiring 'Ode to Nora Jane Hunt'. While she is my one day estrogen infused partner in crime, the outnumbered stick together. She has every bit as many hilarious, nerve-racking, unique, imaginative traits as her brothers before her, and hopefully her brother after (that is if he isn't in Juvie by then). I write this, because I am blessed to be able to have a front row seat and backstage pass for watching my kids grow into these little people by staying at home with them. I know that while it's hard to make it work, in the end when your kids do something really brilliant, you can take the credit for it, you are with them all day. Sadly, when they are feeling up mannequins at a department store, yeah, well that's on you too...but, I can rest my head at night, knowing that even in a loud whisper, this 'Pirate Mother' makes the most superb snacks...

...same old...new old...where's Atticus?

I have people snowed...I have no idea what I am doing. Honestly, I feel like I should some how start a pyramid scheme, offering what little I have for a chance to make $100,000 from home, or some such nonsense. I play a good game, but I mostly get played. I think to myself at times...really? It could be worse, I could be getting a head lice notice.  I have to look at it as a joke at times. Even though it's not, this whole thing is freaking hilarious...or at least that's what I remind myself when I'm just about to loose my s**t...

Every parent questions what they are doing. Every parent wonders if the decisions they make will scar their children, require them to have therapy, or just something to chortle over at cocktail time when they are parents someday. Life and parenting isn't nice enough to give you a hand book or syllabus to guide you through. At times you are able to think back from one kid to another what you might have done to remedy a situation. While that does work for me, not every kid is the same, and I have to remind myself (constantly) that I've never done this before. I have never had a seven year old being a single parent before. I've never had an 18 month old, who has now learned to scale the lower kitchen cabinets in just under 7.9 seconds, by myself before...I had back up. I had a teammate. I had someone who knew when I was about to freak-out, and would step in so as to calm the voices in my head...but, the teammates have changed.

I am strict. I know this. I run a tight ship. Not because I enjoy feeling lousy with power, I do it out of necessity, for sanity, and because it works for me. I am noticing now, however, that the rules are sort of bending here and there. Let's face it, there is a time, a certain time, of day when things are HECTIC. Some people deal with the morning rush. Some have bedtime dramas. For me, it's those wondrous, splendid hours between 3:30 and 6...

Doing homework, making dinner, dreaming (or maybe not) of a cocktail, keeping the savages-mainly Atticus- at bay. Long enough to finish the task of feeding offspring, cleaning up, answering 26 questions that I have no answers for (ah hem, Nora), queries of what's for breakfast, is there desert, and why does one HAVE to shower? I have now discovered, that I'd rather clean the table myself, if I know that someone is entertaining Atticus before he's discovered down the street in the neighbors trash can. I don't mind if I take the trash out, if I know that for about 2.8 minutes, I get to leave my house unattended. The funny thing is, these job swaps aren't going unnoticed...if I get an argument about being Atti's warden, I remind them they could be cleaning the upstairs toilet? Silence and a nod of "...duly noted."

While my teammates have changed, clearly the phrase "choose your battles" has never rang more true to me than it has in nearly the last 10 months. There's no 'tag-team' situation here. There is no one but me to quell the madness that has been referred to many times as THUNDER DOME. About once a month, I stress over it. I agonize over what I need to repair. How I need to soften. Or how to lay the hammer down, that doesn't leave a scar, but states that I'm the one in charge with respect given and received. There are times when I feel like, what the hell am I doing? ...but then there are moments...

The moments of when I am talking to Oscar, having an quasi-adult conversation, laughing and joking and there is no mention of Legos. Moments when I see Abe be nurturing to Atticus (and Nora, even though she drives him nuts), in a way that makes me feel like we are in this together. Moments when watching Nora's mind bloom right in front of me, as she writes her letters- always clearly stating first, "...an E? Of course I know how to write that!". Moments as I watch/hear Atticus learning to say more and more words, and I have to chuckle when I hand him what he wants and he mumbles a crude 'thank you'.

We'll be headed out for 'ice-cream-for-lunch' on Saturday. The monthly reminders of survival-of-the-fittest are now best served cold and creamy. It's a place were we can be messy, laugh, and make new memories, new moments. At the end of the day, for me, it's the moments when my kids appreciate me for what I am doing for them, all the while understanding that I am not perfect. At times they catch me off guard by their actions in this way...as if some how they know that I need a sorry, thank you, or I love you, at just the right time. It seems that the best/biggest payoff  for what I am now doing, is indeed paid in the simplest of gestures...

...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...