...it happens...occasionally, it does happen. That moment that most every parent catches themselves in. That moment where, you notice the calm. It's too quiet. That moment when you catch yourself, look around and wonder if your family finally drove off. And then you see them, calmly laying down to watch a movie. A plan completely formulated by them, not done under protest or mandate. For an instant, you feel like the universe is aligned. You feel for just an instant how wonderful to finally get what you needed for that day. In the next instant, you are making a MAD DASH to get anything done, the stuff of your wildest dreams, because you know it's probably only going to last about 19 minutes.
Every Sunday since the new year, we have had "Your Favorite Sunday Dinner". Each week one of the kids pick their favorite meal, and we come together and make it. Some have been extravagant, some have been simple...some have even just been lunch. All have been eaten at our dining room table, with real glasses, napkins, music playing in the background and together. It has been one of my favorite resolutions...and it costs nothing. It's something I look forward to every week, the kids feel like they are getting their favorite foods more regularly (besides the kid food I always make), and everyone is happy.
I'm not sure if my Atticus has been secretly training with the Navy...but every day for almost a week, at 3:30, the kid is up and ready to go. He greets my half open eyelids with the phrase, "...good morning mommy, I'm ready to get up..." To which I tell him that no one who isn't working the third shift is currently awake, please lay down and try to go back to sleep. It's too bad he isn't able to read, he could probably get a part-time job in those early morning hours from his crib. I'm not sure why he's turning tricks so early in the morning. I'm aware that he still naps, and gladly so for his sanity and my own. But, I think we are about to turn the corner on that. I'm hoping for an early spring, and contemplating showing him how to mow the lawn.
The plague has reared it's head very nearly here a couple of times...but, it's latest and most dramatic victim is Nora. She greeted me just after Atticus this morning. As if she were tying out for a role on a soap opera, she looks at me and says, "...when will this ever leave? I want my old life back..." She's been sick for 2 days. Hoping that rest and a visit to who she calls "Dr. Dreamy" will be in order tomorrow. Until then, I just hear dramatic music playing in my head when ever she speaks.
Oscar has taken to listening to ACDC every waking moment. His air guitar and not so quiet drumming teeters between hilarious and obnoxious. I just found him under a robe, ear buds in, singing "Thunderstruck". He approached me with a paper he had recently written for school. A couple of weeks ago I was completely freaked out when he was telling my what he was writing about. I confide probably too much in the Talls, but at times they are my sounding board. I probably should censor some topics that I talk to them about, but I think for me its because there isn't another adult in this house. While reading the paper, I was struck with how interestingly his mind works. He didn't give details to what we had spoken about, but primarily he was writing about how he looked forward to these conversations...hearing the dirt and the funny stories. I told him I would help him start a blog. My only stipulation was that I needed to proof read it before he posted it. He has an interesting take on life, I hope he continues it and uses writing as a creative outlet.
Abe, well today, he has been the ultimate entertainer. It seems as if he cannot be out of Atticus' sight for more than 3 minutes. He has organized a movie marathon in the living room, with blankets, pillows, and used my own personal favorite weapon...the lure of popcorn. I'm not sure how long it will last, but I am using these 19 minutes like they might be my last on earth. Hung some things up, picked up the house, and cleaned the kitchen. He is like a pied piper at times, and I am grateful for it...however, I know about 4 pm, he'll be tired of everyone in this house. Like James Brown, being assisted shuffling off the stage...being the ultimate entertainer takes a lot out of you!
My 19 minutes are up...THUNDERDOME sounds like it is getting started...for a brief and wonderful moment the universe aligned, I got something done, and no one drove away...at least yet.
Sunday, January 25, 2015
Wednesday, January 21, 2015
...little people and lucky pennies...
So, we're 21 days into the new year...and I've made some mental resolutions...some I've kept, some I've already slacked a bit on, and some that I've yet to accomplish. But what's life without goals, really? With every passing year, all one can really hope for is health, happiness, and good fortune. Make those doctor appointments and actually go to them. Get off your butt and get moving. Unclutter those hidden junk drawers. Start saving money for "fun projects". For me, sometimes you have to pay some of those resolutions forward in the process.
I resolved this year to make sure that I let people know what they mean to me. I am beyond fortunate to have people in my life that I honestly couldn't do without. The sun just doesn't shine out my butt everyday on this homestead, despite the impression I might give off. I am grateful to have people that keep me smiling, even when I don't want to. Sometimes these people are my offspring. Their capacity to understand me is greater than I would like at times. I am lucky, grateful, proud, and blessed to have them in my life. At times, it's difficult to remember how our lives once were...I guess that means we are rolling in the right direction and not to question it.
Then there are those people who are not genetically linked to me who keep me smiling. Their ability to mentally bail me out...understand me more than I would have ever been comfortable with before. Their love and thoughtfulness is what has kept me rolling in the right direction, even when I felt like taking a detour. My life is better with them in it and well, thank you just doesn't seem like a heavy enough sentiment...so, I'll just say I'm lucky to get to love you.
Then there are those people who possibly have no idea how much I look up to them. Their ability to lift people up, maybe even me at times, is a characteristic that is like a shiny invisible star. They have no idea how much it glimmers, but to those who need it, it's a light at the end of the tunnel. People like this aren't just a blessing to have in your life, they are like air. They are self aware, confident, thoughtful, caring, and brave. These people are like the blind little person on the campus where I went to college. Now, I'm sure it's highly politically incorrect, but seeing that guy, it was like seeing a chimney sweep, always good luck.
There are those people you can just rant to. You might not talk to them everyday, but when you are half past your rant quotient, they are there ready to listen. Hopefully they can add some fuel to that rant, get you laughing, and you forget what you were pissed about in the first place. People like this are like finding a lucky penny, you pick it up without hesitation.
Life does not guarantee you anything, but knowing love and showing it to others...it's what makes the lack of guarantee not terrifying. We are all put on this earth with a purpose. Most of your life is spent trying to find that purpose. In reality it happens without your knowledge...stop looking for your purpose and appreciate the people that give you a purpose...Happy 2015!
I resolved this year to make sure that I let people know what they mean to me. I am beyond fortunate to have people in my life that I honestly couldn't do without. The sun just doesn't shine out my butt everyday on this homestead, despite the impression I might give off. I am grateful to have people that keep me smiling, even when I don't want to. Sometimes these people are my offspring. Their capacity to understand me is greater than I would like at times. I am lucky, grateful, proud, and blessed to have them in my life. At times, it's difficult to remember how our lives once were...I guess that means we are rolling in the right direction and not to question it.
Then there are those people who are not genetically linked to me who keep me smiling. Their ability to mentally bail me out...understand me more than I would have ever been comfortable with before. Their love and thoughtfulness is what has kept me rolling in the right direction, even when I felt like taking a detour. My life is better with them in it and well, thank you just doesn't seem like a heavy enough sentiment...so, I'll just say I'm lucky to get to love you.
Then there are those people who possibly have no idea how much I look up to them. Their ability to lift people up, maybe even me at times, is a characteristic that is like a shiny invisible star. They have no idea how much it glimmers, but to those who need it, it's a light at the end of the tunnel. People like this aren't just a blessing to have in your life, they are like air. They are self aware, confident, thoughtful, caring, and brave. These people are like the blind little person on the campus where I went to college. Now, I'm sure it's highly politically incorrect, but seeing that guy, it was like seeing a chimney sweep, always good luck.
There are those people you can just rant to. You might not talk to them everyday, but when you are half past your rant quotient, they are there ready to listen. Hopefully they can add some fuel to that rant, get you laughing, and you forget what you were pissed about in the first place. People like this are like finding a lucky penny, you pick it up without hesitation.
Life does not guarantee you anything, but knowing love and showing it to others...it's what makes the lack of guarantee not terrifying. We are all put on this earth with a purpose. Most of your life is spent trying to find that purpose. In reality it happens without your knowledge...stop looking for your purpose and appreciate the people that give you a purpose...Happy 2015!
...phase 3...
Morning two into my mandate of "anyone over the age of 8 must shower daily" and we survived. The first day, you'd thought I had asked them to climb Everest...followed by stopping feet and dirty looks. I was not deterred by it. It felt good. It felt good to see a new phase upon us...not just the one that is seriously a public service to anyone they come into contact with. It's yet another phase of life, forever inevitable, that beckons the feeling of new growth, new stages...Let's face it, these boys while witty and clever, their combined odor could be used as corporal punishment.
I'm not sure if it's normal...but over the last two years, I have measured time by everything that has happened after Jason died. Possibly because we had to sort of pick ourselves up and start over, maybe because we had to find what our "normal" was, which still resembles anything but. In this time measurement my mind also falls back onto the many hours spent in a semi-lit room rocking a 9 month old with a bottle. Those many hours I spent alone with the one person that most resembled the person just that had just been taken from our lives. I would sit there looking at Atticus, wondering how in the world I was going to make any of this work. Terrified. Tearful at times. Timid...I would send out my quiet fears into this room, onto the incomprehensible ears of this child, hoping to figure out what to do next...the next phase.
My life as a mother, unknowingly, has been spent talking. I never realized it until it was pointed out to me that I narrate my every move. Maybe my talking was out of needing someone to talk to when the kids were smaller. Whatever the case, it has made me realize that perhaps I spoke too much. Now, when I am about to tell my kids what I am about to do, I stop myself and think "...just tiptoe away, they'll no doubt come and find you..."
But that narration was feeding little brains a multitude of words that now, while exasperating at times, I have to laugh when I hear my own words said back to me...at least they were listening, right? Nora talking about falling on her money maker to someone at church...Abe commenting to someone on his quiet charm...Oscar, after hearing me complain about nothing, saying "...sounds like rich people problems..." Hearing Atticus yell at Nora from another room, "WE AREN'T LAUGHING AT YOU, WE'RE LAUGHING WITH YOU..."Onto another phase...
So much in that original measurement of time has changed...that little 9 month old that I rocked isn't so little anymore. His communication has become bitter sweet at times. He is in his mimic stage, and his hearing is like that of a jungle cat. Yesterday, when he was giving his 5 reasons why he NEEDED to watch Elmo's Christmas, it all came to me. I sort of longed for those days when I couldn't understand what he was saying, because at least I didn't know if he was telling me off.
I see how much this tiny person has changed. This nearly 3 year old has now lived most of his life with a single mother and three rowdy siblings. He doesn't probably ponder what life once was...and for that I'm sort of grateful. I realized that I now sort of measure time by him. I see him learning, scheming, growing, and he's still in one piece. He understands who is dad is, he remembers stories we've told him about Jason. He knows that our family is unique and not like others, and I see how his siblings step in, unsolicited, and help be that other parent when needed.
I don't think I'm alone in watching how much Atticus has changed. Certainly the Talls enjoy his ability to mimic, hoping dirty limericks aren't on the horizon. He sort of ties us all together for reasons other than the fact that we're family. He's comic relief when needed. He's the hug at the end of the day. He's the one who's not afraid to say "I love you" while accidentally spiting food on you. He's getting ready for another birthday, and we're heading into phase 3...
I'm not sure if it's normal...but over the last two years, I have measured time by everything that has happened after Jason died. Possibly because we had to sort of pick ourselves up and start over, maybe because we had to find what our "normal" was, which still resembles anything but. In this time measurement my mind also falls back onto the many hours spent in a semi-lit room rocking a 9 month old with a bottle. Those many hours I spent alone with the one person that most resembled the person just that had just been taken from our lives. I would sit there looking at Atticus, wondering how in the world I was going to make any of this work. Terrified. Tearful at times. Timid...I would send out my quiet fears into this room, onto the incomprehensible ears of this child, hoping to figure out what to do next...the next phase.
My life as a mother, unknowingly, has been spent talking. I never realized it until it was pointed out to me that I narrate my every move. Maybe my talking was out of needing someone to talk to when the kids were smaller. Whatever the case, it has made me realize that perhaps I spoke too much. Now, when I am about to tell my kids what I am about to do, I stop myself and think "...just tiptoe away, they'll no doubt come and find you..."
But that narration was feeding little brains a multitude of words that now, while exasperating at times, I have to laugh when I hear my own words said back to me...at least they were listening, right? Nora talking about falling on her money maker to someone at church...Abe commenting to someone on his quiet charm...Oscar, after hearing me complain about nothing, saying "...sounds like rich people problems..." Hearing Atticus yell at Nora from another room, "WE AREN'T LAUGHING AT YOU, WE'RE LAUGHING WITH YOU..."Onto another phase...
So much in that original measurement of time has changed...that little 9 month old that I rocked isn't so little anymore. His communication has become bitter sweet at times. He is in his mimic stage, and his hearing is like that of a jungle cat. Yesterday, when he was giving his 5 reasons why he NEEDED to watch Elmo's Christmas, it all came to me. I sort of longed for those days when I couldn't understand what he was saying, because at least I didn't know if he was telling me off.
I see how much this tiny person has changed. This nearly 3 year old has now lived most of his life with a single mother and three rowdy siblings. He doesn't probably ponder what life once was...and for that I'm sort of grateful. I realized that I now sort of measure time by him. I see him learning, scheming, growing, and he's still in one piece. He understands who is dad is, he remembers stories we've told him about Jason. He knows that our family is unique and not like others, and I see how his siblings step in, unsolicited, and help be that other parent when needed.
I don't think I'm alone in watching how much Atticus has changed. Certainly the Talls enjoy his ability to mimic, hoping dirty limericks aren't on the horizon. He sort of ties us all together for reasons other than the fact that we're family. He's comic relief when needed. He's the hug at the end of the day. He's the one who's not afraid to say "I love you" while accidentally spiting food on you. He's getting ready for another birthday, and we're heading into phase 3...
Saturday, December 27, 2014
...Precious Moments...
We've been playing nothing but games for the last week...Uno, Yahtzee, Head Bands, Gooey Louie and Operation. But the game that is just ahead of me is that of numbers. The game of wondering if where you are is, well, where you are...When did you get to be this damned old?
I guess the cosmic question that I ask myself is what is the difference between my actual age and my mental age. I'm blessed to be friends with a woman that knows all too well how grief can define these terms...she's my soul sister as we call each other. While she is younger than I am, she's a veteran with more years under her belt of the game of "widow dome". We've talked about how when your life is so drastically changed, it seriously ages you a half a decade within minutes. The fawn-eyed person you once were is a mere wisp of what you have to now take on. The mere notion of ADULTHOOD in it's earlier stages is very, very real now.
ADULTHOOD. When does that really occur? Through every one's life there is always some mental benchmark of where they will be at a certain age. There is a far off notion of what "old" looks like. There is a place that is contented, settled, adjusted, and secure that you see yourself when you get older. I wonder at times if I went back and talked to my 21 year old self what I would tell her. What would I say to prepare her for her life ahead? Would the things I once found so important even make the short list? When did I hit the age where I had to face the fact that yes, I am indeed an...ADULT?
While everyday is a new day, some just aren't as rosy as others, that's life. But, in the last two years, I have found an interesting phenomenon. Just about the time when you think you might as well give up, as everything you are doing is an expired version of sucking...someone says something that really lifts you. Someone you barely know, can see what you can't. Today at an indoor pool I bumped into another mom who I had met once. We became friends on social media, and I've noticed how adorable her family is. While it was nice to see a familiar face, it was really nice to sort of catch up in person. At one point she looks at me and says, "...how do you do this?" I jokingly said something about a cocktail time. I wanted to further add that you would find no Precious Moments figurines based on anything that goes on in my house. Yet, in that one question, it reminded me to suck it up. You are surviving. You are doing this. You may have stretch marks, gray hair, and be on your last year of your thirties...but it's getting done.
So, I'm taking this next year to get MORE done. I've got plans, goals, ideas, and intentions of making my 39th year something to remember. There are a few things that I have put on the proverbial back burner that are coming into the heat. I need to be mindful of the continuing notion that I was put here for a purpose. Yeah, I'm outnumbered in my house on a daily basis. Yeah, I fold more laundry than is probably allowed by law outside of a Laundromat. Yeah, I can throw a cocktail party together in about 17 minutes. But, I want more.
I'm turning 40 years old in 368 days...I have 368 days to make it count. I have the next 368 days to remind myself that limits are mostly set in the mind. I have 368 days to remind myself that my kids, while they are at times my biggest worry they are also my best cheerleaders with my DNA. I have 368 days to remember that perfection is over rated. I have 368 days to consider how truly wonderful being 40 will be. I have all of this time to take advantage of what is in front of me, all the while knowing what I have in my back pocket has made me what I am today...(gulp) an ADULT.
I guess the cosmic question that I ask myself is what is the difference between my actual age and my mental age. I'm blessed to be friends with a woman that knows all too well how grief can define these terms...she's my soul sister as we call each other. While she is younger than I am, she's a veteran with more years under her belt of the game of "widow dome". We've talked about how when your life is so drastically changed, it seriously ages you a half a decade within minutes. The fawn-eyed person you once were is a mere wisp of what you have to now take on. The mere notion of ADULTHOOD in it's earlier stages is very, very real now.
ADULTHOOD. When does that really occur? Through every one's life there is always some mental benchmark of where they will be at a certain age. There is a far off notion of what "old" looks like. There is a place that is contented, settled, adjusted, and secure that you see yourself when you get older. I wonder at times if I went back and talked to my 21 year old self what I would tell her. What would I say to prepare her for her life ahead? Would the things I once found so important even make the short list? When did I hit the age where I had to face the fact that yes, I am indeed an...ADULT?
While everyday is a new day, some just aren't as rosy as others, that's life. But, in the last two years, I have found an interesting phenomenon. Just about the time when you think you might as well give up, as everything you are doing is an expired version of sucking...someone says something that really lifts you. Someone you barely know, can see what you can't. Today at an indoor pool I bumped into another mom who I had met once. We became friends on social media, and I've noticed how adorable her family is. While it was nice to see a familiar face, it was really nice to sort of catch up in person. At one point she looks at me and says, "...how do you do this?" I jokingly said something about a cocktail time. I wanted to further add that you would find no Precious Moments figurines based on anything that goes on in my house. Yet, in that one question, it reminded me to suck it up. You are surviving. You are doing this. You may have stretch marks, gray hair, and be on your last year of your thirties...but it's getting done.
So, I'm taking this next year to get MORE done. I've got plans, goals, ideas, and intentions of making my 39th year something to remember. There are a few things that I have put on the proverbial back burner that are coming into the heat. I need to be mindful of the continuing notion that I was put here for a purpose. Yeah, I'm outnumbered in my house on a daily basis. Yeah, I fold more laundry than is probably allowed by law outside of a Laundromat. Yeah, I can throw a cocktail party together in about 17 minutes. But, I want more.
I'm turning 40 years old in 368 days...I have 368 days to make it count. I have the next 368 days to remind myself that limits are mostly set in the mind. I have 368 days to remind myself that my kids, while they are at times my biggest worry they are also my best cheerleaders with my DNA. I have 368 days to remember that perfection is over rated. I have 368 days to consider how truly wonderful being 40 will be. I have all of this time to take advantage of what is in front of me, all the while knowing what I have in my back pocket has made me what I am today...(gulp) an ADULT.
Thursday, December 18, 2014
...tucked into my heart...
I have made a conscious effort. I seriously thought, looked, and took notice of what I was doing each evening so far in this month of December. Mentally taking note of the day, the time, the madness...not because I'm some over achiever mom who's Elf on the Shelf prowess is that outstanding. Not because I don't already know that half of the things I do this month are sort of on the extreme side. I take note, because this year, I only have one who knows the skinny on the big fat man. I take note because it's my favorite time of year despite the self-imposed-crap most put on ourselves. I take note because next year might be totally different...
There is a certain sort of magical feeling when the littlest of things that you try to do year after year become noticed. The little things that you tried to start, never knowing how much of a mess it would make...Never knowing how nearly you fell into a diabetic coma...the little things you started, in hopes that you were making memories. This is my time of year. This is the time of year when I can fall back on those tiny treasures of time. In the smallest of acts you are reminded that it's worth it. In the most minute of gestures you are shown that someone was paying attention. To me, that it what rounds out this time of year. To me it's the small things we've done together, that keep me going for the next year.
I was worried when Oscar no longer believed in Santa. He did his best to try to be "RIGHT" about the issue. Thankfully, he has finally realized that being right, doesn't always feel so good. He's realized, through subliminal and virtual speak, sometimes the magic of this year is seeing everyone else excited. The thrill of someone else, being all dough eyed, believing in something that's just out of reach. As I tried to explain to Oscar while we were alone the other day, it's a real lesson in life. You don't have to know you are good at something to be confident. You don't have to know the end of the story, to keep you reading. You don't have to touch something to know it's beauty. During this conversation, while I was hoping it made sense, it definitely reminded me to take my own advice.
Seeing a couple of kids scramble to see where their vertically challenged Elf has hidden. Hearing various versions of Christmas carols come out of barely understandable mouths. Watching the 'thrill' of just seeing the snow falling out the window. Hearing a 2 year old remind everyone that "...Santa is watching YOU!" Knowing that these moments, like all the others I've been told years down the road, will just be a whisper of my life someday. In these moments, when I'm about to lose my mind with trying to get everything done by Dec. 23rd...years from now won't really matter. So everyday, as I put a tiny treat into a numbered little pouch, I stop and look at the number. I stop and look at how many more there are left. Even with fevers, overnights, tantrums, freak-outs, back talk, runny noses, puke threats, and sleeplessness...I made a note and tucked it into my heart.
The thrill I find at the end of this year is what most adults dread, Christmas Vacation. To me, it's the seemingly endless adventures that await us, or even another day we veg out in our pajamas and do nothing...the choice is ours. It's snuggling on couches under blankets. It's making a mess decorating cookies. It's piling into the car in our pajamas, blaring Christmas music, looking at people's Christmas lights...and inadvertently becoming Peeping Toms from our car. There are plenty of things I could be sad about this time of year...listing them would just be redundant. Sure, sometimes those things bring me down...but this time of year for me, there are too many things...too many moments that can't necessarily happen the rest of the year. So I'm taking them and mentally hugging them...the good, the bad, and the ugly...because next year, might be totally different...
There is a certain sort of magical feeling when the littlest of things that you try to do year after year become noticed. The little things that you tried to start, never knowing how much of a mess it would make...Never knowing how nearly you fell into a diabetic coma...the little things you started, in hopes that you were making memories. This is my time of year. This is the time of year when I can fall back on those tiny treasures of time. In the smallest of acts you are reminded that it's worth it. In the most minute of gestures you are shown that someone was paying attention. To me, that it what rounds out this time of year. To me it's the small things we've done together, that keep me going for the next year.
I was worried when Oscar no longer believed in Santa. He did his best to try to be "RIGHT" about the issue. Thankfully, he has finally realized that being right, doesn't always feel so good. He's realized, through subliminal and virtual speak, sometimes the magic of this year is seeing everyone else excited. The thrill of someone else, being all dough eyed, believing in something that's just out of reach. As I tried to explain to Oscar while we were alone the other day, it's a real lesson in life. You don't have to know you are good at something to be confident. You don't have to know the end of the story, to keep you reading. You don't have to touch something to know it's beauty. During this conversation, while I was hoping it made sense, it definitely reminded me to take my own advice.
Seeing a couple of kids scramble to see where their vertically challenged Elf has hidden. Hearing various versions of Christmas carols come out of barely understandable mouths. Watching the 'thrill' of just seeing the snow falling out the window. Hearing a 2 year old remind everyone that "...Santa is watching YOU!" Knowing that these moments, like all the others I've been told years down the road, will just be a whisper of my life someday. In these moments, when I'm about to lose my mind with trying to get everything done by Dec. 23rd...years from now won't really matter. So everyday, as I put a tiny treat into a numbered little pouch, I stop and look at the number. I stop and look at how many more there are left. Even with fevers, overnights, tantrums, freak-outs, back talk, runny noses, puke threats, and sleeplessness...I made a note and tucked it into my heart.
The thrill I find at the end of this year is what most adults dread, Christmas Vacation. To me, it's the seemingly endless adventures that await us, or even another day we veg out in our pajamas and do nothing...the choice is ours. It's snuggling on couches under blankets. It's making a mess decorating cookies. It's piling into the car in our pajamas, blaring Christmas music, looking at people's Christmas lights...and inadvertently becoming Peeping Toms from our car. There are plenty of things I could be sad about this time of year...listing them would just be redundant. Sure, sometimes those things bring me down...but this time of year for me, there are too many things...too many moments that can't necessarily happen the rest of the year. So I'm taking them and mentally hugging them...the good, the bad, and the ugly...because next year, might be totally different...
Sunday, December 14, 2014
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.
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.
Sunday, November 23, 2014
...pacifiers and big boy beds...
Well...I think it's time. Time to face the facts that while I know life moves on, I can't stop my kids from growing...ask the cashier at Aldi who sees me weekly, she knows. In life there are a few things that you just become comfortable with...For me, time alone is more than a comfort. IT'S VERY NECESSARY. It was bound to happen sooner or later, you have to shake off what's comfortable, loose some security, and try to adapt without a cocktail in hand.
No matter your age, you have a pacifier. You have that one thing, person, action that calms and settles you when you need it. Comforts you when you crave it. Helps you cope with, well perhaps life. To my Talls, they are each other's pacifiers. They have shared a room from the beginning of their lives. Their antics could possibly be cataloged. The combined preteen boy smell, possibly researched for National Geographic. Their humor, their language, their means of entertainment? It's like they are twins speaking another language...18 months and two days apart will do that to you. To my surprise today, the taller of the Talls asked if he could move to another room...and the fallout began.
The idea of moving wasn't out of anger. It wasn't out of annoyance. I offered the idea up this summer, to slightly tepid responses. I couldn't imagine a kid not wanting to get their own room if they had the chance. I was proud of the fact that he felt he was ready. But, I forgot. I forgot until today, that these Talls have been basically conjoined, with and an invisible attachment. I figured after Jason passed, it would be that way for a while. I figured that what they had together, might be what helps them to move on, and I didn't want to muddle that in any way. So today I was surprised to see one want to step out on that limb alone. What I won't forget is seeing the panic in the Tall that was getting left behind.
I remember asking a doctor once when I was in the beginning throws of being a mom...so, when do we need to move him into a real bed? Her answer has entertained me, stayed with me, comforted me, and possibly pacified me ever since. Her response was, "...I would have left my kids in their crib until they were 7. If they're not climbing out, leave 'em in there!" And so, I've held onto that over the last 10 years. With each kid until now, the only reason to move out of their crib, was because we needed someone else in it. Not the case with the last golden child of this house hold. I see Atticus growing up before my eyes. I know I slightly Jedi-Mind-Trick him everyday to take a nap because that's where his pacifier is laying. I know I then have 1.7 hours of free-ish time. I know that the seemingly tranquil comfort of putting everyone to bed and not having an escapee isn't going to be forever. Frankly, it's right around the corner.
So, I wasn't shocked to hear Abe, instantly chatting up his "mini-me". "So Atti, looks like I'm going to have some extra space in my room...what do you think about moving out of this tiny little crib and rooming with me? In a BIG BOY BED?!" It was brilliant. It was the fastest formulated plan ever conceived by a nearly 9 year old ever. It was calculating. It was excitingly delivered. It was Abe, needing a pacifier to replace the one he's had for the last 8 years. I chuckled at how quickly he was trying to solve his problem. I went from being sad for Abe, as he was silently heartbroken to think about rooming alone. I was then proud of him, instead of bitching about what was fair and what wasn't, he found a solution. He set Atti up for a nap today in his room, just to "try it out". I figured I'd find him playing Legos, never getting a wink. To Abe's excitement, we walked in and found Atti right where we left him...I would have so lost money on that one.
While we are still in the beginning stages (I need to start my mantra now), it looks like there's going to be some moving around in the future. It's time to start something fresh. It's time to put away some pacifiers. It's time to appreciate that maybe we don't need them as much as we thought to grow. It's time to start sleeping with one eye open, if the smallest Small isn't confined...(gulp). Bring on the big boy bed...
No matter your age, you have a pacifier. You have that one thing, person, action that calms and settles you when you need it. Comforts you when you crave it. Helps you cope with, well perhaps life. To my Talls, they are each other's pacifiers. They have shared a room from the beginning of their lives. Their antics could possibly be cataloged. The combined preteen boy smell, possibly researched for National Geographic. Their humor, their language, their means of entertainment? It's like they are twins speaking another language...18 months and two days apart will do that to you. To my surprise today, the taller of the Talls asked if he could move to another room...and the fallout began.
The idea of moving wasn't out of anger. It wasn't out of annoyance. I offered the idea up this summer, to slightly tepid responses. I couldn't imagine a kid not wanting to get their own room if they had the chance. I was proud of the fact that he felt he was ready. But, I forgot. I forgot until today, that these Talls have been basically conjoined, with and an invisible attachment. I figured after Jason passed, it would be that way for a while. I figured that what they had together, might be what helps them to move on, and I didn't want to muddle that in any way. So today I was surprised to see one want to step out on that limb alone. What I won't forget is seeing the panic in the Tall that was getting left behind.
I remember asking a doctor once when I was in the beginning throws of being a mom...so, when do we need to move him into a real bed? Her answer has entertained me, stayed with me, comforted me, and possibly pacified me ever since. Her response was, "...I would have left my kids in their crib until they were 7. If they're not climbing out, leave 'em in there!" And so, I've held onto that over the last 10 years. With each kid until now, the only reason to move out of their crib, was because we needed someone else in it. Not the case with the last golden child of this house hold. I see Atticus growing up before my eyes. I know I slightly Jedi-Mind-Trick him everyday to take a nap because that's where his pacifier is laying. I know I then have 1.7 hours of free-ish time. I know that the seemingly tranquil comfort of putting everyone to bed and not having an escapee isn't going to be forever. Frankly, it's right around the corner.
So, I wasn't shocked to hear Abe, instantly chatting up his "mini-me". "So Atti, looks like I'm going to have some extra space in my room...what do you think about moving out of this tiny little crib and rooming with me? In a BIG BOY BED?!" It was brilliant. It was the fastest formulated plan ever conceived by a nearly 9 year old ever. It was calculating. It was excitingly delivered. It was Abe, needing a pacifier to replace the one he's had for the last 8 years. I chuckled at how quickly he was trying to solve his problem. I went from being sad for Abe, as he was silently heartbroken to think about rooming alone. I was then proud of him, instead of bitching about what was fair and what wasn't, he found a solution. He set Atti up for a nap today in his room, just to "try it out". I figured I'd find him playing Legos, never getting a wink. To Abe's excitement, we walked in and found Atti right where we left him...I would have so lost money on that one.
While we are still in the beginning stages (I need to start my mantra now), it looks like there's going to be some moving around in the future. It's time to start something fresh. It's time to put away some pacifiers. It's time to appreciate that maybe we don't need them as much as we thought to grow. It's time to start sleeping with one eye open, if the smallest Small isn't confined...(gulp). Bring on the big boy bed...
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