I think I have illustrated in past recordings that I have a "princess" on my hands. Yesterday was no exception. One truly would have thought that it was Halloween in November. She insisted on her "Cinderella Princess Proof Costume." Don't ask me what the hell that means. I have been struggling to figure it out for like 2 months now and have nothing. It's Princess Proof and that is the end of the story. Anywhoo, the girl would not take "No" for an answer regarding this dress--I told her when we bought the gown that she had to wait till Halloween to wear it and once Halloween was over she could wear it as much as she wanted. She did not forget this statement as she regurgitated right back to me when I tried to talk her out of it. Side note, this dress (like alll Halloween costumes) is insanely uncomfortable, itchy and just not put together well. Makes me know the designer of such costumes clearly has no children. But these were my rebuttals which fell on deaf ears. She was hearing NO part of me and was planning on sporting it for the rest of the day. I figure, we are at home. Sure. She will certainly want to take it off after the "scratch" sets in.
So I start getting my stuff together for a dreaded trip to the grocery and she is not even hearing of taking it off. I am of the "F*&k it" school of thought on this one. If she wants to dress up like an orangutan every day so be it. I read a book awhile back that wisely told me to pick my battles. This, my friends, is NOT a battle I am choosing at this date in time. I will make my suggestion, state my opinion and move on. And soon enough it won't be cute anymore and the mean people of society will stink-eye her into submission. I am going to let her be 3 for a little while. I figure this serves me in the arena of gray hair as well. Might as well save those up for something really worthy...I don't even want to get into what would fall into that category!
So the car ride was filled with questions about our purpose. Why are we going to the store? What do we need? Are you planning on buying me a treat this time? Can we get the (g-d) cotton candy again!?--I KNEW that one would come back to bite me in the ass. So once I had talked her off the ledge of cotton candy destruction and waxed intellectual with her on the sugar content of the cotton poof vs. that of a doughnut we were safely to our destination. Then the Thanksgiving questions started in. What is it? Where is it? When is it? What is Thursday? When is Thursday? I'm exhausted. I feel like Alex Trebek from Jeopardy as she peppers me with her intrigue. I know if I throw my hands in the air and scream "ENOUGH!!!!!" they will certainly call security. But I won't lie and say I wasn't tempted. And boy am I glad I didn't. This rampage of question back and forth gave her a mental picture of Thanksgiving. As we are walking the endless parking lot, Princess holding one hand, Beast holding the other she is jabbering. She is dancing her little jig, enjoying the beautiful sunshine we had been gifted with on an unseasonably warm Colorado day in November. She went on about how she saw Thanksgiving and I sat in thanks. She said, "Mommy, life will be beautiful, sweet, fun, warm and delicious!" This is what Thanksgiving sounded like to her. Had I not continued to entertain her vast array of questions she may not have come up with this Day of the Bird synopsis. At which point I was grateful. God has not given me much patience...I think I've been given JUST enough.
As we continued in Cinderella was stopped by a little couple walking to their car. The big, burly man said "Look honey! A princess!" You should have seen this girls' expression. She looked up at me with a glow as if to say "They KNOW!!!" She did a twirl and a tiny sache for the man, said "Thank you" and we were on our way. In the store no less than 15 people actually approached her to tell her how beautiful she looked. And at one point she turned to me and said with amazement "Even strangers think I look beautiful!" Then there were those who just gave her the sweet eyes and carried on. It was a surprisingly sweet display. I have let her wear gaudy attire in public before and she got nowhere near the reception she did this day.
All this to say is the trip to the store that I thought was going to be excruciating because of irritated, harried customers turned into a delight. Letting my girl don her last-month attire proved beneficial for all--certainly nothing I should have forbade because it "didn't fit the mood." It gave her an ego boost (perhaps too large of one) and it gave me a little more faith in humanity seeing that people aren't all just grump-a-saurus's. It also gave me the opportunity and stage to talk about Thanksgiving with my gal and hear what she thought. I most likely wouldn't have gotten that outlook at home. It was a day to be thankful for. I am eager to continue on this theme of thanks. It's really a good one to adopt. We are sooo incredibly blessed and so well cared for. I can honestly say I want for nothing. And a lifestyle of gratitude has helped me see that I need for nothing. I feel so fortunate to be able to say these things and mean them from the bottom of my heart. I hope your Thanksgiving is as wonderful as my Princess predicts ours to be! Love to all! XOXOX!
Wednesday, November 24, 2010
Tuesday, November 23, 2010
The 12 Days of Pregnancy
In an effort to get into the Christmas Spirit I thought I would share a little ditty that I wrote while pregnant with The Moose. Go ahead, sing along!
The 12 Days of Pregnancy...retold by Katie Cunningham
On the 1st day of pregnancy my true love gave to me an embryo in a tree.
On the 2nd day of pregnancy my true love gave to me 2 swollen boobs and an embryo in a tree.
On the 3rd day of pregnancy my true love gave to me 3 ultra sounds, 2 swollen boobs and an embryo in a tree.
On the 4th day of pregnancy my true love gave to me 4 crazy cravings, 3 ultra sounds, 2 swollen boobs and an embryo in a tree.
On the 5th day of pregnancy my true love gave to me 5 mood swings, 4 crazy cravings, 3 ultra sounds, 2 swollen boobs and an embryo in a tree.
On the 6th day of pregnancy my true love gave to me 6 weakened bladders, 5 mood swings, 4 crazy cravings, 3 ultra sounds, 2 swollen boobs and an embryo in a tree.
On the 7th day of pregnancy my true love gave to me 7 raging hormones, 6 weakened bladders, 5 mood swings, 4 crazy cravings, 3 ultra sounds, 2 swollen boobs and an embryo in a tree.
On the 8th day of pregnancy my true love gave to me 8 un-tied shoes, 7 raging hormones, 6 weakened bladders, 5 mood swings, 4 crazy cravings, 3 ultra sounds, 2 swollen boobs and an embryo in a tree.
On the 9th day of pregnancy my true love gave to me 9 moo moo dresses, 8 un-tied shoes, 7 raging hormones, 6 weakened bladders, 5 mood swings, 4 crazy cravings, 3 ultra sounds, 2 swollen boobs and an embryo in a tree.
On the 10th day of pregnancy my true love gave to me 10 broken scales, 9 moo moo dresses, 8 un-tied shoes, 7 raging hormones, 6 weakened bladders, 5 mood swings, 4 crazy cravings, 3 ultra sounds, 2 swollen boobs and an embryo in a tree.
On the 11th day of pregnancy my true love gave to me 11 stretch marks, 10 broken scales, 9 moo moo dresses, 8 un-tied shoes, 7 raging hormones, 6 weakened bladders, 5 mood swings, 4 crazy cravings, 3 ultra sounds, 2 swollen boobs and an embryo in a tree.
On the 12th day of pregnancy my true love gave to me 12 morning sickness, 11 stretch marks, 10 broken scales, 9 moo moo dresses, 8 un-tied shoes, 7 raging hormones, 6 weakened bladders, 5 mood swings, 4 crazy cravings, 3 ultra sounds, 2 swollen boobs and an embryo in a tree!!!!!!
On the 1st day of pregnancy my true love gave to me an embryo in a tree.
On the 2nd day of pregnancy my true love gave to me 2 swollen boobs and an embryo in a tree.
On the 3rd day of pregnancy my true love gave to me 3 ultra sounds, 2 swollen boobs and an embryo in a tree.
On the 4th day of pregnancy my true love gave to me 4 crazy cravings, 3 ultra sounds, 2 swollen boobs and an embryo in a tree.
On the 5th day of pregnancy my true love gave to me 5 mood swings, 4 crazy cravings, 3 ultra sounds, 2 swollen boobs and an embryo in a tree.
On the 6th day of pregnancy my true love gave to me 6 weakened bladders, 5 mood swings, 4 crazy cravings, 3 ultra sounds, 2 swollen boobs and an embryo in a tree.
On the 7th day of pregnancy my true love gave to me 7 raging hormones, 6 weakened bladders, 5 mood swings, 4 crazy cravings, 3 ultra sounds, 2 swollen boobs and an embryo in a tree.
On the 8th day of pregnancy my true love gave to me 8 un-tied shoes, 7 raging hormones, 6 weakened bladders, 5 mood swings, 4 crazy cravings, 3 ultra sounds, 2 swollen boobs and an embryo in a tree.
On the 9th day of pregnancy my true love gave to me 9 moo moo dresses, 8 un-tied shoes, 7 raging hormones, 6 weakened bladders, 5 mood swings, 4 crazy cravings, 3 ultra sounds, 2 swollen boobs and an embryo in a tree.
On the 10th day of pregnancy my true love gave to me 10 broken scales, 9 moo moo dresses, 8 un-tied shoes, 7 raging hormones, 6 weakened bladders, 5 mood swings, 4 crazy cravings, 3 ultra sounds, 2 swollen boobs and an embryo in a tree.
On the 11th day of pregnancy my true love gave to me 11 stretch marks, 10 broken scales, 9 moo moo dresses, 8 un-tied shoes, 7 raging hormones, 6 weakened bladders, 5 mood swings, 4 crazy cravings, 3 ultra sounds, 2 swollen boobs and an embryo in a tree.
On the 12th day of pregnancy my true love gave to me 12 morning sickness, 11 stretch marks, 10 broken scales, 9 moo moo dresses, 8 un-tied shoes, 7 raging hormones, 6 weakened bladders, 5 mood swings, 4 crazy cravings, 3 ultra sounds, 2 swollen boobs and an embryo in a tree!!!!!!
Friday, November 19, 2010
Hind-Quarter Hootenany
It never ceases to amaze me just how little I know about this life. I guess it's exciting and humbling all at the same time. On the one hand it reminds me that there are millions and zillions of things I know NOTHING about that I have a chance to learn of and on the other it proves exactly what I have suspected for some time--I don't know shit! Seems like the less I am willing to admit I know the more I open myself to learn. I am thinking I will stay this course for the duration...
Let's take, for instance, the phone call from my kids' doctor yesterday. She phoned with the lab results stating that both kids' cultures came back positive for Strep...of the BUTT! I didn't even know Booty Strep existed! Who's ever heard of such a thing? Probably you, but not this ditz-o-plenty. Strep of the hiney hole! Are you serious? And OMG talk about sad! My kids have both been telling me their butts have been hurting for almost 3 weeks now. Being that diarrhea and constipation are the only tushy turmoils I am aware of this possibility never crossed my mind. Didn't even enter the "Options" column. Since dia is kind of apparent (to most) I was left with one diagnosis...Sooo, for the past 2+ weeks I've gone nuts with prune juice, grapes, Activia, dried fruit, bran, olive oil, MiraLax, tummy massage--you name it, I tried it.
Ms. Mini embarked on a back end boycott of withholding actually inducing the condition. I thought she was just being controlling and trying to send me to the Freak Farm when in actuality she had a "sore throat caboose" and was dreading anything threatening to make matters worse. When one has Strep throat they hate to swallow. When one has Strep butt they hate to "spit." HOW ON EARTH DID THIS ESCAPE MY KNOWLEDGE BASE? When Hubba Hubba went in for his ails the doc told him that kids under 4 rarely get Strep so he shouldn't worry. What he failed to mention was The Ring of Fire. Was this what Johnny Cash was referring to?...and I digress.
So Mr. Mini with his limited communication had a harder time giving me a dissertation as worded as the Ms. but his grunts were much more direct and to the point and in finality what sent me to the doc. 3 o'clock Monday morning he is howling at the moon. When I went in for calming I could feel his angst and desperation. He had these words on repeat "Butt...hurts...better...PWEEEEESE!" This hard-as-nails one year old was begging me to make it better and I had NOTHIN. The 10 minute console of yore was not in the slightest bit effective in lulling him back this time. An hour later he finally drifted off, alerting me that what we were dealing with was much bigger than bran muffins and prune juice.
How sheepish was I that morning in the ped's office with 2 fire engine hiney's staring her in the face? The phone diagnosis of yeasty beasty for the Ms. was clearly incorrect and my self-analysis of "log jam" was also faulty. When she confirmed that this illness felt like a sore throat of the back barracks I shuddered. Can't even imagine what an ail of this magnitude would feel like.
All this to say is I have 2 public service announcements for those of you unaware as I was. And moreover reminders to myself in writing: #1--Phone diagnosis for nether region issues are ill-advised. There's not enough Lotrimin or MiraLax on the shelves that would have rid the Ms. of her ails and this determination could never have been made sight unseen. #2--Booty Strep exists! This is still hard for me to process. Evidently the germs from the hands of the infected carrier transfer to the bottom with wiping. So if you or your honey have the Strep you're OFF diaper duty/potty patrol for awhile. Please believe you don't want your kids' "starfish" afflicted with this unholy (no pun intended) wrath!
I must say that in this fiasco and time of pain, confusion and late night visits to my baby boy there was a moment. Just him and me. Him, uncomfortable and sad; me, uncomfortable and unable to console. The only "trick" I had left in my bag was the old faithful snuggle and rock. Still erring on the side of "undownloaded material" I continued the tummy rub. After a spell my exhaustion won out and my hand rested on his chubby, warm tummy. As we rocked back and forth he started to doze off. He took his little hand and slid it underneath mine and this is where it rested. For a split second I thought of Al Bundy but in the end will remember the sweet security he felt just being in my arms--having his little hand under mine, sleeping. Somehow knowing that even though I didn't have all the answers he still felt safe and loved. Made me feel like less of a heal and more of a human. As parents we can't always have all the answers. I'm finding more times than not I don't. But if we love our kids and do our best can we really be doing a bad job? I think not. And I will leave you with that!
Let's take, for instance, the phone call from my kids' doctor yesterday. She phoned with the lab results stating that both kids' cultures came back positive for Strep...of the BUTT! I didn't even know Booty Strep existed! Who's ever heard of such a thing? Probably you, but not this ditz-o-plenty. Strep of the hiney hole! Are you serious? And OMG talk about sad! My kids have both been telling me their butts have been hurting for almost 3 weeks now. Being that diarrhea and constipation are the only tushy turmoils I am aware of this possibility never crossed my mind. Didn't even enter the "Options" column. Since dia is kind of apparent (to most) I was left with one diagnosis...Sooo, for the past 2+ weeks I've gone nuts with prune juice, grapes, Activia, dried fruit, bran, olive oil, MiraLax, tummy massage--you name it, I tried it.
Ms. Mini embarked on a back end boycott of withholding actually inducing the condition. I thought she was just being controlling and trying to send me to the Freak Farm when in actuality she had a "sore throat caboose" and was dreading anything threatening to make matters worse. When one has Strep throat they hate to swallow. When one has Strep butt they hate to "spit." HOW ON EARTH DID THIS ESCAPE MY KNOWLEDGE BASE? When Hubba Hubba went in for his ails the doc told him that kids under 4 rarely get Strep so he shouldn't worry. What he failed to mention was The Ring of Fire. Was this what Johnny Cash was referring to?...and I digress.
So Mr. Mini with his limited communication had a harder time giving me a dissertation as worded as the Ms. but his grunts were much more direct and to the point and in finality what sent me to the doc. 3 o'clock Monday morning he is howling at the moon. When I went in for calming I could feel his angst and desperation. He had these words on repeat "Butt...hurts...better...PWEEEEESE!" This hard-as-nails one year old was begging me to make it better and I had NOTHIN. The 10 minute console of yore was not in the slightest bit effective in lulling him back this time. An hour later he finally drifted off, alerting me that what we were dealing with was much bigger than bran muffins and prune juice.
How sheepish was I that morning in the ped's office with 2 fire engine hiney's staring her in the face? The phone diagnosis of yeasty beasty for the Ms. was clearly incorrect and my self-analysis of "log jam" was also faulty. When she confirmed that this illness felt like a sore throat of the back barracks I shuddered. Can't even imagine what an ail of this magnitude would feel like.
All this to say is I have 2 public service announcements for those of you unaware as I was. And moreover reminders to myself in writing: #1--Phone diagnosis for nether region issues are ill-advised. There's not enough Lotrimin or MiraLax on the shelves that would have rid the Ms. of her ails and this determination could never have been made sight unseen. #2--Booty Strep exists! This is still hard for me to process. Evidently the germs from the hands of the infected carrier transfer to the bottom with wiping. So if you or your honey have the Strep you're OFF diaper duty/potty patrol for awhile. Please believe you don't want your kids' "starfish" afflicted with this unholy (no pun intended) wrath!
I must say that in this fiasco and time of pain, confusion and late night visits to my baby boy there was a moment. Just him and me. Him, uncomfortable and sad; me, uncomfortable and unable to console. The only "trick" I had left in my bag was the old faithful snuggle and rock. Still erring on the side of "undownloaded material" I continued the tummy rub. After a spell my exhaustion won out and my hand rested on his chubby, warm tummy. As we rocked back and forth he started to doze off. He took his little hand and slid it underneath mine and this is where it rested. For a split second I thought of Al Bundy but in the end will remember the sweet security he felt just being in my arms--having his little hand under mine, sleeping. Somehow knowing that even though I didn't have all the answers he still felt safe and loved. Made me feel like less of a heal and more of a human. As parents we can't always have all the answers. I'm finding more times than not I don't. But if we love our kids and do our best can we really be doing a bad job? I think not. And I will leave you with that!
Wednesday, November 17, 2010
Let the name calling begin...
We recently discovered by way of Chinese delivery (proud recipients of a bonus calendar) that our son was born in the Year of the Ox. Stand alone, this information is unremarkable. When we delve deeper we find that the boy was nicknamed "Ox" by his mother shortly after birth. Partly because of his ginormous head circumference and partly because of his near immediate display of oxen-like personality traits.
So as we are looking through this "You bought so much shit from us we are thanking you with this ultra cool Chinese calendar" free-be we made some further discoveries...
Discovery #1- (already mentioned) Mr. Mini is an Ox.
Discovery #2- Ms. Mini is a Pig
Discovery #3- Mom is a Dragon & Dad is a Tiger (Rarrrr! :)
Learning all of this new information unfortunately gave Ms. Mini much delight. She found it to be hilarious that this calendar basically affirmed what mom had been saying all along and she embarked on the name-calling. "Ox" this and "Ox" that. "Don't do that, Ox!" "Come here, Ox!" Each time there was a giggle in her voice and a look of confusion on his face. As of right now, he isn't quite sure what this whole "Ox" thing is. Never having seen one in real life and not knowing any of the negative connotation regarding the species he is generally in the dark at this point. My fear is that this will continue for years to come (the moniker is really just too fitting) and perhaps it will be a self-fulfilling prophecy for him. He will, in fact, become a stubborn, bull-like entity and I will regret the day of Crispy Duck & Pot Stickers.
Then I take this a step further and foresee when he is old enough to figure out for himself what animal year his sister was born under. Though it won't be too hard as she has been running around proclaiming "I'm a Pig! I'm a Pig!" A "Pig" 3-year-old is cute--a "Pig" 13-year-old is not. I mean, that sort of name calling is grounds for just about anything and I have to say I wouldn't blame her. The thought of my little girl being called such an unsavory name bring shivers. Again, I'm hoping it doesn't send her straight to the Bon-Bons.
And then we prognosticate one step further and note that mom is a "Dragon." Really? Do I HAVE to be a Dragon? No Rooster? Sheep? Horse? I'd even take Monkey. But Dragon?! I had a teacher back in the day that we called The Dragon Lady and let me tell you we were not complimenting her. She could scare me into submission with just one glare. I don't think I spoke for that whole year and you can IMAGINE just how hard that was! I do not want my minions to fear me though I suppose with the track record I have already established I am well on my way. You could tell me to "Rage On!" and it would bare quite a different reality today than it did 10 years ago...although at each segment of life quite fitting for where I was/am.
But at the end of the day I suppose they are going to be who they are...be it Ox or Pig. I will no doubt, fill my Dragon role. There shall be no self-fulfilling prophecy. I suppose this is simply a wake up call for me in regard to doing my best to give them strong senses of self. That the task at hand from here on out should not be to keep the names from being called but to keep the stereotypes from being ingested. As we've seen in recent years, it's tough stuff growing up these days. Bullying is at an alarming level and kids are taking drastic measures--both the givers and receivers. I guess I should be grateful that this nugget was brought to my plate so early. When they are given shit by their siblings at home at the very least one can play referee and teach them a few tricks of the trade while being the voice over their shoulder teaching them the truth about themselves. Not the lies of verbal abuse. Wow, re-reading that made me see that this is a TALL order--and again, I am reminded of what I have said to myself time and time again, "Isn't EVERY aspect of parenting?"
"Rage On" my fellow do-gooders--in whatever capacity of "rage" you can conjure! Release your inner Dragon and have a Grrrreat day! <insert dorky laugh here> :)
So as we are looking through this "You bought so much shit from us we are thanking you with this ultra cool Chinese calendar" free-be we made some further discoveries...
Discovery #1- (already mentioned) Mr. Mini is an Ox.
Discovery #2- Ms. Mini is a Pig
Discovery #3- Mom is a Dragon & Dad is a Tiger (Rarrrr! :)
Learning all of this new information unfortunately gave Ms. Mini much delight. She found it to be hilarious that this calendar basically affirmed what mom had been saying all along and she embarked on the name-calling. "Ox" this and "Ox" that. "Don't do that, Ox!" "Come here, Ox!" Each time there was a giggle in her voice and a look of confusion on his face. As of right now, he isn't quite sure what this whole "Ox" thing is. Never having seen one in real life and not knowing any of the negative connotation regarding the species he is generally in the dark at this point. My fear is that this will continue for years to come (the moniker is really just too fitting) and perhaps it will be a self-fulfilling prophecy for him. He will, in fact, become a stubborn, bull-like entity and I will regret the day of Crispy Duck & Pot Stickers.
Then I take this a step further and foresee when he is old enough to figure out for himself what animal year his sister was born under. Though it won't be too hard as she has been running around proclaiming "I'm a Pig! I'm a Pig!" A "Pig" 3-year-old is cute--a "Pig" 13-year-old is not. I mean, that sort of name calling is grounds for just about anything and I have to say I wouldn't blame her. The thought of my little girl being called such an unsavory name bring shivers. Again, I'm hoping it doesn't send her straight to the Bon-Bons.
And then we prognosticate one step further and note that mom is a "Dragon." Really? Do I HAVE to be a Dragon? No Rooster? Sheep? Horse? I'd even take Monkey. But Dragon?! I had a teacher back in the day that we called The Dragon Lady and let me tell you we were not complimenting her. She could scare me into submission with just one glare. I don't think I spoke for that whole year and you can IMAGINE just how hard that was! I do not want my minions to fear me though I suppose with the track record I have already established I am well on my way. You could tell me to "Rage On!" and it would bare quite a different reality today than it did 10 years ago...although at each segment of life quite fitting for where I was/am.
But at the end of the day I suppose they are going to be who they are...be it Ox or Pig. I will no doubt, fill my Dragon role. There shall be no self-fulfilling prophecy. I suppose this is simply a wake up call for me in regard to doing my best to give them strong senses of self. That the task at hand from here on out should not be to keep the names from being called but to keep the stereotypes from being ingested. As we've seen in recent years, it's tough stuff growing up these days. Bullying is at an alarming level and kids are taking drastic measures--both the givers and receivers. I guess I should be grateful that this nugget was brought to my plate so early. When they are given shit by their siblings at home at the very least one can play referee and teach them a few tricks of the trade while being the voice over their shoulder teaching them the truth about themselves. Not the lies of verbal abuse. Wow, re-reading that made me see that this is a TALL order--and again, I am reminded of what I have said to myself time and time again, "Isn't EVERY aspect of parenting?"
"Rage On" my fellow do-gooders--in whatever capacity of "rage" you can conjure! Release your inner Dragon and have a Grrrreat day! <insert dorky laugh here> :)
Monday, November 15, 2010
Monday Monday...
So I get these emails every week with the subject line "Your 19-Month-Old: Week 1; Week 2; Week 3"...you get the picture. So as the kid progresses I am privy to the things I can expect from this creature and milestones in which to look for. I'm questioning why not ONE of these emails has ever had the subject line: "Your 19-Month-Old: Hold onto your f*(%ing shorts!" Now I know not ALL kids are hell on wheels but you'd be hard-pressed to convince me that most boys aren't. I just could not have picked a more polar opposite from my daughter if I had tried. Granted she did/does have her issues as she decided that being awake for 92% of a given week is acceptable, she has just never pulled the kind of crap this one does. Which is why I believe I am constantly amazed and totally unprepared for the shenanigans The Ox brings to the table.
Let's take this morning...I left the room for TWO minutes to brush my teeth (heaven forbid I take ANY time for self-hygiene) and come back into the room after about 30 seconds of silence only to find the table, floor, breakfast nook and all associated walls covered in tomato juice! I do believe my exact words were "WTF!?" Partially because of the shock of seeing red splattered all over everything and instinctively thinking it was blood and the other part was just plain, old fashioned shock. This would have NEVER occurred to my female. Something of this nature would just never have even entered her mind. She would have written such off as preposterous! I don't know how I know this, I just do. I take that back...I think I know this because the same female had passed up the can of juice and pulled up a chair in the adjacent room once the tomfoolery commenced. I believe she KNEW what was going to happen next and thought she needed to take cover. Probably why she was buried under the couch cushions asking "What did Chase do, mommy?" My point is, I can leave her in a room to brush my teeth and know that when I come back into it 2 minutes later it will be as I left it. With the boy it is a literal crap shoot. Most of the time it is as though a bomb went off upon my exit. So am I supposed to get one of those kiddie leashes and attach him to me wherever I go? I have already conceded to the fact that we will have nothing of value or decency until he moves out. I left my eye glasses on my desk yesterday, turned my head to reach for some papers, turned back around to find him treating them like a Gumby toy, ripping them from limb to limb. Maybe he is testing their durability? I certainly know he is testing my patience.
And then this morning after our trip to the doctor (where we learned that not one but both children have contracted impetigo--most likely from dad's bout with Strep :-/) we were trying to scurry into the house. Ox decided that he needed to frolic in the yard for a moment which I completely encouraged. I stood by the door and watched them play for a bit at which point he scoped out a pile of fecal remnants in our front yard that was left by our neighbor's dog. His radar honed in on this pile and he conjured all of his mini-might to leap as high into the air as a toddler possibly could and land directly amidst the dung. WHAT ON EARTH WOULD POSSESS HIM TO DO THIS? He knew what it was...he kept saying "poop...poop!" and I do believe I have made it abundantly clear in our tenure together that poop is gross. But it is like a moth to a flame. A truly puzzling sight. So needless to say, I rushed into the house to arm my hand with something to pick up the piles and found a plastic grocery bag. Slipped it onto my hand as a glove of sorts...upon closing the claw, came to the realization that the bag had experienced a previous blow out and was without substance. Grabbing a dog pile with a bare hand brings a special sort of feeling to my heart...one part dumb ass, two parts disgust, one part IRE with a dash of disbelief.
They say you can start your day over at any time. I've pressed the "redo" button on this day twice already. Hoping things can only get better from here...
Let's take this morning...I left the room for TWO minutes to brush my teeth (heaven forbid I take ANY time for self-hygiene) and come back into the room after about 30 seconds of silence only to find the table, floor, breakfast nook and all associated walls covered in tomato juice! I do believe my exact words were "WTF!?" Partially because of the shock of seeing red splattered all over everything and instinctively thinking it was blood and the other part was just plain, old fashioned shock. This would have NEVER occurred to my female. Something of this nature would just never have even entered her mind. She would have written such off as preposterous! I don't know how I know this, I just do. I take that back...I think I know this because the same female had passed up the can of juice and pulled up a chair in the adjacent room once the tomfoolery commenced. I believe she KNEW what was going to happen next and thought she needed to take cover. Probably why she was buried under the couch cushions asking "What did Chase do, mommy?" My point is, I can leave her in a room to brush my teeth and know that when I come back into it 2 minutes later it will be as I left it. With the boy it is a literal crap shoot. Most of the time it is as though a bomb went off upon my exit. So am I supposed to get one of those kiddie leashes and attach him to me wherever I go? I have already conceded to the fact that we will have nothing of value or decency until he moves out. I left my eye glasses on my desk yesterday, turned my head to reach for some papers, turned back around to find him treating them like a Gumby toy, ripping them from limb to limb. Maybe he is testing their durability? I certainly know he is testing my patience.
And then this morning after our trip to the doctor (where we learned that not one but both children have contracted impetigo--most likely from dad's bout with Strep :-/) we were trying to scurry into the house. Ox decided that he needed to frolic in the yard for a moment which I completely encouraged. I stood by the door and watched them play for a bit at which point he scoped out a pile of fecal remnants in our front yard that was left by our neighbor's dog. His radar honed in on this pile and he conjured all of his mini-might to leap as high into the air as a toddler possibly could and land directly amidst the dung. WHAT ON EARTH WOULD POSSESS HIM TO DO THIS? He knew what it was...he kept saying "poop...poop!" and I do believe I have made it abundantly clear in our tenure together that poop is gross. But it is like a moth to a flame. A truly puzzling sight. So needless to say, I rushed into the house to arm my hand with something to pick up the piles and found a plastic grocery bag. Slipped it onto my hand as a glove of sorts...upon closing the claw, came to the realization that the bag had experienced a previous blow out and was without substance. Grabbing a dog pile with a bare hand brings a special sort of feeling to my heart...one part dumb ass, two parts disgust, one part IRE with a dash of disbelief.
They say you can start your day over at any time. I've pressed the "redo" button on this day twice already. Hoping things can only get better from here...
Friday, November 12, 2010
Scrooge!?
OK now this one has been settling on me for a bit now. Truth be known since Mya's 1st Christmas. It has all resurfaced with the eminent arrival of the Holiday Season. It all started when an extended sister of mine sent the minis these beautiful Christmas Reindeer books last week. The story goes, that on Christmas Eve the reindeer are outfitted with "shoes" (much like horse shoes) and from time to time a shoe will drop onto an unsuspecting recipients "lucky" roof. The reindeer shoes are to be cherished and hung from the tree as they are very special. The books came complete with 2 packages of cute little reindeer shoes and the story is a very sweet little one. Needless to say I have read the book to Mya no less than a jillion times already so she could commit it to memory and "read" it to herself. One particular evening after having read it 3 times in a row she looked up at me with her sweet little innocent 3-year-old face and said "Mommy, are the reindeer shoes REAL or just pretend?" UGH! Take the knife out of my chest! I faltered. Here I am, the MOM, and to be raising my daughter as honest and upstanding and I am LYING to her!? The pain of this is fibery is something that I was not alerted of pre-parent. Something that should be written in all CAPS in a pamphlet they pass out for when you decide to discontinue your birth control usage. **WARNING** SHOULD YOU BECOME PREGNANT YOU MAY FEEL HORRIBLY GUILTY LYING TO YOUR KIDS ABOUT SANTA CLAUS! I'd be fine with them making footnotes regarding the Easter Bunny, Tooth Fairy, Cupid etc. but Santa, for me, is the big one.
So here I am faced with being the biggest Scrooge on the planet by admitting to my daughter something I believe she already knows. She called me out last year when we saw "Santa" at the store. I said, "Look Mya there's Santa!" to which she retorted "Uh no mommy, that's just someone dressed up like Santa!" At 2 I wasn't really sure what to do with that so I let it be. Now at 3 I am becoming more convinced that she is onto the charade. My poker face is such that I won't be able to keep this one up. I already feel like I am about to crack. And if I do break down and tell her then I am left with a shattered little girl whose childhood is void of the beautiful belief in The Dream.
I remember at the age of about 7 my same-aged cousin alerting me of the sham. I played it off like I knew, all the while horrified that mom and dad were, in fact, Santa. Memories of earlier childhood Christmas's came flooding back and all the pieces were finally put together. I had KNOWN it all along. I was simply in denial--something I have grown quite comfortable in after all these years. Denial has come to be like a warm, winter afghan to me so it is no surprise that at the age of 7 I still hadn't figured it out. I remember my first thought after the blow being "You bastards!" (yes, already at the tender age of 7 I had my truck driver vernacular) I just couldn't believe that they had put on this whole story about a fat guy in a suit just to give me "Christmas Spirit." And it was really all down hill from there. The years to come were filled with gift-hunting prior to the big day as well as gift opening and re-wrapping with my brother in later years. The whole magic had deflated in that one moment and I became a Christmas Misfit! Don't get me wrong, I still liked the holiday but the flare that it once had was removed in one fail swoop!
So my issue here is that I don't want my daughter to think I am a fraud for having her buy into this whole song and dance. But I also don't want to be a Scrooge and let her in on the goods right out the gates. Will she not trust me forever because of this little white lie? I feel like I have already jumped in the water and I just don't know how to get out! There have GOT to be those of you who have gone through this same turmoil. Those who have braved the battle field and survived with your child's love and trust still in-tact. Please share with me your wisdom! Give me the ability to survive this holiday season and those to follow without feeling like a total con artist cuz I got NOTHIN!
Why is this such a hard topic to process? It is supposed to be Merry Christmas not Wary Christmas! Please, with your comments, help me put the "Merry" back in our Christmas! :)
So here I am faced with being the biggest Scrooge on the planet by admitting to my daughter something I believe she already knows. She called me out last year when we saw "Santa" at the store. I said, "Look Mya there's Santa!" to which she retorted "Uh no mommy, that's just someone dressed up like Santa!" At 2 I wasn't really sure what to do with that so I let it be. Now at 3 I am becoming more convinced that she is onto the charade. My poker face is such that I won't be able to keep this one up. I already feel like I am about to crack. And if I do break down and tell her then I am left with a shattered little girl whose childhood is void of the beautiful belief in The Dream.
I remember at the age of about 7 my same-aged cousin alerting me of the sham. I played it off like I knew, all the while horrified that mom and dad were, in fact, Santa. Memories of earlier childhood Christmas's came flooding back and all the pieces were finally put together. I had KNOWN it all along. I was simply in denial--something I have grown quite comfortable in after all these years. Denial has come to be like a warm, winter afghan to me so it is no surprise that at the age of 7 I still hadn't figured it out. I remember my first thought after the blow being "You bastards!" (yes, already at the tender age of 7 I had my truck driver vernacular) I just couldn't believe that they had put on this whole story about a fat guy in a suit just to give me "Christmas Spirit." And it was really all down hill from there. The years to come were filled with gift-hunting prior to the big day as well as gift opening and re-wrapping with my brother in later years. The whole magic had deflated in that one moment and I became a Christmas Misfit! Don't get me wrong, I still liked the holiday but the flare that it once had was removed in one fail swoop!
So my issue here is that I don't want my daughter to think I am a fraud for having her buy into this whole song and dance. But I also don't want to be a Scrooge and let her in on the goods right out the gates. Will she not trust me forever because of this little white lie? I feel like I have already jumped in the water and I just don't know how to get out! There have GOT to be those of you who have gone through this same turmoil. Those who have braved the battle field and survived with your child's love and trust still in-tact. Please share with me your wisdom! Give me the ability to survive this holiday season and those to follow without feeling like a total con artist cuz I got NOTHIN!
Why is this such a hard topic to process? It is supposed to be Merry Christmas not Wary Christmas! Please, with your comments, help me put the "Merry" back in our Christmas! :)
Thursday, November 11, 2010
Let it Snow--Let it Go!
So today was the 1st day of legitimate, stick on the ground snow. This came at a not-so-good time as Chase and I are both sick. Nothing major, just enough to be irritating. Also coming with poor timing is Hubba Hubba's memory lapse in forgetting to take MJ's car seat out of his truck and leave it for me. And coming with even worse timing is the fact that today was the day that I had scheduled for grocery shopping. All this to say is that I HAD to go to the store and the only way to get there was on foot.
So I wrapped up the littles as snugly as possible for 30 degree weather and got them both looking vaguely like the little brother in The Christmas Story. At one point Chase DID look like a tick about to pop! After I had decided there was no possible room for another layer on either one I ran as fast as a mom can run pushing two kids in a double stroller with blustery wind and snow pelting one's face. We retrieved our essentials, looked at every toy and Christmas decoration in the store, ate a donut and headed home.
When we got back home Mya decided that this would be prime time to show her brother the Snow Ropes. This is really his first experience in the white stuff and she really felt the need to indoctrinate him into the World of Snowball Fights. I thought better of it for a moment as the mini is not feeling 100% but how does one drag a young boy from his very first snow day without feeling that pang of guilt? So I figured a few minutes wouldn't hurt. He was no sooner out of the stroller when his sister came up with guns blazing and launched a fatty right to his face. There was so much snow he literally couldn't inhale without it going up his nose. Had it not been for the snot melting it immediately he may have suffocated a little. I quickly went into Mama Bear mode and scolded her stating that he did not know what a snow ball fight was, didn't know what the hell snow was for that matter and that she needed to ease him into the whole thing by teaching him how it goes and what to do. She obviously missed the fact that boys don't necessarily come with genetic coding on how to snow ball fight. So she went about teaching him the rules, all the while hurling snow right into his face. I continue to rage. He is trying to get the hang of it but due to the aforementioned "tick status" he was scarcely able to raise his arms. With such limited range of motion he was forced to implement a side-arm type hurl which started to get him somewhere.
While all of this was transpiring I started analyzing my anger toward the elder. Is this right? Does the baby always turn the mom against her 1st born angel? Are these emotions fair, right and normal? Once the Moose started getting into it and getting his sister in the kisser I found myself applauding him internally and saying "Ya! Take THAT!" WTH? This is my baby girl that I am rooting against. Are you sure this is right? And furthermore, why am I admitting to this? Perhaps it is my eternal praise for the underdog that got me going? Maybe a flashback from childhood where I was the recipient of freezing cold snow washes lit my fire? I'm not certain the source--all I know is I was legitimately hoping for him to teach her a lesson in rosy red snow rashes.
Then I started feeling bad about all of this and tried to give her the benefit of the doubt. She really WAS showing him the right way to play the game. Play hard or go inside. And maybe, just maybe she kept pelting him front n' center in an effort to remove the double barrel snot guns that he was bringing to the game. For this, I couldn't blame her as it was pretty gross. Upon this realization I ran in to retrieve a Kleenex. At least I would take this option out of the equation...
When I finished wiping him, a delightful surprise...I was now a part of the ambush! I guess I never really considered myself a welcomed player in the game due to the size differential but I figured, why not! I thought "This a prime opportunity to teach her about snowball fights and picking on people your own size." HOW MEAN, right? I am her MOM not her arch nemesis. Where the hell is all of this coming from? But when she threw the ball at me my only choice was to fight back.
I point blank ranged her--right in the forehead. Now mind you, this is light, fluffy, new snow so there was no injury and no need for you to call CPS but I was kind of shocked at my ability to make my own offspring cold. I half-winced after the delivery and held my breath waiting for the response. Much to my surprise (though I am sure not to many of you) she responded with uncontrollable laughter! She was so pleased at my aim and fire that she rewarded me with giggles!
So here I am trying to teach her the standard Golden Rule method of do unto others and it is simply falling on deaf ears. Is it that I am old and unaware that, cold or not, snow is a damn good time? I am trying to elicit a "think before you act" sort of lesson and instead I'm being met with the portrait of "Game ON!" This brings me to the fact that I am constantly over thinking this parenting thing. I'm so busy planning my next move that I don't live in the moment and respond like I would to any other human being. If my next door neighbor would have come at me with this business we would have rumbled, laughed and brushed it off. It made me realize that there are times to be a mom and there are times to remove the mask and just have fun with my kids. At this point in my journey it is not coming so second nature. I am needing to blog about it to see where I went wrong. But my hope is that with time and practice I will learn to be a better balance of parent and pal. It's going to be a loooong winter so I am sure I will be met with ample opportunity!
Happy Snow Day to you all. Hope you are gifted with the same chances to grow that I was!
Some pics of my "tick" :)
So I wrapped up the littles as snugly as possible for 30 degree weather and got them both looking vaguely like the little brother in The Christmas Story. At one point Chase DID look like a tick about to pop! After I had decided there was no possible room for another layer on either one I ran as fast as a mom can run pushing two kids in a double stroller with blustery wind and snow pelting one's face. We retrieved our essentials, looked at every toy and Christmas decoration in the store, ate a donut and headed home.
When we got back home Mya decided that this would be prime time to show her brother the Snow Ropes. This is really his first experience in the white stuff and she really felt the need to indoctrinate him into the World of Snowball Fights. I thought better of it for a moment as the mini is not feeling 100% but how does one drag a young boy from his very first snow day without feeling that pang of guilt? So I figured a few minutes wouldn't hurt. He was no sooner out of the stroller when his sister came up with guns blazing and launched a fatty right to his face. There was so much snow he literally couldn't inhale without it going up his nose. Had it not been for the snot melting it immediately he may have suffocated a little. I quickly went into Mama Bear mode and scolded her stating that he did not know what a snow ball fight was, didn't know what the hell snow was for that matter and that she needed to ease him into the whole thing by teaching him how it goes and what to do. She obviously missed the fact that boys don't necessarily come with genetic coding on how to snow ball fight. So she went about teaching him the rules, all the while hurling snow right into his face. I continue to rage. He is trying to get the hang of it but due to the aforementioned "tick status" he was scarcely able to raise his arms. With such limited range of motion he was forced to implement a side-arm type hurl which started to get him somewhere.
While all of this was transpiring I started analyzing my anger toward the elder. Is this right? Does the baby always turn the mom against her 1st born angel? Are these emotions fair, right and normal? Once the Moose started getting into it and getting his sister in the kisser I found myself applauding him internally and saying "Ya! Take THAT!" WTH? This is my baby girl that I am rooting against. Are you sure this is right? And furthermore, why am I admitting to this? Perhaps it is my eternal praise for the underdog that got me going? Maybe a flashback from childhood where I was the recipient of freezing cold snow washes lit my fire? I'm not certain the source--all I know is I was legitimately hoping for him to teach her a lesson in rosy red snow rashes.
Then I started feeling bad about all of this and tried to give her the benefit of the doubt. She really WAS showing him the right way to play the game. Play hard or go inside. And maybe, just maybe she kept pelting him front n' center in an effort to remove the double barrel snot guns that he was bringing to the game. For this, I couldn't blame her as it was pretty gross. Upon this realization I ran in to retrieve a Kleenex. At least I would take this option out of the equation...
When I finished wiping him, a delightful surprise...I was now a part of the ambush! I guess I never really considered myself a welcomed player in the game due to the size differential but I figured, why not! I thought "This a prime opportunity to teach her about snowball fights and picking on people your own size." HOW MEAN, right? I am her MOM not her arch nemesis. Where the hell is all of this coming from? But when she threw the ball at me my only choice was to fight back.
I point blank ranged her--right in the forehead. Now mind you, this is light, fluffy, new snow so there was no injury and no need for you to call CPS but I was kind of shocked at my ability to make my own offspring cold. I half-winced after the delivery and held my breath waiting for the response. Much to my surprise (though I am sure not to many of you) she responded with uncontrollable laughter! She was so pleased at my aim and fire that she rewarded me with giggles!
So here I am trying to teach her the standard Golden Rule method of do unto others and it is simply falling on deaf ears. Is it that I am old and unaware that, cold or not, snow is a damn good time? I am trying to elicit a "think before you act" sort of lesson and instead I'm being met with the portrait of "Game ON!" This brings me to the fact that I am constantly over thinking this parenting thing. I'm so busy planning my next move that I don't live in the moment and respond like I would to any other human being. If my next door neighbor would have come at me with this business we would have rumbled, laughed and brushed it off. It made me realize that there are times to be a mom and there are times to remove the mask and just have fun with my kids. At this point in my journey it is not coming so second nature. I am needing to blog about it to see where I went wrong. But my hope is that with time and practice I will learn to be a better balance of parent and pal. It's going to be a loooong winter so I am sure I will be met with ample opportunity!
Happy Snow Day to you all. Hope you are gifted with the same chances to grow that I was!
Some pics of my "tick" :)
Monday, November 1, 2010
Hot Mama!!
So the other day a dear, sweet friend of ours came by the house to pass back some baby gear and since Hubba Hubba was in quarantine with Strep Throat she wisely chose to stay outside. I ran out quick to thank her and chat for a spell. While out talking to her a shocking realization hit me. I was being surrounded by bugs! I was trying to be discrete and swoosh the pests away but to no avail. It got to the point where I actually had to draw attention to it as I was beginning to think she may believe I had lost it. We giggled about it for a minute and then it dawned on me...I had not showered in TWO DAYS! Perhaps this could be why I was being engulfed by nasty insects. Perhaps I was, in fact, the nasty one. So this brought me to a further musing regarding my present state of affairs and the thought was brought forward "When the hell did showering become a luxury?" As quickly as I asked, I answered and the answer was clear...March 11, 2007--my daughter's birth day.
Since that day pretty much every aspect of self-care and primping has fallen to the wayside. Look, I am even putting a shower in the category of "primping." Not hygiene...primping! So I embarked on a spell of self-criticism--which is never a good thing when you are in my mind. And came to realize all of the other things that had fallen off the list of priorities...
I can't remember the last time I wore a full face of make-up just for the hell of it. It has to be an EXTRA special occasion (like actually leaving the compound for a meal) to render this bonus. This coming from the girl who, freshman year of college, swam twice a day and insisted upon a full make-up application and wardrobe change after each practice. Now THAT was a full-time job. Where did she go?
And my hair...well, after Hubba Hubba told me he hated the bangs that I had cut in June I have been so petrified to have scissors taken to my head that I have just let it go crazy. My girl's pre-school teacher noticed the pain-staking time I took with Mya's curls for the Halloween parade. Then proceed to joke "And you've clearly done your hair as well! HA!" Yes, I recognize the oversight :) And while we are on the subject of hair, I realized that my legs had gone entirely neglected as well. It's times like these I'm grateful that I don't have dark hair as I would have quickly been on my way to dressing up as a werewolf for Halloween. I fear if I were to take a really close look at my eyebrows they would be screaming for emergency evacuation as well. So I have chosen to stay away from any extreme closeups in the mirror. This serves me ten-fold.
I then thought back to a conversation I had with Hubba Hubba a few days earlier and I actually uttered the phrase "my nice sweats." There is now a differentiation between shitty shit clothes and not-so shitty shit clothes? The major determining factor is whether or not said article of clothing is stained with paint. REALLY? I mean, I have never been a fashionista but this is ridiculous! I kid you not, I tried to throw together something other than sweats the other day, looked in the mirror and the first thing that came to my mind was "Wow, you look like a homeless woman!" OUCH!
I married a personal trainer and haven't seen the consistency of gym life since that day in the delivery room. Gaining 30 pounds with the 1st, losing 70 then gaining 50 pounds with the 2nd and losing as much again has done unkind things to the frame and its surrounding areas. I mean, how far can this rubber band stretch? The only saving grace in that department has been the fact that I nursed a small cow for over a year and his fighting weight is a cool 30 pounds. Lifting that 4,000 times a day along with chasing after the 2 mini monsters has managed to keep up the facade.
After thinking of all of these horrendous oversights I found myself wondering how my hubby can stay married to such an unfortunate troll. This certainly is not the person he married...on any level. I've easily aged 10 years in the past 4 as the guy in the grocery kindly brought to light. Asked me if I was in my late 30's. UGH! Apparently I'm not the only one that noticed. So will this madness ever end? I know I'm not the only one but I also see tons of mom's who haven't fallen victim to this pitfall. I see them in the store and wonder "How the hell does she do it?" I dismiss such sightings as mirages or simply delusions rooting from sleep deprivation. I also realize that I need to MAKE time for such niceties. I guess I'm just consumed with being with my kids and documenting every little thing they do (obviously). I'm told so frequently to cherish this time with them, because one day I will miss it. Regardless of all of my bitching, I truly believe this and am choosing to finally listen to the wise words of those who have parented before me. Long lost are the days of "Katie Knows Best." Turns out those days were all a hoax.
Perhaps it's just that my focus has changed. It's no longer about me and I am celebrating that fact to the extreme. Maybe I am the ultimate martyr. Or maybe I have finally grown up and realized there is more to life than appearances. Regardless of troll status, my husband loves the woman that is trying her best to raise their children. Looks like those children are pretty fond of her as well. I guess when I look in the mirror THAT is what I see and that is what matters. I have a feeling my babies aren't going to remember that I skipped a shower or two while they were little. Or didn't dress to the nines all the while. I hope they will remember rolling in the leaves on a warm autumn day with their mom who adored them like no other human being on this planet could. THIS is what I am celebrating to the extreme. This beautiful thing called "Life." Now let's LIVE IT!
Since that day pretty much every aspect of self-care and primping has fallen to the wayside. Look, I am even putting a shower in the category of "primping." Not hygiene...primping! So I embarked on a spell of self-criticism--which is never a good thing when you are in my mind. And came to realize all of the other things that had fallen off the list of priorities...
I can't remember the last time I wore a full face of make-up just for the hell of it. It has to be an EXTRA special occasion (like actually leaving the compound for a meal) to render this bonus. This coming from the girl who, freshman year of college, swam twice a day and insisted upon a full make-up application and wardrobe change after each practice. Now THAT was a full-time job. Where did she go?
And my hair...well, after Hubba Hubba told me he hated the bangs that I had cut in June I have been so petrified to have scissors taken to my head that I have just let it go crazy. My girl's pre-school teacher noticed the pain-staking time I took with Mya's curls for the Halloween parade. Then proceed to joke "And you've clearly done your hair as well! HA!" Yes, I recognize the oversight :) And while we are on the subject of hair, I realized that my legs had gone entirely neglected as well. It's times like these I'm grateful that I don't have dark hair as I would have quickly been on my way to dressing up as a werewolf for Halloween. I fear if I were to take a really close look at my eyebrows they would be screaming for emergency evacuation as well. So I have chosen to stay away from any extreme closeups in the mirror. This serves me ten-fold.
I then thought back to a conversation I had with Hubba Hubba a few days earlier and I actually uttered the phrase "my nice sweats." There is now a differentiation between shitty shit clothes and not-so shitty shit clothes? The major determining factor is whether or not said article of clothing is stained with paint. REALLY? I mean, I have never been a fashionista but this is ridiculous! I kid you not, I tried to throw together something other than sweats the other day, looked in the mirror and the first thing that came to my mind was "Wow, you look like a homeless woman!" OUCH!
I married a personal trainer and haven't seen the consistency of gym life since that day in the delivery room. Gaining 30 pounds with the 1st, losing 70 then gaining 50 pounds with the 2nd and losing as much again has done unkind things to the frame and its surrounding areas. I mean, how far can this rubber band stretch? The only saving grace in that department has been the fact that I nursed a small cow for over a year and his fighting weight is a cool 30 pounds. Lifting that 4,000 times a day along with chasing after the 2 mini monsters has managed to keep up the facade.
After thinking of all of these horrendous oversights I found myself wondering how my hubby can stay married to such an unfortunate troll. This certainly is not the person he married...on any level. I've easily aged 10 years in the past 4 as the guy in the grocery kindly brought to light. Asked me if I was in my late 30's. UGH! Apparently I'm not the only one that noticed. So will this madness ever end? I know I'm not the only one but I also see tons of mom's who haven't fallen victim to this pitfall. I see them in the store and wonder "How the hell does she do it?" I dismiss such sightings as mirages or simply delusions rooting from sleep deprivation. I also realize that I need to MAKE time for such niceties. I guess I'm just consumed with being with my kids and documenting every little thing they do (obviously). I'm told so frequently to cherish this time with them, because one day I will miss it. Regardless of all of my bitching, I truly believe this and am choosing to finally listen to the wise words of those who have parented before me. Long lost are the days of "Katie Knows Best." Turns out those days were all a hoax.
Perhaps it's just that my focus has changed. It's no longer about me and I am celebrating that fact to the extreme. Maybe I am the ultimate martyr. Or maybe I have finally grown up and realized there is more to life than appearances. Regardless of troll status, my husband loves the woman that is trying her best to raise their children. Looks like those children are pretty fond of her as well. I guess when I look in the mirror THAT is what I see and that is what matters. I have a feeling my babies aren't going to remember that I skipped a shower or two while they were little. Or didn't dress to the nines all the while. I hope they will remember rolling in the leaves on a warm autumn day with their mom who adored them like no other human being on this planet could. THIS is what I am celebrating to the extreme. This beautiful thing called "Life." Now let's LIVE IT!
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