“Mommy look!!!” I lifted my head up just in time to see Ella spinning herself, stomach down on the doctor’s chair with legs lifted high and arms stretched out. She got through one rotation before hitting the exam table and starting in with the expected tears. B, at this time, is screaming that he wants to go home. “No doctor Mommy, no doctor”.
Ella recovered in seconds and decided B may stop screaming if the lights were turned off. Then laugh if they were turned on…. A disco effect was soon in play and B was officially freaked out and climbing up in my arms for safety. I am yelling at E to stop it and telling B to calm down. Where was the damn doctor?
B went from being sprawled on the floor kicking to trying to turn the door knob while on his tippie toes. He also spent a lot of his time pulling at my knees saying “Up Mommy, get up” with a very stern look on his face like “Are you not hearing me woman?????” The only time he was calm was if I stood up held him. I would have done that all day if my sciatic nerve was not threatening me to seize up at my next movement. I could not stand up and hold 32 pounds. It just was not happening. Ella was trying to help but she keep trying to discipline B by saying, “Little boys who scream don’t get Christmas.” That was not helping his screams and damn those Love and Logic parenting classes. I must be using that line of reasoning (Little children who ____ don’t get ____” ) too much for E to catch on to it so quickly. I tried to make a mental note.
By the time the doctor walked in 25 minutes late she found me sitting with my head buried in my hands while my elbows were resting on my knees, barefoot on her exam room floor. B was lying in front of the door screaming for a baseball that was left in the car. Ella was lying on the exam table like a patient waiting for an exam. She had just explaining to B he was not having to get a shot…until he was 4 then he would get LOTS of shots. Bstopped screaming for his baseball, looked at me and said “No shots, no shots, Mommy!!!!” The screaming resumed. I laughed; it was all I could do. I was tired. B returned to the floor.
He was knocked by the opening door and he scrambled to my lap. The crying instantly stopped. The doctor opened with her usual perky, “How are we in here?” I answered with my smart ass comment of, “do you have a doctor’s note on why you’re late?”; she politely laughed as did I but I was completely serious.
B has a hernia and will need day surgery to have it repaired. He doesn’t care; the doctor gave him a bouncy ball after the appointment so he is happy for now. Ella was upset she was left out (who knew day surgery was so popular?) so she also got a ball and now I had 2 happy kids. Great.
We loaded up and heading somewhere to waste time for an hour until Ella had her doctor’s appointment. I tried driving a while to try and get them asleep but with $4 a gallon gas I couldn’t afford to go too far so I opted instead for a playground near E’s appointment but not before finding a Sonic for a large coke. The kids of course, woke from their drowsy state while in the drive through and asked for food. Two Wacky Packs and one large Coke later we found the playground. There was a shaded bench for me and lots of room for the kids to burn some energy. We parked, unloaded, and brushed all the French fries that were spilled from the Wacky Pack out of my car then made the 200 meter walk to the playground. I got seated, opened my iPad to read and notice E walking up to me. “I have to go potty, Mommy”. She did not like my suggestion of picking out a tree to go behind so we loaded up AGAIN, wrestled the park’s basketball out of B’s hands- he is screaming again- and head off to find a potty. I decided to go straight to her appointment; there is a potty there and a very small playground in the back year area of the office. We unloaded again; I found a place in the shade, B jumped directly into a sand-pit type area (I offered a silent prayer that it was okay for him to play in it). I pointed E to the potty and she looked at me straight faced, “I don’t have to go anymore”. WHAT?
E and B went off to play in some Bamboo trees that lined the yard. Apparently, she also gave him a lesson on Presidents because soon she went back to her appointment and Boone was trying to whack down trees. I got up and ran to him grabbing the stick he was using as a dull axe telling him to stop and asked what he was trying to do. He replied, “I Abe Lincoln, Mommy”.
I jerked him up while thinking “my kid is a genius” and brought him with me for a time out. He was quiet….too quiet…. He was sipping my coke. Nice.
The day eventually ended. I convinced the kids it was bedtime at 730. Lights were out all over the house by 9PM. I survived.
Tuesday, April 10, 2012
Friday, March 30, 2012
Pinkie Swear
It's been said a man's word is his bond and multi million dollar deals are sealed on handshakes. For me, when I give you a pinkie swear you can take my word to your grave.
It all started as a pact with E when she was too young to grasp the concept of a handshake and the importance of keeping a promise. That is when I introduced he to the pinkie swear concept. Now, years later, she knows that mommy may forget some of her smaller requests like, "Mommy, will you please get me some gum?". But if she has asks me more than twice she will pull out the big guns aka the pinkie swear. Without fail, E will look me in the eye and straight faced say the words.... "pinkie swear, Mommy".
Now, as a responsible mommy trying to raise a reasonable kid, I do not automatically enjoin my pinkie into hers. This is not a gesture I take lightly; this is serious business. I know that if I break just one pinkie swear promise that I am done. E's trust in me would be forever lost or at least it will feel that way to me. (And I wonder where E gets her flair for the dramatic...) And, for the record, I have refused more than one pinkie swear in my lifetime.
Last night I learned of a friend's personal struggle. She is in pain and it is one that I am uniquely familiar with, unfortunately. Auto immune diseases suck. She had no idea I could feel her pain but still she reached out to me. We visited, drew strength from each other and had we not been surrounded by others we would have surely cried together too. Our visit was one of the those moments that affirmed my belief in God. She put it best when she described our friendship and connection as simply, "A God thing". I wholeheartedly agree.
At the end of our night I said my goodbyes and prepared to leave. I found my friend and gave her the biggest hug I could and told her we would get through this tough time for her together. I ended with the words, "I promise". As we released ourselves from the hug she pulled back and plain faced stuck out her pinkie finger. She looked me in the eyes and said, "Pinkie Swear?". That was one pinkie I accepted without thought.
Now, E saw all of this go down. I was hoping she would learn a bit about friendship but instead she got very confused. One our way home I ended up explaining that pinkie swears can be universal and not just between mommies and their kids. Her only response to me was, "But you are still gonna buy me gum, right?"
It all started as a pact with E when she was too young to grasp the concept of a handshake and the importance of keeping a promise. That is when I introduced he to the pinkie swear concept. Now, years later, she knows that mommy may forget some of her smaller requests like, "Mommy, will you please get me some gum?". But if she has asks me more than twice she will pull out the big guns aka the pinkie swear. Without fail, E will look me in the eye and straight faced say the words.... "pinkie swear, Mommy".
Now, as a responsible mommy trying to raise a reasonable kid, I do not automatically enjoin my pinkie into hers. This is not a gesture I take lightly; this is serious business. I know that if I break just one pinkie swear promise that I am done. E's trust in me would be forever lost or at least it will feel that way to me. (And I wonder where E gets her flair for the dramatic...) And, for the record, I have refused more than one pinkie swear in my lifetime.
Last night I learned of a friend's personal struggle. She is in pain and it is one that I am uniquely familiar with, unfortunately. Auto immune diseases suck. She had no idea I could feel her pain but still she reached out to me. We visited, drew strength from each other and had we not been surrounded by others we would have surely cried together too. Our visit was one of the those moments that affirmed my belief in God. She put it best when she described our friendship and connection as simply, "A God thing". I wholeheartedly agree.
At the end of our night I said my goodbyes and prepared to leave. I found my friend and gave her the biggest hug I could and told her we would get through this tough time for her together. I ended with the words, "I promise". As we released ourselves from the hug she pulled back and plain faced stuck out her pinkie finger. She looked me in the eyes and said, "Pinkie Swear?". That was one pinkie I accepted without thought.
Now, E saw all of this go down. I was hoping she would learn a bit about friendship but instead she got very confused. One our way home I ended up explaining that pinkie swears can be universal and not just between mommies and their kids. Her only response to me was, "But you are still gonna buy me gum, right?"
Tuesday, March 27, 2012
I miss my grandparents
I miss my grandparents. It is not only the time of year that has brought this on, it is a daily thing but today it’s heavy. I miss the feeling of wanting to bust out of the car as we pulled into their driveway so I run through their door during a visit. I miss the smell of their house and of them. I miss monkey bread and rum cake and hearing the stories of late night dice games with friends. I miss hearing the ruckus in the kitchen when the family got together and a domino game got started. I will forever associate the smell of perm solution with Thanksgiving, Christmas, Easter, etc. Curler rolling papers were never far from Nanny’s reach when needed. A coveted role for many of the seven granddaughters was to get a turn to hand her the papers. We were easily entertained.
My grandfather had ears longer than my index finger and he let me flap his free lobes as much as I wanted when I climbed into his lap. It sounds strange, I know, but as a kid it was endless fun. I have free lobes like him just smaller, same goes for my daughter. He was larger than life in most ways and still is in my memories.
My grandmother had this knack of making people feel comfortable and loved. It was effortless and genuine; it was not something anyone taught her. My grandmother’s hair did not begin to gray until her last year of life, when she was 72. She did not color her hair, although as a beautician she certainly knew how but she did not need to. I have to think it was because of the way she lived her life, no pretense, no regrets and lots of humanity and love.
I miss my grandparents. I used to whisper in my daughter’s ear as I rocked her at night that one of my many wishes is that I live my life in such a way that people will continue to say nice things about me to her long after I am gone. My wish for us all is that we leave a legacy that even beyond the grave our love continues to spread.
My grandfather had ears longer than my index finger and he let me flap his free lobes as much as I wanted when I climbed into his lap. It sounds strange, I know, but as a kid it was endless fun. I have free lobes like him just smaller, same goes for my daughter. He was larger than life in most ways and still is in my memories.
My grandmother had this knack of making people feel comfortable and loved. It was effortless and genuine; it was not something anyone taught her. My grandmother’s hair did not begin to gray until her last year of life, when she was 72. She did not color her hair, although as a beautician she certainly knew how but she did not need to. I have to think it was because of the way she lived her life, no pretense, no regrets and lots of humanity and love.
I miss my grandparents. I used to whisper in my daughter’s ear as I rocked her at night that one of my many wishes is that I live my life in such a way that people will continue to say nice things about me to her long after I am gone. My wish for us all is that we leave a legacy that even beyond the grave our love continues to spread.
Monday, March 26, 2012
Cheers
I wrote this when E was about 18 months old. I reread my last post and the word, "Cheers" that I used reminded me of this piece and I wanted to share. It is very simple but through it I remember every detail of the tea party described below. E is in 5. Time has passed too quickly....
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“Cheers” is how we toasted over imaginary tea. Bear, Baby, Ella and I all enjoyed our Cheerios, animal crackers and blackberries and “tea”. The setting sun’s rays directly hit her blond locks by way of the kitchen window. The shade was pulled up half way, its usual position. I have not moved the shade’s position since we moved in nine months ago, more proof I am not a great house keeper.
Oh, how I wanted to freeze that moment in time. Her smile, her cocked head, her giggle- the one that begins in the back of her throat and slowly travels to her lips- “Tsheers mommy,” she responded and touched her plastic tea cup to mine.
Cheers, baby girl.
-----------
“Cheers” is how we toasted over imaginary tea. Bear, Baby, Ella and I all enjoyed our Cheerios, animal crackers and blackberries and “tea”. The setting sun’s rays directly hit her blond locks by way of the kitchen window. The shade was pulled up half way, its usual position. I have not moved the shade’s position since we moved in nine months ago, more proof I am not a great house keeper.
Oh, how I wanted to freeze that moment in time. Her smile, her cocked head, her giggle- the one that begins in the back of her throat and slowly travels to her lips- “Tsheers mommy,” she responded and touched her plastic tea cup to mine.
Cheers, baby girl.
I Am Real
I listened to Kate Winslet speak of a documentary (The Golden Hat) she is narrating about an autistic child whose voice was unlocked through the use of a keyboard. After years of silence because of this child's inability to speak he reached out to the keyboard keys and typed his first words to the world: I AM REAL.
Think on that a minute. The child had been institutionalized, he had been shut off from the world, from his family, from his life. His first words when given the opportunity to communicate in a language others could understand was to say, "I AM REAL".
On my path to authenticity, those words hold such power for me. To my kids: I am more than just a mommy. To my husband: I am more than just your everything. To my employer: I am more than just a passionate water dork. To the photographers I work with: I am more than just a form and pretty face. To my family: I am more than just a memory of your past and the force in your present. I am real.
I am too many things to account for in this small space. Marianne Williamson once wrote, "“Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous? Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small does not serve the world. There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won't feel insecure around you. We are all meant to shine, as children do. We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us. It's not just in some of us; it's in everyone. And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others.”
Awesomeness.
Cheers to being real. Cheers to uncovering and embracing who you really are in this space of life. Cheers to embracing that person once you find her. And as E would say, give her a "kiss and peck and a hug around the neck." B would quickly add "Again, mommy, Again" as he does with anything that makes his smile.
Think on that a minute. The child had been institutionalized, he had been shut off from the world, from his family, from his life. His first words when given the opportunity to communicate in a language others could understand was to say, "I AM REAL".
On my path to authenticity, those words hold such power for me. To my kids: I am more than just a mommy. To my husband: I am more than just your everything. To my employer: I am more than just a passionate water dork. To the photographers I work with: I am more than just a form and pretty face. To my family: I am more than just a memory of your past and the force in your present. I am real.
I am too many things to account for in this small space. Marianne Williamson once wrote, "“Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous? Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small does not serve the world. There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won't feel insecure around you. We are all meant to shine, as children do. We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us. It's not just in some of us; it's in everyone. And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others.”
Awesomeness.
Cheers to being real. Cheers to uncovering and embracing who you really are in this space of life. Cheers to embracing that person once you find her. And as E would say, give her a "kiss and peck and a hug around the neck." B would quickly add "Again, mommy, Again" as he does with anything that makes his smile.
Thursday, March 22, 2012
Sing Sunshine, Mama
Wednesday, March 21, 2012
Hello Again!
It has been a while since I posted and I apologize for that. Life happens. There comes a time when every woman must learn her limits in this balancing game of life. Working full time, 2 kids and we added a dog (after I told my husband I wanted a third child) has been a challenge for me. Although writing is a release for me I pushed it away for a time. Now that Boone has turned two I feel like my head is above water. That is a bold statement for me. Much of the past couple of years I have felt like I was drowning and could not make it to shore. I could not win my battle with stress so I changed my approach and am happier for it. I did not find peace with a little white pill, and I did not change jobs and I did not get rid of the husband either but I did find some peace.
Bear with me for a moment and I will explain. One night my husband and I were flipping channels after the kids were asleep and started watching "The Black Swan". I had not seen it in the theaters and honestly, I am glad I did not spend the money. But one scene in that movie changed my life. (And it was not the lesbian scene). Natalie Portman, in the movie, was a perfectionist in an extreme sense of the word. Her character was announced as the lead ballerina at a formal ball held in her honor. She noticed her cuticle was bleeding during her introduction. Worried the blood would stain her white gown, she excused herself to the restroom and in her minds eye imagined pulling the skin and cuticle finger completely back. It was gross, it was disgusting and it spoke volumes to me about myself.
Those close to me know I have picked at my cuticles all my adult life. My fingers have been bloody, embarrassing messes and are permanently scarred from the abuse. That scene and her character gave me an "aha" moment. I am a perfectionist. My husband says I am the messiest perfectionist he has ever known but that does not make it any less true. I like things perfect- maybe not my house but my life, my kids, my marriage; I want to live my ideal image not my reality. After the realization that I am not perfect set in (gasp!) I took action.
I have read nearly Brene Brown has written and many on her book list. I am aware of my mindset and now I am living again. My hands look a lot better too. I found a very nice woman who gives amazing care to your fingers and does not judge, Lydian Flash. She also speaks English which was a requirement for me so I could continually apologize for the look of my hands and have her say, "its okay" instead of her talking to her friends about me in a language I do not understand.
I receive a daily affirmation that I write down and refer to when I need a little help- read that to mean hourly. Centering is an important part of this new journey I am on in life. And as I tell my husband, happiness is a choice as is love, marriage, kids, work, etc. I am making my choices more wisely these days and today I chose to write!
Bear with me for a moment and I will explain. One night my husband and I were flipping channels after the kids were asleep and started watching "The Black Swan". I had not seen it in the theaters and honestly, I am glad I did not spend the money. But one scene in that movie changed my life. (And it was not the lesbian scene). Natalie Portman, in the movie, was a perfectionist in an extreme sense of the word. Her character was announced as the lead ballerina at a formal ball held in her honor. She noticed her cuticle was bleeding during her introduction. Worried the blood would stain her white gown, she excused herself to the restroom and in her minds eye imagined pulling the skin and cuticle finger completely back. It was gross, it was disgusting and it spoke volumes to me about myself.
Those close to me know I have picked at my cuticles all my adult life. My fingers have been bloody, embarrassing messes and are permanently scarred from the abuse. That scene and her character gave me an "aha" moment. I am a perfectionist. My husband says I am the messiest perfectionist he has ever known but that does not make it any less true. I like things perfect- maybe not my house but my life, my kids, my marriage; I want to live my ideal image not my reality. After the realization that I am not perfect set in (gasp!) I took action.
I have read nearly Brene Brown has written and many on her book list. I am aware of my mindset and now I am living again. My hands look a lot better too. I found a very nice woman who gives amazing care to your fingers and does not judge, Lydian Flash. She also speaks English which was a requirement for me so I could continually apologize for the look of my hands and have her say, "its okay" instead of her talking to her friends about me in a language I do not understand.
I receive a daily affirmation that I write down and refer to when I need a little help- read that to mean hourly. Centering is an important part of this new journey I am on in life. And as I tell my husband, happiness is a choice as is love, marriage, kids, work, etc. I am making my choices more wisely these days and today I chose to write!
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