One of those days. Waffles, anyone?

"Through perseverance the snail reached the arc."

Today was one of those days.  One of those that I do not know if I want a "do over" or simply be thankful that it is almost over.  It was harsh and loud.  "I want waaaffffffffffllleees".... that is how it started at 6AM.

B's feet hit the floor and instantly Hunt and I wake up and wait for the running jump onto our bed.  B used to jump in and snuggle up but things have changed, he wakes up hungry.  In case we did not hear he first request he promptly repeats it over and over over again until we relent and get up to get his beloved waffles into the toaster.  I have started buying them at Costco because his appetite does not waiver, he wants waffles all day, every day.

Ella wakes soon after because the TV is too loud much like B's whining.  The steroids they pumped into my system when my water broke so early worked.  His lungs are just fine.

The whining and tears did not stop this morning and my stress level never lowered.  We fed off each other.  I actually loaded B up and took him to the doctor's office this morning to see if he had an ear infection.  The pediatricians checked B's ears and offered a sympathetic, "Sorry mom, they are clear and not the problem.  He is just 2."  Thanks.

The single token given at the end of the appointment that is usually traded in for a bouncy ball was instead used for an Avengers sticker.  Big mistake which meant an instant regret for the cranky 2 year old.  His next 20 minutes were filled with tears and crying over not getting the bouncy ball.  My time was spent turning up the radio while driving and hoping he would fall asleep and finally calling my mother.  Don't judge.  When at the end of one's rope a safe bet for anyone is to call mom.

Mom had no grand advice to give so I hung up and pulled in to a kid friendly restaurant.  My plan B was to i) stop tears, ii) stop pulling hair out (mine not his), iii)  tire him out until he collapses from exhaustion and sleeps most the afternoon.  This, of course, included an ice cream cone after lunch.  Two seconds after the cone was consumed he was asleep.  And he slept and slept and slept.  Three hours total of blissful napping.  Then he wakes up......

I won't go through play by play of the entire day but rest assured the latter half of the day matched the first.  Then it was birthday time for a preschool friend.  B and his daddy showered, dressed and I dropped them off at the party for fun.  E and I were enjoying some bad TV and frozen pizza when the phone rang.

It seems that dirty diapers can spoil a party.  I got a call to come pick them up B was stinking up the place.  I suggested he find a friend who was there with her daughter and get some wipes and a diaper.  Crisis solved.  The phone rang again..... it was too messy to handle so E and I loaded up and picked up Stinky and daddy.  He did stink, it was messy and the day just keeps getting better.

We hosed B down, and eventually, finally, got our babies in bed.  Day is done.

Tomorrow will begin with more waffles and end with more angelic, sleeping faces.  I will try and keep my calm and am sure I will lose it at some point.  I pray I am forgiven for those slips and the kid's therapy bills will not be too high.

Just as the snail reached the arc through perseverance, we will get through the terrible twos and sensitive six year old stages.  One waffle and drop of syrup at a time.

Spiderman's Mom

Here goes something...  I cannot say "nothing" because this is about my life and my life is something.  Tomorrow is my first official day of a new beginning.  Foster Solutions, llc has been formed to help address all of your water consulting needs.  It is my goal to have a client signed in December.  I basically have until Dec. 21 to make that happen.

In addition to consulting my heart and mind continue to wander to other areas where I would love to play.  My end goal has always been to pick Ella up from school two days a week.  That has not changed but I am adding to the list.  I want to empower women to realize their dreams.  Yes, I have been reading Brene Brown and Whitney Johnson but my head has always been in that space.  Those two among others that are filling it with amazing stories of strength and courage.

Santa is not the only one who can make his list and check it twice.  I am making my dream list and will be dream dating them one at a time.  Perhaps I will end up where I started on this journey with a better appreciation for it all.  Or maybe, just maybe I will introduce to you a more defined and refined me to you.  Either way, I determined to continue to make my life something.  Nothing is not an option,  especially with Spiderman as a son.

A Mother's Love

I just read my cousin's story of finally getting their baby girl in her arms after an adoption half way across the world (see MotleyCrew.com).  I am lying in bed, crying like a toddler myself. It is an ugly cry that is requiring me to sit up because all the tears and snot are not allowing me to breath. 

Heather, my cousin,  has been in knots for months because she just wanted her baby home. She and all of her family wanted their new family member to join us.  She just wanted her baby girl.  

In following their story,  my mind was transported back to when Boone was in the NICU.  Obviously, it is not the same thing but bear with me.  I remember getting the call that despite his nurses saying he may be able to come home just the day before that Boone needed another night with them.   This happened more than once. The NICU staff was top notch but they cannot control a hormonal, emotional new mother. Especially one that just spent over 4 weeks on strict bed rest to get him here safely. No, there is really no match for those emotions. At least I did not think so til I read Heathers story. 

It seems to come down to this:  our babies really are pieces of our heart that walk around outside of our bodies.  We, as mothers, are never really whole again after we love a baby whether we physically birthed that child or prayed for their arrival from across the globe.   We are made whole again only in the brief moments when they let us hold them in our arms. 

When I got that call on that day, that B was not coming home,I broke. I had stayed so strong throughout the bed rest, his emergency birth, the initial stages of my recovery but in that moment I was broken. 

I wanted my baby home. I wanted him with me, home, not in a bed that was not his own, not in a room that wasn't in my family's home.  I wanted him for all selfish reasons because obviously he needed to stay and get stronger.  I can't argue that breathing on your own is overrated.  But the thought of one more night of not smelling his baby head or studying his little hands and feet for hours on end was a lot for me to take. Not too much but a lot.  

Weeks ago Heather finally got her call to come get her baby.  Their journey was a bit more involved than 20 minutes up Mopac but the emotions the same.  

Yesterday Heather and her family got to bring Amelia "home".  Not yet toAmerica but one step closer.  The pics and videos of the "final scoop up" amid Amelia's cry is a lot to take in especially when there is an emotional connection. But the smile on Heather's face and the worry/exhilaration in her eyes is that of a mother plain in simple. I know it well.  Our babies are home. 

Welcome to the family, Amelia!  

South Plains Stories

One sign of a good, loving home is the ownership of rooms.  The room I claimed as a child is still “Wendy’s room”.  My trophies line its bookshelves and my pictures hang on the wall.  In the closet, you will find each and every one of my Michael Jordan posters safely stored.  He will always be a hero to me despite his little gambling problem.  Who can ever forget the poster that was the length of his arm span (i.e. big) with the William Blake poem printed below Jordan’ image: “No man soars too high if he soars with his own wings”.  Good times.

This weekend my family was welcomed into the childhood home of a friend.  I was a little nervous about being company for 4 days in anyone’s home but my worries were misplaced.  I knew it would all be okay when I was shown around and introduced to the three spare bedrooms each decorated in the personality of the child that once lived there 30 plus years ago.  It was in no way creepy; Fluffy the childhood pet was not stuffed in the corner with glass eyes.  My friend’s room had light and airy linens and a white down comforter.  It was so her, even today.  There were tons of pictures of her 80s big hair and stylish hats that made their appearance in the early 90s.  To her it was home, to my family and I it was comfort.

I was then shown her sister’s room and her brother’s room both decorated as an older brother and sister’s room should look.  The love was evident in the care her parents showed in keeping their kids welcomed in their home.  It then hit me, that this small token is a sign of a loving family and a healthy home.  There are other signs; I know that but this is one that stood out to me and one I needed at the time.  

My mom and dad’s house is comfort for me.  My home is in Austin but my roots are buried deep in South Texas and it is there that I turn to for strength.  This weekend I could not be in my parent’s home but my friend’s was the next best thing complete with Josie’s burritos for breakfast (if you know anything about Lubbock then you know what I am talking about).  

We ended the weekend with big hugs and a promise to return.  I have a new “home” on the South Plains and another blessing to add to my long list in this life.  

PS: They even loved having Boone around..... which proved our hosts were also solid grandparents.  He is easy to love but his energy is hard to accept at times.  I am his mother so I can say that- don't judge me.

A grand design for baby teeth....prove me wrong

My family, unfortunately, has been touched by quite a few deaths in the last year.  Some  familial departures hit uncomfortably close to home.  I will own up to the fact that for a bit I was an emotional mess.  This is not something I chose to hide from my children.  B is as oblivious as any two year old but E was a different story.  She is my highly sensitive and ridiculously bright child.  There was no soothing her sympathy tears with, “Mommy will be okay.”  I was hurting and she was hurting and to be blunt together we are still adjusting to a new normal. 

All of that is the long way to say I gave E the same speech I was given as a child about God’s “Big Book” up in the Heavenly skies.  To save your time and my weak computer battery, the basic idea is God keeps a book with every living creature’s name in it.  Beside each of our names in this Big Book of Life is a date.  When that date comes it is your time to leave this world.    Live each day as if its your last, yada, yada, yada.

Let’s now fast forward to the current drama unfolding in my home.  It is not a struggle to accept death but rather my daughter pleading for an end of life.......for her baby teeth.  E is six and a half and everyone of her baby teeth is still firmly planted in her gums.  She really wants to loose a tooth just like everyone else in first grade.  I mean she really wants it.  Daily she swears she feels a wiggle, I double check and have to crush her dream.

This has been going on for weeks and last week I got to the end of my proverbial rope. My grasping for sanity sounded a little something like this:

Me: remember when we talked about God’s Big Book of Life

E: Yes

Me: Well, God even has a plan for your teeth, Ella.  You will lose them when..*interruption*

E: Mom, save it, God does not have a book of teeth.

Me: How do you know that?

E: (roll of her eyes) Please mom.  okay? Please.

She still has not lost a tooth.  She has stopped whining about it.  I am calling this a win.

My Rugged Ol' Friend

The pressures of life are heavy.  The Spirit that must carry us through has no choice but to swell inside our bodies us to keep us afloat.  All the breaks in our hearts, minds and even ego are made whole again by the Spirit.  When we surrender, we gain the strength we need to take that additional step that seemed unthinkable.  When we surrender we lose every bit of self we convince ourselves daily we need.  Losing one’s self is scary even if the result is something greater.

There is a reason the cross is made of wood.  If it was meant to be showy, it would be made of gold to serve as a reminder of the worth of God’s love.  If it was meant to reflect the beauty of God’s creation and love it would be made of mirrors.  You get my drift.  It is not made of impressive or expensive material.  The cross is made of wood and for good reason.  

When life hands me troubling news, stressed moments and hair pulling activities I have only one choice: Nail it to the cross and walk away.  It is then no longer my worry and I have only my future moments to face. 

Wood is sturdy, strong and real.  The cross has withstood the weight of the sins of the world, surely my small worries of this world will not break it.  

I did not come up with this on my own.  One Sunday morning with a heavy heart I wandered into a church.  I yearned to hear a hymn and what I found was the soundtrack of my conscience.  The minister, Dr. Paynter, had just lost a parishioner to a senseless shooting and was trying to come to terms with it all.  It was real, honest and not for show.  His message was clear: it is not for us to understand and that is too hard understand itself.  We have a choice: be bitter or believe.  His advice was “Nail it to the cross and walk away”.  

The words rang true to me.  They still do today.  I am not perfect.  I am not a perfect mother, perfect wife or perfect employee.  Each night in my silent minutes of unraveling, I picture myself nailing my faults to the ol’ wooden cross and it gives me hope for a better tomorrow.  Who knows maybe one day I will trade it in for a crown.  

I Wake Up!

It is never quiet in my house at bedtime.  Ever.  Seriously.  

But once the kids are tucked in, I have some very precious quiet time.  I value silence and gain strength from it in some ways.  In the quiet moments I make peace with my myself, my doubts and demons.  I reflect, accept and then am able to move forward.  Eventually I fall to sleep every night hoping that I will wake up to one of my favorite things ever....  It is a little like Christmas Eve every night.   

 Each morning I awake to hear *thump* followed by swift little footsteps in the hall above me and down the stairs.  Boone is making his descent to greet the day.  Once his footsteps reach the kitchen it is a dead-on, two year old sprint to mommy and daddy’s room.   The minute he steps past the threshold he loosens his smile a bit so he can speak and boastfully announces, “I wake up Mommy, I wake up!  He then jumps on top of me and after a quick hug asks me to turn on Oswald.  The special moment ends and the day begins but what a glorious beginning it was.  It makes my day every day.