tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14739003919428243252024-03-12T17:56:17.224-05:00Confessing MommyUnknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger66125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1473900391942824325.post-44678745388893691372013-05-02T19:57:00.001-05:002013-05-02T20:04:39.079-05:00Decoration Day<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Decoration Day's a coming. That's a big deal from where I come from. Growing up it meant visiting J and G for all your silk floral needs. Loading the bed of your pick up with hoes, weedeaters, and shovels, and making sure you had the latest gossip to share with long lost kin and friends. A bucket of fried chicken never hurt anyone, either.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Decoration Day, the forerunner to Memorial Day, a day to pay respects to the fallen of that time our country turned on itself like a rabid dog. A day to come together to leave the freshly bloomed buttercups at the grave of a cousin, a posy for your brother, and an armful of those wild climbing honeysuckle roses for your beloved. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">I don't know about up north, but for the south, we still take the time to remember. Not just for those who fought a battle that was never really theirs, but for kin and friends alike, come and gone.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"> I loved spending Decoration Day with my granny. It meant loading her blue Gran Torino with all the afore mentioned items, plus a gallon pickle jar of sun tea in the floorboard held in place by my forcibly shoed feet, and a sackful of sandwiches. We'd drive across the county to DeMent Cemetery early morning to tend the graves of those gone on. Those no longer buck dancing this side of eternity, but still keeping time.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Anyone will tell you they are there for the dead. And, in truth, they're only half lying. Decoration Day isn't just about tidying up the final ancestral resting place, it's just as much as keeping up with the living. To take a break, resting one's chin on the top handle of a hoe while listening to the goings on of your cousin's grandbabies. To stop with great fanfare, and go on over how much those twin great nieces have shot up since last May, and to hold your sister in law close as you both cry over the loss of that dear man you spent your childhood chasing and racing, riding donkeys, praying they get in trouble instead of you. That's Decoration Day.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">It isn't about those pine boxes beneath. It's about those lives that are woven into yours. Those lives that lived a century, decades, right beside yours. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">I'm homesick. I miss a mother I never had. I don't even know how that's possible to miss something you never knew - not really. But, I do know that I'm eternally homesick for my grandmother. She took her last shallow breath this day a year ago, a few minutes past her church bringing the noon meal. Brother Bowers and his wife had just left, crying how they never saw this coming from the strongest woman they knew. To be honest, none of us wanted to see it coming. It took a blindsiding. </span><br />
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1473900391942824325.post-69967375007887240552013-05-02T12:00:00.002-05:002013-05-02T12:17:30.675-05:00All Mommy Wanted Was A Backrub<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsP9_1mDuLdcKZANv7XR-VisBuZGMrjb-KCfpfn3Bu5oWNLAO4B1bxNAXcc_Fe7z7YgXiA1hN0HfPMODEYN5mU9-LSweYCtBPX7wdeZQQr_C9jQWa_4LVaWxfYoANou96erJsk9-91vD3V/s1600/allmommywanted.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsP9_1mDuLdcKZANv7XR-VisBuZGMrjb-KCfpfn3Bu5oWNLAO4B1bxNAXcc_Fe7z7YgXiA1hN0HfPMODEYN5mU9-LSweYCtBPX7wdeZQQr_C9jQWa_4LVaWxfYoANou96erJsk9-91vD3V/s320/allmommywanted.jpg" /></a><br />
(Not my picture - found on Pinterest without credit)<br />
<br />
I failed to mention that our family is unexpectedly expecting this fall. Seems like I would have thought to have shared that little tidbit, but you know.....life was busy.<br />
I'm really missing Beulah, my doula and dear friend from Nashville that attended my two other births. But, am loving my midwife and the birthing center we're going with here.<br />
The natives are beyond excited that they're getting a sibling. And, Hubby gets the goofy grin about the Tater Tot as well. I've always wanted a houseful of kiddos, but really thought we were finished. I'm thrilled. Amazingly, over the moon, delightedly giddy thrilled. Somebody remind me of that come this September when I'm sleep deprived, engorged, and upside down learning a new schedule that'll change every few nights!Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1473900391942824325.post-53341719223483273832012-10-04T20:06:00.000-05:002012-10-05T06:19:18.972-05:00Martha LouI never thought it would be this way. I never thought the grief would be this all consuming. I've faced close, personal grief before, but never like this.<br />
Come to think of it, I never thought I'd lose her, either. Not really. You don't just <i>lose </i> the strongest, most determined woman the red dirt of Alabama has, and will ever see. You don't just have her laughing on the phone one day, and then, then have family talking in hushed tones around the hospital bed the next. But, truth is, you do.<br />
I've tried and tried to write since my grandmother died. And, I managed a few pieces, but I always pulled them. They were too raw, too real. And, that was before the actual grieving set in. And, how it has set in.<br />
Grief just hasn't set in. It's consuming me in small increments. It's stolen my focus of the here and now, and mocked me in my dreams by bringing her back to me. Only to wake me to a world without her morning after morning. It moved in so slowly I didn't see it setting up camp in every corner of my soul. But, here it is in all its pain.<br />
It's ugly. It hurts. It twists my heart in one hand, and soul in the other when I pick up the phone to call her only to remember I can't.<br />
And, then it comforts. It reminds me that God was blessing us even before our own mother walked out on us. He blessed us with being just across the road from Grandmom. One phone call, and two and a half minutes away to the woman who was more my mama than my real one.<br />
I spent more time in her house than I probably did my own. I grew up stealing cookies from her cookie jar while she was sewing all our clothes in the next room. My sister and I played school in the toy room. We rambled the fields careful not to ramble too far, for she seldom spanked, but heaven help us when she did.<br />
My brother plowed countless acres of carefully laid out rows with his farm tractors up and down the green carpet of her living room. And, I will never forget what I will call a <i>surprised face,</i> once when he stuck a key into an electrical outlet.<br />
Once, a baby squirrel fell from its nest out of one of her massive white oaks or towering hickory trees. Grandmom took a dish towel and saved him from the front flower bed to let us try to make a pet of him.<br />
Bushytail lived the good life with his condo made of milk crates, and lavish meals of apples, peanut butter, and hand shelled nuts. I have no idea why that critter insisted on continually trying to escape.<br />
She had PaPa put a swimming pool in much against his own feelings. Too many stories to tell of the joys of summer hours spent playing chicken on the giant tractor tire they brought from the farm. Forts built out of folding lawn chairs draped with beach towels were the prime headquarters for clubs of giggly girls every Wednesday.<br />
Our standing pool party had some of the finest girlfriends a girl could ever wish for. Lindsay, Emily, Wendy, my sister, Jess, and I swimming laps of Aligator Go, diving into the depths for safety from horseflies, and never getting out of the pool when told.<br />
Aggravation was my cousin Larry trying to get his daughter Emily out of the pool without diving in after, and dragging her to the truck. I still laugh when I think of all the times he'd have her almost to the truck and she'd turn to run and jump right back in the pool.<br />
Someone once asked me if there was anything I thought I couldn't do. After thinking on it, I had to laugh. No, I went on to say. I suppose I never had. After being raised by Martha Lou, and seeing her do everything from the most intricate crochet work, to killing a six foot long chicken snake with nothing but a garden hoe, an incensed bull dog, and three terrified, screaming children, I never thought otherwise.
Always making meals to take to the sick, blankets for new babes at church, and the sole reason Hallmark is still in business, as she never forgot a birthday, anniversary, or sympathy card. I'm willing to bet she could have bought a car with the amount of money she must have paid in postage fees.<br />
She left that bar high. A bar so high, I know I'll never rise to meet it. But, I've got the rest of my life to try, however long that might be.<br />
You'd think all these memories would plug the holes, and stop the tears from spilling. But, it just doesn't work that way.
She's gone. And, I feel like I'm the one dying on the inside. I know all the cliches will hold true. I know it'll get easier with time. I know this won't last. I know, I know, I know. But, knowing just isn't going to magically get me over and through this.<br />
Martha Lou Hargrave was the finest lady to ever walk out of the cotton fields of Greenbriar and Belle Mina. The kindest, gentlest, hardest working, most determined woman I have ever known. And, I'll never be the same for it again. Thank God. She is entrenched so deeply in my bones, my spirit, I will never truly be without her. Thank God.<br />
But, what I wouldn't give for just one more hug from the woman who raised me.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1473900391942824325.post-56456577566725296732012-04-18T13:30:00.002-05:002012-10-05T06:28:06.089-05:00Titanic AdventuresThis weekend I <span style="font-style: italic;">may</span> have watched too much coverage regarding the sinking of the Titanic. <br />
Yes, I am one of "those" that tuned into almost every episode I could find. From the shipyard, to the launch, and all the way to the last minutes aboard the much celebrated vessel, I watched tentatively. <br />
I'm sure some of you are wondering if I thought the outcome might change with each new viewing. Let's be honest. Each show wasn't that much different from the last with its portrayals of the good life aboard the grandest ship of its day. They all featured the same black and white, grainy photos of the interior and exterior of the ship. They all contained the same facts, same data. The only difference were the actors in period costume and the varying sizes of the handlebar moustache that seemed to be all the rage at that time. <br />
Honestly, I have no idea why it fascinates me. I suppose for the same reason it fascinates people the world over. Regardless, I watched entirely too much of it this weekend. And, never was it more evident than when Firstborn came running into the kitchen this morning with his play Dirt Devil vacuum in one hand, and his sister's plastic, pink hairdryer in the other, shouting, "Quick, Mommy! We're trapped by icebergs on both sides and the power's goin' out soon!" <br />
Playing along I said, "Okay, let's quickly think of our plan of action. Do we need to abandon ship?"<br />
"No. I think we'll be okay. I'm gonna blast the bad guy icebergs with my laser gun", he held up the hairdryer, "and my blaster vac", as he gestured to his trusty, upright, bag-less dust buster.<br />
It dawned on me at that moment that my sweet, sensitive little boy had somehow turned into all boy in a matter of moments unbeknownst to me. And, not wanting to waste anymore precious play time, we jumped ship, landing on his rocket ship, and zoomed off to Mars for more adventures.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1473900391942824325.post-85373754217942909862011-11-28T14:39:00.005-06:002011-11-28T15:23:43.070-06:00Kicking Complaining to the Curb, I Call UncleWhen I last left you on my month long challenge of Kicking Complaining to the Curb, I was having myself a pity party over a crummy day. I'd like to tell you that the very next day I picked myself up, plastered a smile upon my face, and got busy being positive. But, it didn't quite work out that way. <br />Oh, I was positive alright, but it wasn't my attitude. I was positive for Strep Throat. When I last left you, I was on my way out the door to take First and Secondborn to the Pedi for what I thought were colds. Unfortunately, my car battery was dead and I wasn't able to. Hubby replaced the battery that afternoon and I rescheduled their appointments for the following morning.<br />The Pedi thought as I did, and that they both had viruses and would just need to work their way through them. But, he tested them for Strep since it's been showing up at his office like wildfire. The Pedi was incredibly surprised that both kids were, indeed, positive. <br />After writing out multiple prescriptions for steroidal breathing treatments and antibiotics, he asked me to open my mouth and say, "Ahhh". After take a look see he wrote me a prescription. I thought he was being cute and it would say something along the lines of, "Get some rest, Mom". But, no. It told me to get to my doctor immediately. <br />So, while sitting in the car line at the pharmacy to drop off for the second time within three hours, I called my dear friend, Amanda. You remember her, right? She's the one who helped inspire this project of Kicking Complaining to the Curb and the Grateful Granny Square project. <br />I called and proceeded to be anything but positive. There were tears. There were curse words, There were complaints, and lots of 'em baby. But, as I boo-hoo-ed in the drive through line to Amanda, I actually began to feel better. <br />How could that be? I had been on this quest for positive enlightenment. To admit that complaining not only lightened my mental load, but provided for some much needed good laughs would be to admit defeat, failure. <br />So, here goes. I failed Kicking Complaining to the Curb....sort of. <br />Yes, I complained. Who wouldn't with four strep diagnosis in one household within one week? (Yup, even Hubby fell ill.) We felt like poo and our throats were itchy and burning. And, because we were all ill, we were all house bound. Throw in the fact that both First and Secondborn were on two separate steroidal treatments apiece, twice daily, and you've got yourself a recipe for insanity. <br />But, I found that holding all those complaints close to the breast probably would have done far more damage than letting them out. So, while most would count my challenge a complete failure, I count it as successful. Well, maybe not a soaring success, mind you, but I took away some powerful knowledge. <br />I was reminded of how good it feels to look on the brighter side of a messy situation. But, it also feels good to have a great friend who'll lend an ear, and throw in some dirty words with you when that brighter side is too clouded over to glimpse. I'm catching myself before I get grouchy and grumpy, and rerouting my attitude with much more ease than in the past. <br /> Kids, jobs, spouses, life, it gets in the way of what we feel our life should be. Well, it's just that. It's life. You do the best you can, and move on. And, this is me moving on. I humbly admit that Kicking Complaining to the Curb kicked my hiney.....sort of. How 'bout we just call it a draw?Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1473900391942824325.post-45432146659902657462011-11-21T12:49:00.003-06:002011-11-21T13:01:04.000-06:0021 November KCttCToday's challenge is an epic fail, and all before lunch time.<br />The kids and I've been sick with a yucky cold all weekend, hence no blog catching up. Sorry. <br />This morning I knew it was time to call the pedi since Firstborn now sounded like his cold had landed in his chest and would need to go back on breathing treatments. So, I called and made an appointment for 2:15. Forty-five minutes later they called to see if they could move my appointment up to 1:00. I was more than willing to go ahead and get the appointment over with so I agreed.<br />After fighting with Secondborn for half an hour over what constituted appropriate footwear we headed out the door only to find that the Mommymobile would not start. It tried to turn over followed by lots of clicking indicating I am most likely in need of a new battery. Awesome. I'm sure that will result in yet another economics lesson that I will have to endure.<br />At this point I am failing miserably at staying positive. But, maybe after going back to bed, drinking some hot tea, and downing enough Ibuprofen to take out a six year old I'll be in a more positive mindset. One can only hope, right?Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1473900391942824325.post-5858189126554900882011-11-18T14:29:00.002-06:002011-11-18T15:09:56.678-06:0018 November KCttCIt's nap time. The house is fairly quiet save the Soundscapes digital music channel playing, and the sounds of Hubby working from home in his office. Secondborn is fast asleep in her own bed, while Firstborn is snuggled up fast and close to me in the big bed. Try as I might, there just doesn't seem to be anything that I could find wrong with this day. Sure, there have been a few moments of irritation, but always held in check. <br />Today was the performance of Firstborn's preschool Winter program, and as preschool programs go, it was what you'd expect. It was fortunate that I wore my roomy sweater, because this mama was puffed up with quite the load of pride for her son. And, who wouldn't have been? They sang songs, practiced their rhythm using tamborines, they donned headdresses, and even exhibited their knowledge of those imposing black keys on the piano. Hubby and I couldn't be happier with the school that he's attending.<br />Afterwards we headed to Chic-fil-A for a rare fast food outing. The kids were thrilled with the fact that not only were they getting french fries and chicken nuggets, but they were going to get their germ on by playing in the play yard. Every kid's dream and every mama's nightmare, yes, I know. <br />While waiting on Hubby to bring the much anticipated grub to the table, the kids were treated even more by the fact that one of the Chic-fil-A cows was greeting each and every table. Judging by the look on Firstborn's face, life for him at that exact moment just couldn't have been much better. Well, okay, the cow could have been delivering a hot fudge sundae, but still, the kid was over the moon. <br />And, when my kids are over the moon, well, so am I. Especially when one or more is snuggled up fast and close as he is now possibly dreaming of his morning, cows, and maybe hot fudge sundaes. Maybe he's even dreaming of his mommy with her goofiest of goofy grins plastered on face, clapping like a fool as he looked out across that stage. <br /><br />Enjoy the little things, for one day you may look back and realize they were the big things. ~Robert BraultUnknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1473900391942824325.post-49010063172013114632011-11-17T19:54:00.002-06:002011-11-17T20:29:01.702-06:0017 November KCttCDo you ever those days where it feels as if you're spinning in place? No matter how hard you work, there's no traction to be had? Aside from Monday, I've felt as if I've had an entire week of mud flinging, mired and bogged down, wheel spinning. Whew, and boy, has it been hard to maintain a positive outlook and refrain from complaining. <br />So, while I'm laying it all out on the table, let me be completely honest. There was complaining. Mind you, not as much complaining as I once would have been guilty of, but there was some complaining of note. Along with that complaining went a healthy dose of shame. <br />The thing that made the most difference to me though was if I did bellyache about something, I immediately recognized it for what it was. I would then try to rectify the situation and find something positive about the situation and move forward.<br />So, while I'm by no means perfect, heaven help me, I'd have no reason to write Confessing Mommy if I were. I am working to become a more thoughtful, kind, and compassionate person. And, for now, that's a good start.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1473900391942824325.post-40066889184852773992011-11-16T21:04:00.004-06:002011-11-16T21:12:39.209-06:0016 November KCttCI know that I am completely out of order with my dates, but I'll catch the others up this weekend and right this wrong order then. <br />It's 9:00 P.M. and I have a crying two year old in my bed. Her brother is asleep in his bed at quite the elevated status in order for him to breathe easier tonight. It's been a long day and a hard one to maintain a positive outlook as both have colds as well as a major case of grumpy butt-itis. <br />But, this much I know: they're not terribly sick, they'll be fine in a few days, and we love each other deeply no matter how much the day seemed to disagree with us all. <br />I also know that I have a wonderfully loving, kind, and compassionate hubby who cleared the supper dishes, picked up toys from one end of the house to the other, and put our brood to bed, so I could lay down when I wasn't feeling so well. <br />I have a wealth of positive to focus on in my world. I am filled with joy even though the space behind my eyeballs is screaming. I am joyous.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1473900391942824325.post-13125386612750608682011-11-13T15:52:00.005-06:002011-11-14T22:25:25.672-06:0010 November KCttCThursday at my MOPS meeting I almost got up and ran out within the first fifteen minutes. But, I stayed. I didn't want to. But, I did. There was a lady addressing our group about the death of her not quite three year old daughter. It was one of those rare tragedies in which everything just happened to fall into place at the right, or rather wrong time, leading to the premature death of a bubbly, beautiful baby girl. <br /> As she continued to tell her story it became harder and harder for me not to run as fast as my feet could take me back home to my babies. It was brutal to listen to the devastating details of the four and a half week long hospital duration and the decision to remove life support. All I could do was hold back tears and wish myself away into the arms of my sweet, beautiful babes. <br />My intense desire to be clutching my children closely was beginning to be replaced by some unknown feeling, though. And, I didn't care for it all. It was shame. <br />My cheeks flushed hot with the embarrassment of realizing how selfish I truly was at that moment. I should have been feeling overwhelming compassion for this woman, who was still deeply grieving four years later. Yet, all I thought about was leaving a discussion that made me extremely uncomfortable, and configuring escape routes that would get me to my own children the quickest. I was a weak woman that night. <br />While I don't know how to turn my initial reaction into something less shameful and positive, I do know that what I felt was most likely quite natural. I imagine I wasn't the only mama there that night aching to hold her child to breast and shower with kisses. Somehow, being painfully reminded that life is temporary, fleeting at best, does that to a mama. We love fiercely. We can't not love fiercely. Sure, the umbilical cord is cut at birth, but there's a binding far stronger than that cord that can never be severed. I know. I saw a mama fiercely bound tight to her babe even in death. And, I am now a stronger, better mama for having heard her story.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1473900391942824325.post-23185996217396857242011-11-13T15:30:00.002-06:002011-11-13T15:49:38.779-06:009 November KCttCWow. Wednesday was an especially difficult day to maintain a positive outlook. I woke early that morning to find myself sick with another flare up. And, pretty it was not. Fortunately, I had medication to combat the flare up. Unfortunately, the medication tends to make me extremely dizzy. We're talking dizzy to the point of not being able to stand, much less drive. <br />Instead of letting this flare up and the medication get the best of me, I turned this situation around by throwing a pajama party. Firstborn had been bummed when he realized I wouldn't be able to drive him to school. But, he quickly perked up at the mention of snuggling in bed watching cartoons, playing games, coloring, and reading books. <br />The pajama party cloaked what could have been a really bad day under the guise of playing hooky from school and doing the un-normal. The pajama party saved me. My positive attitude, while not at its best, was somewhat salvaged. And, while I would much rather have avoided the flare up altogether, it afforded me some much needed snuggle time with my two favorite wild things.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1473900391942824325.post-50520708780016390922011-11-13T15:05:00.003-06:002011-11-13T15:28:02.471-06:008 November KCttCTuesday I had the extreme pleasure of joining Firstborn at his school for a Mommy, Me, and muffins morning. It was such a treat to see the pride beaming from his sweet face as I perched precariously on the tiniest of tiny preschool chairs next to his. Along with our muffins and juice, we shared giggle after giggle as we talked with his mates and their moms. It warmed and filled my heart to overflowing spending that precious time with him. <br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9kFUDnwvItlSg4OeOa8sfyD8zYuAqvWC1r3i_78eSWMfnxb-8uL4Nqx6v-V4IKo0UtPUbNDRrd2OLaffth3z27YJ3q7slLCavhK63lSpfHk1uLf3PYwpOFSJ8mhc3ZetdZQDqqlzUPkUB/s1600/ollie+and+me.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9kFUDnwvItlSg4OeOa8sfyD8zYuAqvWC1r3i_78eSWMfnxb-8uL4Nqx6v-V4IKo0UtPUbNDRrd2OLaffth3z27YJ3q7slLCavhK63lSpfHk1uLf3PYwpOFSJ8mhc3ZetdZQDqqlzUPkUB/s320/ollie+and+me.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5674595205535604386" /></a><br />I rarely have one on one time with him anymore. It isn't by design. It's by life and circumstance. I went a few rounds of mentally beating myself up over forgetting that this special boy needed special designated time. That's when it dawned on me that beating myself up over something that I'm sure has happened to even the best of parents, was just as bad as a negative outlook and complaining. In fact, it's far worse. How can I maintain a positive outlook when I'm constantly pummeling myself for personal mistakes? The answer is I can't. <br />So, for Tuesday's Kicking Complaining to the Curb I learned a lesson that I am constantly having to relearn it seems. I learned I must let it go. Let it go and do better. And, that's exactly what we'll be doing this afternoon. We'll be doing better with some special mommy and me time in the kitchen while Secondborn is napping.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1473900391942824325.post-51834746561817764862011-11-10T14:18:00.005-06:002011-11-11T13:16:30.626-06:007 November Kicking Complaining to the CurbMonday was not an easy day for Secondborn. She cried, whined, whimpered, and screamed for what seemed to be hours at a time. At first I was slightly frustrated with the situation because I was in Mommy work mode. I had loads of laundry to tackle, bathrooms to clean, floors to sweep and mop, take Firstborn to and from school, and somewhere in all of that make a <a href="http://www.canningconfessions.com/2011/11/sweet-potato-bread-pudding-oh-my.html">sweet potato bread pudding</a> for my Canning Confessions page. <br />I quickly realized that there was more to the situation than just an irate toddler when she insisted on being in my lap, arms, or attached to my leg as I would try to accomplish any of my tasks. Secondborn being the adventurous, spunky, and free spirited child she is, cannot stand to be contained. Any time she refuses to vacate my lap and is whiny, is a good indicator that she's not feeling well. Since she was not displaying any of the visual symptoms of a cold or a fever I assumed that it might be her two year molars causing her grief.<br />We've long suspected she was cutting those pesky molars since our move in April, but they never broke the skin. There were a few other times over the summer when we once more thought this, but again, they never broke the skin. Our pediatrician informed us that hers might just be slow in coming down and whenever they move a little further down is when she's getting cranky, slight fevers, and a runny nappy. At her last visit he remarked that they were getting a lot closer to breaking the skin. So, there might be some relief in sight soon.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKe1Hk2NWZ527CwNU7Nw_FOVtsw8W6JAB-Dy7VJemrWKl8a5fv_OPNvOn5Nbyo4asehCE3Xp6bndrTQLqLwypBAbEABupgKppCTUPkHSBdfSuOBHs3Llj5mLaVbSpdPULwgCM1-nPnxP5K/s1600/IMG_1613.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 206px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKe1Hk2NWZ527CwNU7Nw_FOVtsw8W6JAB-Dy7VJemrWKl8a5fv_OPNvOn5Nbyo4asehCE3Xp6bndrTQLqLwypBAbEABupgKppCTUPkHSBdfSuOBHs3Llj5mLaVbSpdPULwgCM1-nPnxP5K/s320/IMG_1613.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5673818559843788178" /></a><br />I tried not to have a negative spirit or complaining nature that day, but I must admit it was difficult. As we cuddled on the couch it was frustrating to feel the weight of housework burdening my positive outlook. Very little of my Mommy work mode list was checked off. And, checking things off my lists ranks pretty high on my, well, my list of things I love to do.<br />I'm not so sure that day seven should be counted as a win, but it played an important step towards my month long goal of kicking complaining to the curb. And, maybe that makes it a win after all.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1473900391942824325.post-79466047882081241712011-11-06T21:03:00.008-06:002011-11-10T14:17:51.173-06:006 November KCttCOrdinarily when I'm in the kitchen working on something that I plan to post about I like to be by myself. After working in restaurants, bars, and corner delis for quite some time I am accustomed to working at a rather rapid pace. A pace that tends to plow over anyone in my path who does not heed my warnings of, "behind you" or, "on your left". <br />I love having the kitchen to myself. That's my time. It's when I am most relaxed working at a frenzied pace that blocks out the rest of the world for a bit. But, it's also a time I'm learning to share. And, that's how I turned my sixth day of Kicking Complaining to the Curb around.<br />Secondborn was napping, and Firstborn was making it quite clear he was not. So, I invited him to help me in the kitchen. And, for that I was greatly rewarded. <br />I have a <a href="https://www.facebook.com/pages/Canning-Confessions/166580040072535">FaceBook page</a> for my <a href="http://canningconfessions.com">Canning Confessions</a> site, and one of my "likers" sent me a link to this fabulous <a href="http://www.forsmallhands.com/vegetable-chopper-with-wooden-handle">child friendly knife</a>. I cannot say enough good things about these knives. Yes, that was plural. Please, we can't buy just one of anything in this house. Secondborn would never stand for that. Oh, you're concerned that I allow my two year old to handle a knife? I can understand that. But, both Hubby and I are big advocates for learning knife skills at an early age. It's those that have no knife skills or respect for the knife that end up with injuries.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJh41vSMHYKFGTrEPMK-SEZQuTIajHtw0Q7QRlL0k_LXTyBSXH-4PCWs0BBXO8BCZRjAwY5V0jF5bYXVA5Sfe_iwwhsOu4UMl3kCZTGk4hTGt7kO_NHscMpEHKcAHWBO-AxNQKLE6SwIoC/s1600/IMG_1867.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJh41vSMHYKFGTrEPMK-SEZQuTIajHtw0Q7QRlL0k_LXTyBSXH-4PCWs0BBXO8BCZRjAwY5V0jF5bYXVA5Sfe_iwwhsOu4UMl3kCZTGk4hTGt7kO_NHscMpEHKcAHWBO-AxNQKLE6SwIoC/s320/IMG_1867.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5673458410741506210" /></a><br />And, yes he was wearing his pajamas. It was Sunday and that's what he does. After we come home from church he changes his clothes and always insists on putting on his pajamas. <br />He and I chopped onions, carrots, celery, and apples. We discussed different aspects of the veggies, how we were going to use them, and other uses. At one point he became quite concerned about my tears from the onion. He sweetly offered to "be a good boy" and not make me cry. I'm still not sure that he grasps the concept of the crying onions. <br />We had such a great time, and were laughing so loudly we woke Secondborn. But, that was fine by us. She was more than ready to practice her knife skills as well.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIolyqf1nzkit0BSRYsbXNDF5tXkiRLkyL6fomrTIFEwTFBJZX5xFG-gMNHhZed0cRp3bU0sME15A85Ey50L6v_RuZG5wBLzwkfgeZ7L-tX6g-mIbrI7gXgEH77UnLDRBcafmiQZVNHIFw/s1600/IMG_1869.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIolyqf1nzkit0BSRYsbXNDF5tXkiRLkyL6fomrTIFEwTFBJZX5xFG-gMNHhZed0cRp3bU0sME15A85Ey50L6v_RuZG5wBLzwkfgeZ7L-tX6g-mIbrI7gXgEH77UnLDRBcafmiQZVNHIFw/s320/IMG_1869.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5673460692237736514" /></a><br />I will still crave time to myself in the kitchen, but I will make much more time for the natives now. <br /><br /><br />Those who wish to sing, always find a song. ~Swedish Proverb<br /><a href="http://pinterest.com/pin/create/button/?url=http%3A%2F%2Fconfessingmom.blogspot.com%2F&media=http%3A%2F%2F3.bp.blogspot.com%2F-2utFctyzqrw%2FTrwucLf42kI%2FAAAAAAAAAG8%2FZKcPxvrlAto%2Fs320%2FIMG_1869.JPG&description=Montessori%20inspired%20crinkle%20cut%20knife%2C%20perfect%20for%20little%20hands" class="pin-it-button" count-layout="horizontal">Pin It</a><br /><script type="text/javascript" src="http://assets.pinterest.com/js/pinit.js"></script>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1473900391942824325.post-86868680696842036492011-11-05T21:01:00.009-05:002011-11-05T21:42:52.802-05:005 November KCttCI've worked hard this week catching up on errands, doctors' appointments, and never ending housework. By the time I pulled the last jar of chili out of the pressure canner last night at 11:30 I was pooped. It was somewhere around baking the fourth loaf of bread yesterday afternoon that I gave myself permission to relax today. And, that is exactly what I've done. <br />I tried to sleep late, but sometime in the middle of the night Firstborn snuck into our bed. That's pretty much an every night occurrence. We snuggled up and off to sleepy town we both went. Then, 6:30 this morning brought Secondborn into our bed. <br />I love when she wakes in the morning. She's happy and lovely. It's almost as if she hasn't realized yet that she's more than capable of throwing hissy fits as means of warfare. <br />She snuggled into bed with me and back to sleepy town I went.....for all of three minutes. It seems Secondborn was up and open for business, as they say. She was in and out of the bed every six minutes with some new and louder toy each time. Sure, I dozed here and there, but it was at my own risk. I cannot tell you how many times she accidentally clocked me in the head with some three pound, hard as a rock toy. Hubby finally gave up and got up around 8:00 and we all followed suit. <br />We lounged this morning in our pjs and watched loads of cartoons. We colored and played. We played outside and discarded our rotting jackolanterns. And, by nap time, we were all ready. None more ready than myself, for I had a plan.<br />I had made a stuffed dolly for Secondborn this past Spring before moving. I never finished embroidering the face or installing but a few strands of hair. <br />She's no looker, as my dad put it when he first laid eyes on her. This being my first stuffed doll in at least fifteen years makes that tolerable to hear. You factor in the that the doll looks as if she has a perpetual case of chicken pox and you really begin to get a better understanding. <br />While shopping for fabric I found a flannel, white with pink polka dots and an aqua flannel that had adorably colored birds to use. I love polka dots. And, that was exactly what I was thinking when I brought the fabric home. Not once did it occur to me until stitching arm and leg seams together that this doll would look afflicted in some horrible way. <br />After piecing the dolly together and stuffing her, she was packed away until just this week when Secondborn found her digging through one of my tubs of fabrics. And, since that moment the dolly and Secondborn have been the best of friends. I knew it was time to finish the process. And, today was the day to do it. <br />I removed what few strands of yarn for hair there were and began to embroider the face. Mind you, this was a fairly impulsive decision that today would the day that dolly would get a makeover so my choices in embroidery floss were limited to a bright pink, corn yellow, and a brown. I've not embroidered since high school, and it showed. Fortunately, this didn't concern me, and I was certain that as long as Secondborn could distinguish all the facial parts then she wouldn't be concerned either. <br />I decided to sew her hair in the Waldorf doll fashion and proceeded to ready my sewing machine. Do you have any idea how hard it is to wind a bobbin properly when your cat is trying to eat your thread? He's just lucky he didn't get his whiskers sewn together.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHPol2R4jc1UDwPajG2PBjCjwfCUpkY-XOpaBJUbn2_wHCelYl-zfqLuYNdeC7OaF-HLlnWJm-XmwtaLkYCHzVXK1GbHBbiwAqaeDONjqJIISbAzi5FSmcEJap3TlM_4jwNpevAhpbW5fx/s1600/IMAG1944.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 192px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHPol2R4jc1UDwPajG2PBjCjwfCUpkY-XOpaBJUbn2_wHCelYl-zfqLuYNdeC7OaF-HLlnWJm-XmwtaLkYCHzVXK1GbHBbiwAqaeDONjqJIISbAzi5FSmcEJap3TlM_4jwNpevAhpbW5fx/s320/IMAG1944.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5671704888337340242" /></a><br />It took me all afternoon to do all the different seamings of hair installations. And, I enjoyed every minute of it. Yes, I have the attention span of a gad fly, and yes I found myself wanting to get up and wander around the house or surf FaceBook, but I stuck with it. And, while she's still no looker, she's better looking than what she was. And, Secondborn loves her even more. The look on her face upon presentation said it all. <br />Oh, there's a lot of negative that could be said about this blemished, lumpy doll, but, best you do it out of earshot. I'm all smiles over Dotty. Well, what else could we name her?<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuxDEzvPjGg3MZzUZ-zWFcR4AveT1b8pfVhNWpp6bf5ZLFBXe2sfoJ4qtk1H66Z8TpzkgZQeek9bRmdSNLS0Z4-RXvKOfNBMHr_A4_Us1SKBgsHC4of8UHOAeWWn0qWS5daRAu2G8K3yML/s1600/IMAG1946.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 192px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuxDEzvPjGg3MZzUZ-zWFcR4AveT1b8pfVhNWpp6bf5ZLFBXe2sfoJ4qtk1H66Z8TpzkgZQeek9bRmdSNLS0Z4-RXvKOfNBMHr_A4_Us1SKBgsHC4of8UHOAeWWn0qWS5daRAu2G8K3yML/s320/IMAG1946.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5671706034894523890" /></a><br />(Forgive the quality of the pictures. They were taken with my phone and the latter had little in the way of lighting.)<br />Affectation is a greater enemy to the face than smallpox. ~English Proverb<br /><a href="http://pinterest.com/pin/create/button/?url=http%3A%2F%2Fconfessingmom.blogspot.com%2F&media=http%3A%2F%2F4.bp.blogspot.com%2F-7WChfbYdczw%2FTrXxi8Qxl1I%2FAAAAAAAAAGY%2FyAs5M-gLXlQ%2Fs320%2FIMAG1944.jpg&description=Scurvy" class="pin-it-button" count-layout="horizontal">Pin It</a><br /><script type="text/javascript" src="http://assets.pinterest.com/js/pinit.js"></script>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1473900391942824325.post-4773718640412983822011-11-04T22:18:00.002-05:002011-11-05T21:39:15.899-05:004 November KCttCThere was a time I loved going to the grocery store. It was like a game to me. I prepared for my shopping trips by making lists, comparing prices to different stores, matching sales to coupons, and always making sure both kids were well fed and rested before entering the store. But, a lot of things have changed. My go to market has changed their coupon policy, I don't have nearly the time I once did to commit to my coupons and match ups, the natives are older and much more active no matter how well fed or rested they are before we go, but the biggest problem is the constant rise in prices and our decreased food budget.<br />While trying to pay off our moving expenses we have decreased our weekly grocery budget. And, while frustrating, it isn't impossible. That is to say if prices were to stay the same. The problem, however, is that prices are noticeably higher each week. I know some of you must think I'm exaggerating, but I'm not. Because we are on such a restrictive budget I document each trip the prices of what I'm placing into our cart. This makes hitting our weekly grocery budget increasingly more difficult. And, today was no exception.<br />After I had both kids buckled into their seats and the groceries loaded into the back of the Mommymobile I called Hubby. And, while I did my best not to outwardly complain of the situation, the entire conversation was dripping with frustrated whining. *Ugh*, Mommy fail. <br />Once home my mind wandered over to a piece I've been writing for sometime about childhood hunger. I've not finished it. I have no idea where the piece is going. I just know that it has been weighing heavily upon my mind and I feel compelled, almost forced to write about it. The problem is that it's difficult for me to write about because I've never been hungry. I've never been hungry in the true since of hunger. I've never been food insecure. Oh, believe me, I've been more than insecure about the level of taste, appearance, and satisfaction about food in my life, but not once have I been food insecure. <br />And, with that in mind I put our groceries away with more thankfulness than I had shown in some time. Now, if you'll excuse me, it's time to crochet. No, today was not completely without complaint or negative thought free, but I have been filled with such a grateful spirit that I think it would be okay to add a square for today to the Grateful Granny Square project.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1473900391942824325.post-23167155330696221982011-11-03T21:49:00.007-05:002011-11-03T22:36:10.439-05:003 November of KCttCSecondborn has been showing all the signs that she's beginning to give up nap time. Some days it takes over an hour for her to fall asleep. And, this usually involves me sitting on the floor outside her bedroom watching her every move. <br />There were days that I was getting really frustrated about the situation. After all, doesn't she know that nap time is Mommy time? Who did she think she was being awake in the allotted slot of time that I used to get things done? I was getting seriously bummed. Along with that serious bum I was doing some serious whining. <br />One day last week after exhausting every trick I knew and myself, yet was still facing a wide eyed, definitely non exhausted daughter, I laid down on the couch with her. It didn't take long till we both fell asleep. And, it was delicious. I thoroughly enjoyed that delicious nap with my baby girl, who is quickly loosing all aspects of being a baby. <br />Each and every day I see a little less of that baby that I reached down to greet nearly two and a half years ago. And, while I'm thrilled to watch her grow into this independent, feisty, and fearless little girl, I'm saddened to watch her babyhood melt away.<br />For the next few days after that delicious nap, I couldn't shake the sad little ache in my heart as I was coming to terms that Secondborn wasn't a baby anymore and she wasn't quite a little girl, either. <br />That's when I decided that more of those delicious naps were in order. There were a few days I freaked out when I would realize that was precious housework time. But, the more afternoons we spent together snuggled on that couch, the less the housework seemed to matter. In the past I wouldn't have been able to even entertain the idea of napping while she napped for fear of wasting time. But, not anymore. And, that's how I ended up mopping my house at 9:30 tonight. The housework got done much later than what I would like. But, the trade off was far superior. <br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieymKLoPmE6oR-0U3r578tiwhzqwoiut-lqOwopoK-cWaIoGKkDDXPFWnjLtoMdgWF9gVaEz1xWcJ4FCZntsOfjvCuBz_bPNrEVq0RhHDmSDHkxkXXx-9yETS0tQHm-fSv5b4vVFCvOKUN/s1600/IMAG1856.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 192px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieymKLoPmE6oR-0U3r578tiwhzqwoiut-lqOwopoK-cWaIoGKkDDXPFWnjLtoMdgWF9gVaEz1xWcJ4FCZntsOfjvCuBz_bPNrEVq0RhHDmSDHkxkXXx-9yETS0tQHm-fSv5b4vVFCvOKUN/s320/IMAG1856.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5670976453692424466" /></a><br /><br />To be upset over what you don't have is to waste what you do have. ~Ken S. Keyes, Jr.<br /><a href="http://pinterest.com/pin/create/button/?url=http%3A%2F%2Fconfessingmom.blogspot.com%2F&media=http%3A%2F%2F4.bp.blogspot.com%2F-BZF1O9EO2pk%2FTrNbCdvxARI%2FAAAAAAAAAGM%2FUM1Xwix08XI%2Fs320%2FIMAG1856.jpg&description=confessing%20mommy" class="pin-it-button" count-layout="horizontal">Pin It</a><br /><script type="text/javascript" src="http://assets.pinterest.com/js/pinit.js"></script>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1473900391942824325.post-24628638270899474862011-11-03T14:14:00.009-05:002011-11-03T22:33:38.389-05:002 November of KCttCMy friend Kelly over at <a href="http://sleepingkelly.com/">Sleeping Kelly</a> often refers to that time of evening when the children become possessed by poltergeist, supper hasn't began to take shape yet, and mama's getting a bit frayed around the edges as the Whining Hour. She says when the kids start to whine that's when it's time to pour the wine. <br />And, while I had no wine to pour yesterday evening, if ever there were a time for it, it was then. Fortunately, I had a secret weapon in my Mommy's Turn the 'tude 'round Dance Party Secret Weapon Playlist. <br />My laptop is always open for business in the kitchen making it quite useful in my arsenal of tricks to turn the 'tudes around when my tribe of natives gets a bad case of the grumpy butts. <br />Yesterday I started the party with Lawrence Welk's "Baby Elephant Walk". I always go right for the silly to get 'em started. <br />We covered ELO (Don't Bring Me Down), Merle Haggard (Mama Tried - that was more a reminder for me), Willie and Waylon with Good Hearted Woman, The Highway Men with Mamas (Don't Let your Babies Grow Up to be Cowboys), Dion and the Belmonts (The Wanderer), and finished up with At the Hop. <br />The little boogers couldn't help themselves. The more we danced, the faster their cases of grumpy butts just melted away. It's true. Music soothes the savage beasts.<br /><iframe width="459" height="344" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/sxhMKvLgzvs?fs=1" frameborder="0" allowFullScreen=""></iframe><br /><br />Attitude is a little thing that makes a big difference. ~Winston ChurchillUnknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1473900391942824325.post-1883696135414017612011-11-03T14:00:00.006-05:002011-11-03T22:33:52.750-05:001 November of KCttCSince I've started this three days into the month I'm going to go back and retro-blog for those missed days. <br /><br />Since I didn't know I would be starting this on Tuesday, I was full of complaints, especially since I was having an IBD flare up. And, while I can't correct what I did that day, I can look back and be grateful that I had such an understanding husband who was willing to take off work, if need be, and work from home to help out. Fortunately, my medication took effect and I was able to resume something of a normal day by lunch time. I was even able to go have my hair cut for the first time since moving from Alabama. <br />And, I must be absolutely honest here. I have no complaints whatsoever regarding the cut and color I received from my new salon, Jump, Jive, and Wail. Laura was a lot of fun to work with, professional, and understood exactly what I wanted. So, yea for happy hair!<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjN6CFDCdxUxTMOzReLNNmLOTE5CnuX9SijhQQOu5XHV_TAcg5xCbaHFzVgC5Q5phppdFou5Bna-HV1NZIdyjItFrfjKTBllaLcNLOy1RHfMvmpSBuiezeN0q_gBNQUo_zINH0Vx6vf3tlr/s1600/IMAG1927.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 192px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjN6CFDCdxUxTMOzReLNNmLOTE5CnuX9SijhQQOu5XHV_TAcg5xCbaHFzVgC5Q5phppdFou5Bna-HV1NZIdyjItFrfjKTBllaLcNLOy1RHfMvmpSBuiezeN0q_gBNQUo_zINH0Vx6vf3tlr/s320/IMAG1927.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5670848810852604562" /></a><br />Even though I'm just embarking upon this journey, I already feel more content. I feel the once lighter, brighter Mommy shedding the bog of life. Or, maybe it was just going back to the pixie cut.....time will tell, though. <br /><br />Life is a shipwreck but we must not forget to sing in the lifeboats. ~VoltaireUnknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1473900391942824325.post-71892200442061031022011-11-03T13:00:00.005-05:002011-11-04T09:42:59.121-05:00Kicking Complaining to the CurbIt's November and and thanksgiving isn't just a Thursday with a turkey and football. People are gearing up not only for the Thanksgiving holiday, but are also donning that festive spirit for the following holiday, Christmas. They take time to count their blessings more so than most any other time of the year. They stop to help their neighbors. They become more generous with their gifts, money, and good cheer. <br />The past few days I've noticed a number of people listing daily something they're thankful for on FaceBook. I think that's great. But, I tend to buck trends and have shied away from it. Yes, I'm that weirdo. But, that's another story for another day.<br />This morning my friend Amanda and I were talking, as we do most every morning as she drives into work, and she mentioned about how she'd been reading a blog about <a href="http://365grateful.com/original-365-project">365 days of gratefullness</a>. The blogger had already completed 365 days of thankfulness and was now using the opportunity to be complaint free for one month. <br />This intrigued me. The more we talked about it the more I was convinced that this was something I wanted to be a part of. Amanda said it would help her to have me on board, and I would certainly benefit from having her on board. We talked of ways in which we could turn the negative into the positive. We discussed how we could spin the bad and the ugly not into a gilded lie, but spin it around to look at from a different angle. We discussed how Secondborn, who was in the process of throwing (1) a sippy cup, (2) a flashlight and (3) her daddy's new book at me, wasn't just pushing boundaries, but that she was displaying she was right on track for normal growth development. I did have to admit though, that she wasn't just normal in that department, but maybe above average.<br />Amanda even had the brillant idea that at the end of the day I could crochet one square to symbolize a day free of complaint, a day of gratitude and peace. I took that a step further and named it the Grateful Granny Square project. And, at the end of the month I could piece all the squares together for a cozy afghan. <br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyQ6SMXDSA2xuatzbROiR-B_iJIsaighY0SaNyn6GxjQuynwgI3yeQpUaDtukcB1aQiG_eLZPrN4wYN1JFQt-bCyqbIijHKo0ufQq45nTY-hZnPQo_UR1vW8ZKEkHi4GhJv0nB4m6_uT37/s1600/IMAG1882.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 192px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyQ6SMXDSA2xuatzbROiR-B_iJIsaighY0SaNyn6GxjQuynwgI3yeQpUaDtukcB1aQiG_eLZPrN4wYN1JFQt-bCyqbIijHKo0ufQq45nTY-hZnPQo_UR1vW8ZKEkHi4GhJv0nB4m6_uT37/s320/IMAG1882.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5670844329141344594" /></a><br />Now, I'm not sure I can manage to do it every night, but the intent is there and we'll see where it goes. But, I hope to be checking back daily and sharing with you some ways of which I could turn a complaint into a realization of the positive. I've always been something of a bubbly character, but I've let life bog me down of late. It's time to shed the negative, find the light, and chase after it. Who knows where it will lead? Besides "a positive attitude may not solve all your problems, but it will annoy enough people to make it worth the effort." ~Herm Albright<br />And, I do so enjoying annoying grumpy butts.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1473900391942824325.post-61349151213776652912011-10-25T14:39:00.002-05:002011-11-03T14:37:59.112-05:00Boogers As Wall ArtThere's a booger on my wall. There. I said it. It's been there maybe five days now. Seven tops. But, who's counting? And, another valid question that should be asked is why haven't I done anything about it? <br />Secondborn approached me last week in a great deal of excitement. She grabbed me by the hand and pulled, "Woom, Mommy! Come see! Boober, Mommy! Boober! Come see!"<br />And, that's where I was greeted by the biggest booger ever. EVER. The biggest booger EVER was smeared across her bedroom wall. It was like an art installation, except it was not my idea of art. <br />Every fiber of my being was repulsed. I quickly scanned Secondborn's bedroom for a box of baby wipes only to be sadly disappointed. <br />What I did spy was the biggest, proudest smile on my baby girl's face. She was genuinely impressed with herself and her mucus. What's more, she expected the same from me. She was doing the tip toe dancing in place, all the while pointing and giggling at the wall. <br />What could I do? If I removed the offensive booger in front of her, she'd be crushed. There's a good chance I would damage her fragile psyche and send her through years of therapy. *ugh* Clearly I am not that mommy. <br />So, I ask again. What could I do? <br />I left it there while I did the tip toe dancing in place with my daughter accompanied by lots of giggling. Clearly I'm the kind of mommy that can ignore a booger the size of a VW Beetle if it brings my daughter joy. I'm just not so sure what that really says about me at all.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1473900391942824325.post-76238152092639010852011-10-22T16:29:00.003-05:002011-10-22T17:09:12.508-05:00Who Says Mommy's Lost Her Marbles?Who says Mommy's lost her marbles? I know exactly where they are. That can't be said about just anyone, you know.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhABf5O70QsDfXgoLfInnV9bnlGpAdX_i1_L0o6HnQwt-jjG5rz-KOS37yu6g7NPEkjQgoMinfVQYXpZBB2BIEium_4F227SofRQ6pQTt23Dgkjc3b7f6CNG8kxGDIcgXTJW1opCVdAciut/s1600/IMG_1665.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhABf5O70QsDfXgoLfInnV9bnlGpAdX_i1_L0o6HnQwt-jjG5rz-KOS37yu6g7NPEkjQgoMinfVQYXpZBB2BIEium_4F227SofRQ6pQTt23Dgkjc3b7f6CNG8kxGDIcgXTJW1opCVdAciut/s400/IMG_1665.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5666432036765033202" /></a><br /><a href="http://pinterest.com/pin/create/button/?url=http%3A%2F%2Fconfessingmom.blogspot.com%2F" class="pin-it-button" count-layout="horizontal">Pin It</a><br /><script type="text/javascript" src="http://assets.pinterest.com/js/pinit.js"></script>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1473900391942824325.post-4807332362623824112011-09-29T14:07:00.007-05:002011-11-03T14:38:49.074-05:00The House Of Ill Re-Poop, I AM MOMMYI live in the house of ill re-poop. And, no, I did not get the saying wrong. Within less than a week my tribe has had a nasty sinus infection, stomach virus, kidney stone, and a mutated stomach virus. I've been covered in poop, puke, and pee. I feel like a human Kleenex, or worse, a CSI case work load. <br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcDP1MY-Ly3BSFAmPnhNghFjOGZGWiv5rXtDdXAzEjSHg7_iOaBwC5KDAo04sZw3T4kcmybDrg-zfGK7718V2ncqmcl-gVYesvalwBRhyphenhyphenNCoMHS6YIdEtF-wn9qkHZYZZe4HlbNWHZ-lmT/s1600/ollie+sick.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 192px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcDP1MY-Ly3BSFAmPnhNghFjOGZGWiv5rXtDdXAzEjSHg7_iOaBwC5KDAo04sZw3T4kcmybDrg-zfGK7718V2ncqmcl-gVYesvalwBRhyphenhyphenNCoMHS6YIdEtF-wn9qkHZYZZe4HlbNWHZ-lmT/s320/ollie+sick.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5657976058823311474" /></a><br />First and Secondborn have both been on Zyrtec for allergies for ten days. Unfortunately, Firstborn still developed a sinus infection. After a trip to the pedi for antibiotics we arrived home later that afternoon to a yurping Secondborn. Right after supper she sweetly sashed up to me while pointing at her mouth and repeated "poop" numerous times. <br />"Poop?" Why wasn't the kid pointing to her hiney then? Still, she persisted with the vigorous pointing and repetition. Since I was too daft to figure out what she was getting out, she threw me a bone and yurped all over me, the kitchen floor, and the garbage can, surprisingly not in the garbage can though. She's two. She gets a pass <span style="font-style:italic;">this time</span>. <br />She continued yurping all the way to bathroom as Hubby led her for a much needed bath while I was on cleaning detail. I was summoned to the bathroom within minutes to be informed that there was indeed a code poopey. Awesome. Poor kid had it coming out both ends. <br />What? Too much? You read the title of this post. You had to know this was coming. Let me give it to you straight. It ain't gonna get any prettier. So, maybe you might want to take your kids that never puke, pee, or poop rainbow colors to the playground for ice cream while I continue on with our bodily fluid filled week in review. <br />Have you ever been around a two year old that has a case of the tummy yuck? It's sad. The little buggers have no idea why their body is declaring mutiny. Can you imagine what must be going through their minds? My niece woke yurping one morning and told her mom that she'd pooped all over her arms. That must have been what Secondborn thought was going down. Each and every time my sweet baby girl yurped she would have a complete come apart resulting in an immediate and dire need to be consoled within my arms......often prematurely before the yurping had ended. Being her mommy I obliged.<br />Firstborn threw up a time or two throughout the week. However, his was from sinus drainage. There have been several times I had the chapter from Rick Bragg's,<span style="font-style:italic;"> All Over But The Shouting</span> running through my mind where it detailed him suffocating on snot and his daddy had to shove a fistful of salt down his throat forcing vomiting. My baby boy has choked and coughed all week long on this demon drainage. It frightens me, to be honest. The sound of him sucking it back to make room for oxygen is frustrating not only for me but so much more for him, and rightly so. <br />This morning we woke with that glimmer of fool's gold in our eyes as we'd made it a full twelve hours without anyone upchucking. Sure, Hubby had a slight sore throat and a more pressing back ache, but, I had made it half a day without pulling puke from mine or anyone else's hair. I had even been so brazen as to publish a sweeping declaration on Facebook that the tummy yuck had been conquered. Oh, me of little foresight. *sighs*<br />Secondborn came to me shortly after 9:00 this morning crying in pain while pointing to her hiney. As I approached my distraught daughter I smelled immediately the offending issue. A scene that played itself out time and time again today. My poor baby girl walked around for a better part of this day holding her hiney while crying out, "It hurtz. Mommy, it hurtz." My heart broke. My stomach turned. But, more so, my heart broke and my arms ached to make my baby feel that all would be well soon.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghEat8QbNt8ihdK7HGQ9GfdR4WnCfQJtwP_uUW8OeItaFJHLPrgWqic8xMrtOxSLEdnFjRiOD84ix2KL6s723IhO-liCH1BcbzvPoEXUSHOlsQyX_MAdxYvXqFe7wkq_V55uFhu6IuqIh0/s1600/IMG_1368.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghEat8QbNt8ihdK7HGQ9GfdR4WnCfQJtwP_uUW8OeItaFJHLPrgWqic8xMrtOxSLEdnFjRiOD84ix2KL6s723IhO-liCH1BcbzvPoEXUSHOlsQyX_MAdxYvXqFe7wkq_V55uFhu6IuqIh0/s320/IMG_1368.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5657976382759717186" /></a><br />But, all would not be well soon. Remember Hubb's pressing back ache? It pressed harder. It also moved. Hubby confirmed that yes, he had yet, another kidney stone making its way down that pain laden path. Oh, boy. <br />I had Firstborn coughing big balls of wet, choking, snott up, Secondborn painfully pooping anything that wasn't substantially attached to her innards, and Hubby alternating between laying in pain on the heating pad or in the jacuzzi tub. <br />So much for my sweeping declaration of illness banishment. Sweet Josaphat, our household has some seriously bad juju floating around was all I could think. Fortunately, or maybe unfortunately, I didn't have all that much time to dwell on our past deeds that might have angered those presiding over household well being. <br />Secondborn was beside herself with her pooping predicament. Keep in mind, we're in the midst of potty training. Pooping her pants continually was not only painful and uncomfortable, but embarrassing and wrong in her world. Firstborn was picking fights with all that crossed his radar since he was still physically uncomfortable. And, Hubby had realized it was time to journey to the nearest E.R.<br />The rest of my day was spent wiping hineys, mopping floors that had been mopped too many times to count this week, making multiple runs to the market, wiping noses, holding hands, reassuring, taking slight breaks to vent to those few I trust to vent to, and contemplating purchasing large amounts of stock in Lysol. <br />I am Mommy. Hear me sob silently sometimes. Hear me suck it up, stuff it back down again, and soldier on. I am Mommy. And, I gladly, open armed, silently cursing, accept every mommy poop, pee, and puked covered moment of it. I am Mommy, see me glow and become all that was meant for my ill advised life as I become and not embrace, but swallow and live larger than life the life that only mommies do. I am Mommy and I live for this. I was purposed for this. I am Mommy, awww, crap, let me clean that up for you.<br /><a href="http://pinterest.com/pin/create/button/?url=http%3A%2F%2Fconfessingmom.blogspot.com%2F" class="pin-it-button" count-layout="horizontal">Pin It</a><br /><script type="text/javascript" src="http://assets.pinterest.com/js/pinit.js"></script>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1473900391942824325.post-70807193133781321322011-09-13T12:59:00.002-05:002011-11-03T14:39:26.100-05:00Meetup.com or Stoodup.com?Since moving to Texas in May I've had little interaction with other moms. School was out for the summer, I was busy settling us into our new digs, and it was hotter than the surface of the sun. These were just a few of the excuses I gave myself on not getting out and meeting people. But, finally, I could stand it no longer and began cruising meetup.com for groups of interest. After settling upon a group, I RSVP'ed for a meet up at the local splash pad the following morning.<br />My tribe of natives and I arrived promptly with a picnic lunch, buckets and water toys aplenty to share, and eager to make new friends. The park was really crowded, but I had worn my big girl panties that morning and proceeded to walk up to the first cluster of moms. I bravely introduced myself and asked if they were with the <span style="font-style:italic;">Area Local Moms' Group to Remain Nameless</span>, you know, to protect their identities and such. <br />No, they replied. They were the "'09ers". A group dedicated to all babes born in '09. If I had been smart I would have said, "Oh, that's what I meant to say." After all, Secondborn is what you would consider an "'09er". But, alas, it's well proven and documented that I am not the brightest crayon in the box. And, I continued on to the next mommy cluster.<br />Again, I put on my friendliest, happy camper, maybe a little too eager to make new friends face, and asked, "Are you with the <span style="font-style:italic;">Area Local Moms' Group to Remain Nameless</span>?" <br />And, once more I was informed that no, they were not members of said group. At this point I felt my big girl panties shrinking a size. <br />Firstborn was now loudly tugging on my picnic supply laden arm demanding, "Where are all my new friends, Mommy? I thought you said we were going to have friends today?"<br />"We're still looking, sugarbooger. Be a bit more patient, m'kay?"<br />And, on I continued around the length of the splash pad asking each and every mommy cluster, and there were <span style="font-style:italic;">many</span> that hot and sunny day, if they belonged to the <span style="font-style:italic;">Area Local Moms' Group to Remain Nameless</span>. After the fourth inquiry I had the lines from P.D. Eastman's book, <span style="font-style:italic;">Are You My Mother</span> going through my head. And, that is what it felt like with each and every inquiry of mommy clusters. "Are you my mother's group?" Followed by strange and blank stares. <br />I have no idea when it began, but at some point out of my peripheral vision I noticed the women putting their hands over their mouths and begin facing inward cluster. I could only imagine what was being said.<br />"Oh, the poor thing."<br />"How humiliating."<br />"I would be mortified."<br />And, indeed I was. I asked no less than twelve mommy clusters and all gave the same answer. No, they were not my mother's group. I had to explain to Firstborn that his new friends couldn't make it that morning after all, but we were going to have a fun time anyway. And, indeed we did. A few '09ers even came up to chat, but I knew it was the sympathy chat up. I felt like a social pariah. <br />After our fun filled morning I left my comments in the "How was your meetup" section. I replied that we had a great time but never found the group. I tried to write it off as an, "Oh well. Maybe next time". By the end of the evening I had three different messages from the director of the group apologizing for canceling the event but not posting that it was cancelled. I felt that she was sincere in her apology and decided to give the group another shot. <br />Last Tuesday I took the natives to the library for story time. I had even commented on the group's calendar what I would be wearing in hopes of avoiding the splash pad stand up. <br />Before I go any further let me just say that our library rocks! I'm in love with the library and our story time is phenomenal! I should have realized it was super popular when there was a line to enter the library at ten till 10:00, and story time didn't even begin for another fifteen minutes. <br />Since no one else had posted what they were wearing I grabbed a spot on the carpet with the natives and waited for someone from the group to approach us. I was not surprised that no one ever did. And, once more left a comment in the "How was your meetup" section about having had a great time, but would have liked to have met the group.<br />By this time I wondered if it were my fault that I kept missing the group. Obviously, the first time was not my fault as the director had cancelled the meetup and failed to list it as cancelled. But, the second time, well, it was possibly my fault. Or, maybe it was nobody's fault given how crowded story time was.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitBhCwMr1VrxPXM4qK-7pTcamExq0lWLDCxL2ZcL8OxEinX-Xdn0QeXBVyCmoASD8_CJwnawkVhjxDyZI4eNeG8cxffbmIVKl_uK_t9CTRliNkvHvokx5x5oPgFCR9kWrufbmoBzDjO0je/s1600/IMAG1762.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 192px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitBhCwMr1VrxPXM4qK-7pTcamExq0lWLDCxL2ZcL8OxEinX-Xdn0QeXBVyCmoASD8_CJwnawkVhjxDyZI4eNeG8cxffbmIVKl_uK_t9CTRliNkvHvokx5x5oPgFCR9kWrufbmoBzDjO0je/s320/IMAG1762.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5651923328549155090" /></a><br />Yet, I intended to give the group another go. That is until this morning. Firstborn stayed home today sick with a fever and we had to miss story time at the library. But, because I was trying to change my RSVP and comment why we were missing, and deal with two hungry children, one of which was running a high fever and very cranky, I accidentally marked it for Thursday instead of for today, Tuesday. <br />The director made the comment, "I believe you must have your dates confused." Which, I did have them mixed up. No biggie. Then I received notification for a meetup for Wednesday of next week. But, once more I was trying to put out too many fires while tending to the calendar and thought it was intended for tomorrow. So, I changed my RSVP to "no" and commented that with Firstborn being sick I wouldn't likely make it.<br />Immediately I received a comment on the public board from the director saying, "Laurie, read your emails more thoroughly. You've confused your dates once more."<br />Did I confuse two RSVPs in the same morning? You betcha. <br />But, I could think of a few other ways to have worded that if I were the director, and I certainly wouldn't have put it on the public board. <br />It's become clear to me that I don't think this group is going to be a good fit. There were several groups that caught my eye during my initial meetup.com cruising. The Misfit Moms and Tattooed, Hippy, Pirate Mammas both look promising to me. Anything is better than getting stood up twice and snarked at on a public board. Make way, Misfits, another mama heading your way.<br /><a href="http://pinterest.com/pin/create/button/?url=http%3A%2F%2Fconfessingmom.blogspot.com%2F" class="pin-it-button" count-layout="horizontal">Pin It</a><br /><script type="text/javascript" src="http://assets.pinterest.com/js/pinit.js"></script>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1473900391942824325.post-88399193469085722262011-07-20T13:53:00.002-05:002011-07-25T13:26:40.479-05:00You Can Lead A Toddler To Potty...And Get Them To GoA few weeks ago I posted about my daughter treating my like a dog. Nothing's changed. She still does. Whenever she wants me to go with her to a different spot in the house she still pats her leg vigorously, all the while saying, "C'mon, Mommy. C'mon". <br />I think however, things have gone too far now. A few days ago as I was in the kitchen canning cherry preserves, Firstborn entered leading Secondborn by the dog's leash. They were attempting to make laps around the island until I shoed them off. After all, I had a caldron of hot, hot stuff boiling away. <br />Last night Firstborn led her to bed by way of leash. Now, before I go any further, no, the leash is not attached to her in any way. They each have one end in their grasp. That's all. <br />This morning while in the kitchen making yogurt, the pair made their way in, by way of leash, of course. Firstborn proudly informed me that he was walking Secondborn like our dog so she would go poo poo in the potty. Of course! Why had I not thought of this while potty training him two years ago? Out of the mouths of babes, right?<br />They rounded the island a few times and then headed off to the bathroom. And, this is what I heard:<br />"Okay. Now sit on your potty. Good girl! You've been walked and now it's time to poo poo. Why won't you poo poo? It's time to put your poo poo in your potty."<br />I was laughing so hard at Firstborn's interesting take on potty training that I thought there might be a potty visit in my near future as well. And, when I thought I couldn't laugh anymore, he came running into the kitchen with his acoustic guitar.<br />"Mommy! I'm going to make music so she'll go potty!" Alright, kid. Knock yourself out. <br />And, she did. My sugar boogers worked as a team and conquered the potty. Firstborn playing rousing rounds on his guitar to accompany Secondborn's potty party. Go Team Potty! <br />I'm still in disbelief that she actually peed on the potty. She had done it a few times before about a month ago, and then stopped completely. I didn't push it. I knew she'd come to it in her own time. And, while Firstborn's method was unorthodox at best, it worked. Maybe I should ask his for his help in getting Secondborn to wear clothing for longer than three minutes.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0