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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
Thursday, May 2, 2013
All Mommy Wanted Was A Backrub
(Not my picture - found on Pinterest without credit)
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.
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.
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!
Thursday, October 4, 2012
Martha Lou
I 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.
Come to think of it, I never thought I'd lose her, either. Not really. You don't just lose 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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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 surprised face, once when he stuck a key into an electrical outlet.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
But, what I wouldn't give for just one more hug from the woman who raised me.
Come to think of it, I never thought I'd lose her, either. Not really. You don't just lose 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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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 surprised face, once when he stuck a key into an electrical outlet.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
But, what I wouldn't give for just one more hug from the woman who raised me.
Wednesday, April 18, 2012
Titanic Adventures
This weekend I may have watched too much coverage regarding the sinking of the Titanic.
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.
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.
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!"
Playing along I said, "Okay, let's quickly think of our plan of action. Do we need to abandon ship?"
"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.
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.
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.
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.
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!"
Playing along I said, "Okay, let's quickly think of our plan of action. Do we need to abandon ship?"
"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.
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.
Monday, November 28, 2011
Kicking Complaining to the Curb, I Call Uncle
When 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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
So, here goes. I failed Kicking Complaining to the Curb....sort of.
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.
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.
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.
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?
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
So, here goes. I failed Kicking Complaining to the Curb....sort of.
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.
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.
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.
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?
Monday, November 21, 2011
21 November KCttC
Today's challenge is an epic fail, and all before lunch time.
The kids and I've been sick with a yucky cold all weekend, hence no blog catching up. Sorry.
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.
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.
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?
The kids and I've been sick with a yucky cold all weekend, hence no blog catching up. Sorry.
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.
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.
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?
Friday, November 18, 2011
18 November KCttC
It'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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
Enjoy the little things, for one day you may look back and realize they were the big things. ~Robert Brault
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.
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.
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.
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.
Enjoy the little things, for one day you may look back and realize they were the big things. ~Robert Brault
Thursday, November 17, 2011
17 November KCttC
Do 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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
Wednesday, November 16, 2011
16 November KCttC
I 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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
Sunday, November 13, 2011
10 November KCttC
Thursday 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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
9 November KCttC
Wow. 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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
8 November KCttC
Tuesday 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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
Thursday, November 10, 2011
7 November Kicking Complaining to the Curb
Monday 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 sweet potato bread pudding for my Canning Confessions page.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
Sunday, November 6, 2011
6 November KCttC
Ordinarily 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".
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.
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.
I have a FaceBook page for my Canning Confessions site, and one of my "likers" sent me a link to this fabulous child friendly knife. 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.
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.
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.
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.
I will still crave time to myself in the kitchen, but I will make much more time for the natives now.
Those who wish to sing, always find a song. ~Swedish Proverb
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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.
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.
I have a FaceBook page for my Canning Confessions site, and one of my "likers" sent me a link to this fabulous child friendly knife. 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.
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.
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.
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.
I will still crave time to myself in the kitchen, but I will make much more time for the natives now.
Those who wish to sing, always find a song. ~Swedish Proverb
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Saturday, November 5, 2011
5 November KCttC
I'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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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?
(Forgive the quality of the pictures. They were taken with my phone and the latter had little in the way of lighting.)
Affectation is a greater enemy to the face than smallpox. ~English Proverb
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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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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?
(Forgive the quality of the pictures. They were taken with my phone and the latter had little in the way of lighting.)
Affectation is a greater enemy to the face than smallpox. ~English Proverb
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Friday, November 4, 2011
4 November KCttC
There 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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
Thursday, November 3, 2011
3 November of KCttC
Secondborn 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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
To be upset over what you don't have is to waste what you do have. ~Ken S. Keyes, Jr.
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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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
To be upset over what you don't have is to waste what you do have. ~Ken S. Keyes, Jr.
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2 November of KCttC
My friend Kelly over at Sleeping Kelly 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.
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.
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.
Yesterday I started the party with Lawrence Welk's "Baby Elephant Walk". I always go right for the silly to get 'em started.
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.
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.
Attitude is a little thing that makes a big difference. ~Winston Churchill
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.
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.
Yesterday I started the party with Lawrence Welk's "Baby Elephant Walk". I always go right for the silly to get 'em started.
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.
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.
Attitude is a little thing that makes a big difference. ~Winston Churchill
1 November of KCttC
Since I've started this three days into the month I'm going to go back and retro-blog for those missed days.
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.
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!
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.
Life is a shipwreck but we must not forget to sing in the lifeboats. ~Voltaire
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.
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!
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.
Life is a shipwreck but we must not forget to sing in the lifeboats. ~Voltaire
Kicking Complaining to the Curb
It'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.
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.
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 365 days of gratefullness. The blogger had already completed 365 days of thankfulness and was now using the opportunity to be complaint free for one month.
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.
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.
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
And, I do so enjoying annoying grumpy butts.
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.
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 365 days of gratefullness. The blogger had already completed 365 days of thankfulness and was now using the opportunity to be complaint free for one month.
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.
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.
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
And, I do so enjoying annoying grumpy butts.
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