Hey guys. It is 6 o clock on a Monday morning coming out of a very event-filled weekend. I have no idea why I am awake this early-especially when all 3 of the littles are still sleeping- but I do have to say it's not that bad. I am sitting with my coffee and laptop in front of an OPEN window that has COOL air coming through. In fact, I realized how long it's been since we've even cracked our windows when I opened our bedroom window last night to let the breeze in and was attacked by a 3 foot vine that was growing on the inside of the screen. Sometime last spring it must've found a little opening on the side of the screen, pushed it's way through, and then happily grew there all summer. I had no idea. A better housewife probably would've known that a plant from the outside of her home was invading the inside of her home, but I've never claimed to be a good housewife. So there you go.
As I was saying, we had a very full weekend. Saturday was a bear of a day that got off to a bumpy start when I learned that I was supposed to bring snacks for J's soccer team. The irony is that I asked Mr. C the night before if we were supposed to bring snacks, and his response was "No. Someone else is assigned."
He's the coach and holds all game, snack, and practice schedules in his coaching bag, so when he said that someone else was bringing snacks, I assumed he was correct.
Well.
As my old boss used to say about the word "assume": it makes an ass out of u and me. Next morning The Spotted Turtles played their little hearts out and had no snack or juice to show for it, because in fact, we were supposed to bring it. It turned out that it really wasn't fully Mr. C's fault- there was a couple of miscommunications, for most of which I carried the blame- but I didn't know all this at the time. I just was thinking how I was the mom, and the moms are supposed to bring the snacks, and how all these little guys were expecting food and hydration and some kind of treat (preferably something with food coloring and corn syrup), and how when it's forgotten, people blame the mom, never the dad. So I was a little irritated. And my irritation showed. It showed a lot. It showed in front of a lot of people who I don't know very well, but with whom I will be spending my Saturday mornings with until approximately Thanksgiving.
Not my finest hour.
So I went through the rest of my Saturday feeling crummy about myself. My short fuse had already been on my mind lately since my church has been advertising an upcoming women's study. This session's title is "Mary, Martha & Motherhood". One of the taglines I saw said something like "How to worry less about being like Martha (Stewart), and more like Mary".
Now, if you know me you know that I never worry that I'm not enough like Martha Stewart. Woman's an OCD nut job as far as I'm concerned. I once watched her on Oprah talking about the proper way to fold a fitted sheet. She had this very intricate and complicated method, and the last step involved an inside-out flip turn maneuver that was more reminiscent of Japanese Origami than anything else. I'm shocked that someone took up airtime on the Oprah Winfrey show to do a tutorial for such a thing. Do you want to hear how I fold a fitted sheet? I cross it over once, twice, sometimes thrice and then I mash it into a ball and toss it onto the top shelf of my linen closet.
No, I am totally okay with not being enough like Martha.
It's the Mary part that gets to me. I have really conflicted feelings about this. Part of me feels like holding up Mother Mary as an image for wives and mothers to aspire to is unjustifiably oppressive. Am I really supposed to be quiet and loving and serene all the time? Do I have to support my husband, even when I disagree with him, and be a model of grace and dignity during difficult times? I'm supposed to keep my emotions in check at all times? When the kids are being argumentative and impossible, I'm not supposed to yell? Am I aiming to be like the crazy mom in that Resolve carpet cleaning commercial who smiles and says "That's okay!" when her kids spill grape juice on the carpet? Really? Because I hate that mom. That mom is dumb and unrealistic, and what's more is my kids see that mom and then think that I'm mean because they know I would never ever EVER be okay with them spilling grape juice on a white carpet.
On the other hand, a guest speaker at our church a couple of weeks ago referred to his wife during the sermon as "Saint Kathy." I thought "That is so sweet! I'd love it if Mr. C thought I was saint-like." Then I remembered all the ways I am not saint like. Like when I'm throwing a party and I go berserk during the planning process and vent my stress all over everybody and everything around me. Or the time I went psycho mom on some kid who bumped his car bass real loud in front of our house after I had just gotten a newborn Roo down for her nap. Or when I almost got into a fist fight with some teenagers who were partying loudly at 2 in the morning in the campsite next to us. Or when I screamed until my throat was sore (literally) at Mr. C when I was pregnant with J for smoking a cigar in the backyard. Or when-
You know what? I could go on forever. The list is long and is full of shame, shame, shame. The thing is, this is me. I was born this way. I have big emotions, and I tend to wear them on my sleeve. I can't help it. Even if I could, I think sometimes I wouldn't. The lessons I think I'm supposed to be learning are in all my most unsaint like moments. I keep trying to convince Mr. C that it's all part of my charm. (He's not buying that yet, but I really think he should because it's true.)
In the end, I'll probably end up signing up for the women's study. I'm finding that most of the Bible's commandments work pretty well for me: don't kill, love each other, be kind, tell the truth- these are all good guidelines. Maybe I do have something to learn about modeling myself after the Virgin Mother (I can't even type that without laughing. Me aspiring to be more like The Virgin Mother is a bit like Charlie Sheen saying he's going to aspire to be win the Nobel Peace Prize- it's a lofty goal). However, I guess it can't hurt since right now I'm 0 for 0: Martha wouldn't have forgotten the snacks and Mary wouldn't have shot Joseph scathing looks and eye rolls for the world to see.
As long as I don't end up like a Resolve Carpet Cleaning Mommy Drone, then I'm happy. Wish me luck!
Monday, September 26, 2011
Wednesday, September 7, 2011
Old Love, New Adventures
Hi all!
Thanks for your sweet comments and empathy last week. Really. You made me feel that maybe, possibly, I'm a little bit normal after all- with "little" and "bit" being the key words.
Anyway, a little rain, a little wine, and we're all ready to start fresh this week. Hallelujah!
Today I just have a short post on my mind. I want to introduce you guys to two of the best people in the whole wide world.
There they are:
Aren't they a beautiful couple? (Aside from the pixelation. Blame my mother's cell phone that the pic was taken on.) That's my grammy and grandpa. You may have noticed that they are on an airplane. Now, for my grandpa, that's no big deal. Despite his age (87), he's travelled regularly-in the last 10 years especially- to Alaska, Canada, Hawaii, and various states along the East Coast.
For my grandmother, the fact that she is on an airplane is MONUMENTAL. She has kept her feet on solid ground- and I'm talking no planes, no boats, not even a raft in a swimming pool- for 84 years.
(Actually, that's not true. She flew up to see my aunt in Oregon once 20 something years ago and swore never to fly again. She also let my grandpa push her around on a raft in our pool on July 4th, 2005 for approximately 10 minutes. Other than those instances, she has, as I said, kept her feet on solid ground.)
I just want to say this about my grammy: It is not easy to be her nowadays. The world has changed, and to her eyes, has become a scary, unfamiliar place. She doesn't understand the internet, she refers to Facebook as "Myface", and she can barely operate the remote control to her television, let alone a computer. She keeps 3 locks on her door because when she watches the news, she is terrified by what she hears. She's also extremely modest. Let me give you an example: I gave her and my grandpa my copy of The Notebook to watch, thinking that they would like it because it's a love story set in "their" era of the 1940's. I completely forgot that there was a love scene in it until my grammy handed it back to me a week later without saying a word. My grandpa explained in a whispered voice that they had to "fast forward through all the good parts."
My grammy is also an amazing cook, the most fun to make laugh because she'll crack up until she cries, and the most competitive card player you'll ever meet. The best thing about her is that she loves all her children, grandchildren, and great grandchildren with the best, warmest, most cozy unconditional love anyone could experience.
My parents travel a lot and when they can, they take my grandfather. He likes to get out and see the world. They usually ask my grammy to go, but in the past she has always declined. That's why this time, when my grandfather called my parents back and said Grammy was in for this trip to Hawaii, we were all shocked. I don't know what he said to her, but whatever it was must've been good. I'm sure there were plenty of times when she probably wanted to back out- the sheer thought of passing through the body scanner must've made her want to crawl through the floor- however, she stuck with it. (In fact my mom posted this morning that grammy went through the scanner without even knowing that she did it).
So that's why tonight, I am so looking forward to going outside and looking up at the moon. I'm going to imagine my grandparents standing together under that same moon, with their feet in some Hawaiin sand and enjoying the fact that 65 years into their marriage they have finally made it off the continent of North America and onto an island paradise.
Goes to show, you are never too old to find the courage for a new adventure!
Thanks for your sweet comments and empathy last week. Really. You made me feel that maybe, possibly, I'm a little bit normal after all- with "little" and "bit" being the key words.
Anyway, a little rain, a little wine, and we're all ready to start fresh this week. Hallelujah!
Today I just have a short post on my mind. I want to introduce you guys to two of the best people in the whole wide world.
There they are:
Aren't they a beautiful couple? (Aside from the pixelation. Blame my mother's cell phone that the pic was taken on.) That's my grammy and grandpa. You may have noticed that they are on an airplane. Now, for my grandpa, that's no big deal. Despite his age (87), he's travelled regularly-in the last 10 years especially- to Alaska, Canada, Hawaii, and various states along the East Coast.
For my grandmother, the fact that she is on an airplane is MONUMENTAL. She has kept her feet on solid ground- and I'm talking no planes, no boats, not even a raft in a swimming pool- for 84 years.
(Actually, that's not true. She flew up to see my aunt in Oregon once 20 something years ago and swore never to fly again. She also let my grandpa push her around on a raft in our pool on July 4th, 2005 for approximately 10 minutes. Other than those instances, she has, as I said, kept her feet on solid ground.)
I just want to say this about my grammy: It is not easy to be her nowadays. The world has changed, and to her eyes, has become a scary, unfamiliar place. She doesn't understand the internet, she refers to Facebook as "Myface", and she can barely operate the remote control to her television, let alone a computer. She keeps 3 locks on her door because when she watches the news, she is terrified by what she hears. She's also extremely modest. Let me give you an example: I gave her and my grandpa my copy of The Notebook to watch, thinking that they would like it because it's a love story set in "their" era of the 1940's. I completely forgot that there was a love scene in it until my grammy handed it back to me a week later without saying a word. My grandpa explained in a whispered voice that they had to "fast forward through all the good parts."
My grammy is also an amazing cook, the most fun to make laugh because she'll crack up until she cries, and the most competitive card player you'll ever meet. The best thing about her is that she loves all her children, grandchildren, and great grandchildren with the best, warmest, most cozy unconditional love anyone could experience.
My parents travel a lot and when they can, they take my grandfather. He likes to get out and see the world. They usually ask my grammy to go, but in the past she has always declined. That's why this time, when my grandfather called my parents back and said Grammy was in for this trip to Hawaii, we were all shocked. I don't know what he said to her, but whatever it was must've been good. I'm sure there were plenty of times when she probably wanted to back out- the sheer thought of passing through the body scanner must've made her want to crawl through the floor- however, she stuck with it. (In fact my mom posted this morning that grammy went through the scanner without even knowing that she did it).
So that's why tonight, I am so looking forward to going outside and looking up at the moon. I'm going to imagine my grandparents standing together under that same moon, with their feet in some Hawaiin sand and enjoying the fact that 65 years into their marriage they have finally made it off the continent of North America and onto an island paradise.
Goes to show, you are never too old to find the courage for a new adventure!
Friday, September 2, 2011
And My Heart Keeps Limping Along
Is it Friday yet? I heard a rumor that it was Friday and I'd like to believe it, but given the emotionally draining roller coaster of a week I just had, it just sounds too good to be true. Is it really Friday? Really? It is? Are you sure?
Oh, then all I can say is... THANK THE LORD IN HEAVEN ABOVE US!
I mean every word of it too. With every ounce, every cell, every little bit of my being, I am thanking God that it is over. The first week of school this year kicked my kettle chip butt. Then it handed it back to me on a platter. Then it made me kneel before it and listen while it berated me for the blithe and naive manner in which entered this school year.
Seriously guys. This week was hard.
Besides what I already wrote about J getting sick at school on the second day, I started my Baby Roo in preschool, which I thought I was mentally ready for. Then I got her there and was getting ready to say goodbye when all of a sudden I got that panicky feeling of "Wait! How did we get here??? She's not big enough yet!" Do you guys ever get that feeling? It constricted my throat and I could feel the muscles in my face twitching, wanting to go into The Ugly Cry formation. I fought through it with deep breaths, but it was a close call that wore on my heart for the rest of the day.
That was the first of my heart's casualty for the week.
So then, we had that little incident with J- which by the way, turned out fine. He wasn't really sick with any kind of bug- which I'm not sure is better or worse than the truth- which is that I had woken him up from a nightmare that morning and it stayed with him. That combined with nerves made him throw up. I don't know where he gets that kind of weird behavior from (says the lady who once fell asleep while reading Stephen King, dreamed about it, woke up, threw up, and to this day, has never finished that particular book).
Anyway- that turned out to be the easier part of my week because on Tuesday I picked Roo up from school and she had a low fever and runny nose, which she has now passed on to me. I am operating in fog mode, which I liken to that feeling you have in the first few weeks of bringing home a newborn. Do you remember? You're so tired that your eyes burn and you're not really sure how you're getting things done- you just know that somehow you're doing it? And you keep pushing through it because there's no other choice? That's how I feel. It sucks.
On Wednesday night, Mr. C and the kids were wrestling and all of a sudden PG, who is usually pretty tough and never cries, burst into tears. The tears escalated to wailing and the wailing escalated to screaming, which then turned into sobbing for the next straight hour. So I rubbed her back, put the other kids to bed, and had a little one on one with her. Turns out that second grade has been disappointing for her so far. She feels left out because most of her friends from last year were put into the other class. She misses her first grade teacher. She has to sit next to this kid who says mean things to her and embarrasses her (By the way, when I asked her what he said she sobbed that he told her that she wasn't a good writer, which kind of makes me proud that she finds that as equally offensive as if he said something about her appearance.) The final nails in the coffin were that her teacher gave the class 2 tests in the first 3 days of school, and that she has a different lunch time than her friends.
My first instinct was to go in and switch her class, or at least talk to her teacher about moving her away from the ding dong she has to sit next to. However, I reminded myself of my main goal in this parenting venture- to raise my kids into independent and happy adults, and for them to not hate me when it's all over with- so instead I just talked to her about the choices she can make when the ding dong bothers her. Then I sympathized with her about missing her friends and last year's teacher.
So that was the second casualty on my heart (and btw, Ding Dong has a limited time to fix his behavior before I step in and have a chat with the teacher).
The final casualty was on Thursday when I dropped J off for Kindergarten. The day before he went in with no problem, but this time I knew something was remiss when we got onto the playground and he didn't want to go play. He stayed close to me and when the teacher rang the bell to line up, I saw the tears start welling up in his eyes. He really was trying to be brave, which only made it harder to watch as he got in line and I could see the corners of his mouth pulling down. Then (and I'm pretty sure the teachers teach them this on the first day strictly for the purpose of making parents cry), he gave me the ASL sign for "I love you" and held it up as he walked in the door with tears streaming down his face.
The really terrible thing was that I had left my sunglasses in the car and I had nothing to hide my fat puffy eyes behind while my heart shattered into a million pieces.
That was my week. You can see why I am looking forward to putting the kids down for bed tonight and going out with Mr. C. We're leaving them with the 15 year old high school Sophomore who lives with us and who, as far as I can tell, had a fairly decent first week of school. At least that's what I am assuming, because even if it was bad, I don't believe he would tell us. We have both ends of the spectrum here guys, and neither one is good.
And this is why I drink wine.
Happy Friday!
Oh, then all I can say is... THANK THE LORD IN HEAVEN ABOVE US!
I mean every word of it too. With every ounce, every cell, every little bit of my being, I am thanking God that it is over. The first week of school this year kicked my kettle chip butt. Then it handed it back to me on a platter. Then it made me kneel before it and listen while it berated me for the blithe and naive manner in which entered this school year.
Seriously guys. This week was hard.
Besides what I already wrote about J getting sick at school on the second day, I started my Baby Roo in preschool, which I thought I was mentally ready for. Then I got her there and was getting ready to say goodbye when all of a sudden I got that panicky feeling of "Wait! How did we get here??? She's not big enough yet!" Do you guys ever get that feeling? It constricted my throat and I could feel the muscles in my face twitching, wanting to go into The Ugly Cry formation. I fought through it with deep breaths, but it was a close call that wore on my heart for the rest of the day.
That was the first of my heart's casualty for the week.
So then, we had that little incident with J- which by the way, turned out fine. He wasn't really sick with any kind of bug- which I'm not sure is better or worse than the truth- which is that I had woken him up from a nightmare that morning and it stayed with him. That combined with nerves made him throw up. I don't know where he gets that kind of weird behavior from (says the lady who once fell asleep while reading Stephen King, dreamed about it, woke up, threw up, and to this day, has never finished that particular book).
Anyway- that turned out to be the easier part of my week because on Tuesday I picked Roo up from school and she had a low fever and runny nose, which she has now passed on to me. I am operating in fog mode, which I liken to that feeling you have in the first few weeks of bringing home a newborn. Do you remember? You're so tired that your eyes burn and you're not really sure how you're getting things done- you just know that somehow you're doing it? And you keep pushing through it because there's no other choice? That's how I feel. It sucks.
On Wednesday night, Mr. C and the kids were wrestling and all of a sudden PG, who is usually pretty tough and never cries, burst into tears. The tears escalated to wailing and the wailing escalated to screaming, which then turned into sobbing for the next straight hour. So I rubbed her back, put the other kids to bed, and had a little one on one with her. Turns out that second grade has been disappointing for her so far. She feels left out because most of her friends from last year were put into the other class. She misses her first grade teacher. She has to sit next to this kid who says mean things to her and embarrasses her (By the way, when I asked her what he said she sobbed that he told her that she wasn't a good writer, which kind of makes me proud that she finds that as equally offensive as if he said something about her appearance.) The final nails in the coffin were that her teacher gave the class 2 tests in the first 3 days of school, and that she has a different lunch time than her friends.
My first instinct was to go in and switch her class, or at least talk to her teacher about moving her away from the ding dong she has to sit next to. However, I reminded myself of my main goal in this parenting venture- to raise my kids into independent and happy adults, and for them to not hate me when it's all over with- so instead I just talked to her about the choices she can make when the ding dong bothers her. Then I sympathized with her about missing her friends and last year's teacher.
So that was the second casualty on my heart (and btw, Ding Dong has a limited time to fix his behavior before I step in and have a chat with the teacher).
The final casualty was on Thursday when I dropped J off for Kindergarten. The day before he went in with no problem, but this time I knew something was remiss when we got onto the playground and he didn't want to go play. He stayed close to me and when the teacher rang the bell to line up, I saw the tears start welling up in his eyes. He really was trying to be brave, which only made it harder to watch as he got in line and I could see the corners of his mouth pulling down. Then (and I'm pretty sure the teachers teach them this on the first day strictly for the purpose of making parents cry), he gave me the ASL sign for "I love you" and held it up as he walked in the door with tears streaming down his face.
The really terrible thing was that I had left my sunglasses in the car and I had nothing to hide my fat puffy eyes behind while my heart shattered into a million pieces.
That was my week. You can see why I am looking forward to putting the kids down for bed tonight and going out with Mr. C. We're leaving them with the 15 year old high school Sophomore who lives with us and who, as far as I can tell, had a fairly decent first week of school. At least that's what I am assuming, because even if it was bad, I don't believe he would tell us. We have both ends of the spectrum here guys, and neither one is good.
And this is why I drink wine.
Happy Friday!
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