Soggy Shredded Wheat

Okay, so here's the problem, when I started this blog I had the intention of writing on it weekly, but pair that with inspiration-busting things like nap schedules, and being the super hero all around gal that I strive to be, my inspired thoughts get thrown under the bus more often than not. A great example of this is my present situation; I'm attempting to type my thoughts and I had to stop and explain why cheerios really do taste great WITH milk and to my surprise, my nearly four year old agreed to eat this combination after a couple of years with no success. Yay, small victories! So as I'm eating my "almost" soggy shredded wheat, I'm attempting my blog entry during the crazy awake hours, with all the interruptions of my fourteen month old bringing me books to read and pretty consistent interventions of the forever cat vs. toddler fued. It's really just the cat that doesn't want the relationship, but how can she not be a temptation when she purposely sits half a foot away from my toddler? Anyway, I could go on all day about my lively household that keeps getting in the way of my blog, but really, I'm no different than any parent trying to make it all work and yet maintain alittle of themselves in the process.
So here I go, some thoughts:
Newest blog obstacle: Cat tail across keyboard and "officially" soggy shredded wheat.
Because of a household of illnesses and the holiday season, there haven't been many workouts in the past couple of months for me, but two days before the new year, my motivation returned. So last night, I took a pretty tired toddler and preschooler to the gym so I could attend a "I know I'm going to suffer, but it'll feel so good afterwards" class. Now maybe it was because it was just Christmas and that spirit was still going strong, but everyone I passed had a smile or a jolly word directed my way. It is possible that they were sympathy smiles since I had a big wet spot on my shirt from a handwashing mishap, but I don't think so. With the exception of the male gymrats that spend about as much time lifting weights as they do socializing and texting, everyone else seemed to be basking in the afterglow of Christmas. Quick observation: You ever notice that most of the guys in a gym look like chickens, because they mainly work on their upper bodies and not their legs? They'll have these greatly developed arms and shoulders but skinny little bird legs. Do they think I'll swoon at the disproportion? Maybe if they worked on their legs during the time they text and socialize, they'd even things up a bit.
What was I saying, oh yes, basking in the afterglow of Christmas! Well, I never said I was perfect.
Cereal update: Shredded Wheat Mush
A few more unrelated thoughts: I really had a great Christmas! Even though I was greatly sleep deprived from my decision to knit four sweaters by Christmas(I started in late October) and we had to spend $300 on a car repair 3 days before Christmas, we had good weather through our travels and made it safely to my parent's house in another state. And I got to see my brother's family for the first time in over a year, so I had a great time hanging out with my nephew and niece and redeeming my role as the coolest aunt in the world because of my knowledge of the Star Wars Trilogy. It wasn't all kismet, I mean, we do have two young children and they pose new challenges when traveling. There were those sleep interruptions whenever my son heard us reposition a foot under the covers and he discovered we were in the same room, so he screamed until we got him up only because we didn't want the entire household to wake. And we worried that the newly inserted tubes were not preventing his chronic ear infections and that our daughter would never get caught up on her sleep (and alleviate her daily 4pm grumpiness) because she was trying to keep up with her older cousins. But along with those normal, parental bumps came lots of laughter, relaxation and togetherness through family. I'm very lucky to have a family that knows the importance of making an effort to be together and that that time is precious and should never be taken for granted. My husband and I were additionally lucky as it was really the first year that our daughter fully understood the magic of Christmas and we got to newly see the season through her eyes. Because of this, throughout the past month, there were many moments of exchanged looks and teary eyes. Now we definitely had our additional concerns and challenges that we lost sleep over, but luckily, we had far more days of joy and togetherness. So hopefully, this blog entry isn't too disjointed, but considering as I type, my son is chasing my daughter around the very table I sit at, I'm not doing too badly.

35, and I'm in a new demographic!

So is it a coincidence that my last meal as a 34 year old is accompanied by stiffness and 5 restroom breaks(yes, count them! Five!)? That's what happened earlier this evening as I was having a lovely birthday eve dinner with a friend; I got up to use the bathroom (for the first time during dinner) and it felt as if my skin was tighter along my joints and I had to shake off the thought that I'd need baby aspirins before bed from now on, like my mother. Now, I've been dealing with arthritis in my knees and back since I was 25, so I'm used to that, but there was something extra poetic about the stiffness hitting me so hard on the eve of my 35th birthday. You see, I'm entering a new age demographic: 35-44.

With the exception of being able to run for President of the United States, 35 is alittle hard for me. I don't know, 34 didn't really bother me, but now, I'm over that hump, or really, right on top of it, 35! I feel kind of like Meg Ryan in "When Harry Met Sally," when she says, "But I'm going to be 40!" and she's only 32 in the movie and after Billy Crystal asks "When?" she says, "Someday!" And he says, "In eight years!" and she replies ".....it's just starring at me, like some dead end!" Yep, 35 sounds alot older than 34. And of course, my husband just added to my shock by informing me that not only am I in a new age demographic, but in radio(his field) I'm in the 35-64 age demographic! Seriously(?), I'm supposed to have a ton in common with "golden girls?!" I bought UGGS last year! I doubt there are many 58 year olds running around with knitted UGGS! But I suppose that WAS when I was 34 and in a different age demographic. ;)

So anyhow, during the last hour of my 34th year, I honored my consistent role as home improvement night owl and finished painting the half bath. Of course, I was in my cozy bathrobe with a full bladder, and emptying it did not become a priority to me until midnight. See, wisdom at 35! Anyway, I didn't mean to paint the whole bathroom at 11pm but you know how these things happen. I started with just some touch ups and then, the next thing you know, I'm standing on a stepstool with most of the bathroom done and paint running down the front of my robe and my legs. I didn't even notice until the paint that was in my hair dipped into my cleavage and the cold startled me. I can honestly say that in all the years of my painting walls, I have never spilled paint before tonight!

So there I was, naked and assessing my clean up job in the kitchen and bathroom. I only had alittle wall left to paint and wanted to get it done before I indulged myself with a first birthday snack of bread and butter (doesn't that sound good?). And really, I didn't have time to go upstairs and get another shirt that might get dirty, so I wound up at the end of my 11th hour of age 34, with a paint brush in hand and in my original birthday suit!
Hmm, now I wonder what demographic that belongs in?

To sleep or refect, that is the question!

There are two things that people do at 3 in the morning. Sleep or become reflective. I have chosen to become reflective. So reflective that I even turned off Barney Miller. Often times, the TV is just a companion anyway. This is one of those nights, though, that makes a person either sleep or reflect, and I have plenty to reflect on. It’s not that I think that I’m special or anything, and that I feel I am the only insightful person…well, actually, I have always thought that I was unique…but everyone eventually reflects on his or her own life. It’s always amazing to me that people, even myself, often only see the world through their own eyes. I’m not just talking about empathy, I’m talking about realizing that that person walking out of the store or reading a magazine at the local Borders may not look like anything special to you, but they have their own worries and dreams everyday. Their stressors and adventures might put ours to shame with how dramatic their everyday stories are lived. But keeping perspective is hard while we live our day to day lives. I guess we just keep trying in this world to be the best that we can be, and hopefully, leave that world and enter another with dignity and humbleness. Yep, look out, world, I'm on a reflective rampage!
Now, there’s always a bundle of insight that you want to put on paper for prosperity. If this insight isn't waking you at 3am, it usually happens in the middle of the day and in a store somewhere where you are in no position to write anything down except maybe a phone number or website. I am always craving to write in my journal in the middle of the afternoon when I am miles from my journal and a single piece of paper lent to me by someone’s notebook is insufficient because I couldn’t possibly just insert it into my journal later and pretend it is part of the bound pages. So often, my hoards of wisdom are lost and I later write “catch up” journal entries late into the night (not this late) that are filled with mostly chit-chat. “So and so came over…it was fun….school is hard….”
We all have to admit that we write in our journals in the hopes that someday when we are old and a mystery to our descendents, that some prepubescent relative will discover our bundle of journals and revel in the unfolding mystery of our lives and characters. Finally, we will have been discovered and our wisdoms and adventures will jump from the pages to tell the tale of our unique lives!
Yes, I’ve always had these romantic thoughts. I know that I get this from my mother. She is a nut in the nicest sense of the word. I had no idea until later in my long life (Presently, I’m 9 days away from turning 35!) that I am directly descended from her nuttiness. I always knew I was weird, (“unique”, my mother always said), but I always thought that was all from my own merit. I had no idea that it was inherited.
There’s something wonderful about being a hopeless romantic. In choosing a spouse, you definitely don’t want to settle for anyone that doesn’t remind you of your father or grandfather. And in reading, you have an endless appetite for great romantic suspense novels. Of course, the latter fuels your imagination and you play that role of the heroine that discovers secret vaults in abandoned castles while someone is planning her murder. On top of that, she has fallen in love with a mysterious gentleman that could be her future or her end. Of course, the last page of the book fills me with grief, as I have involved myself too much in the story. But I suppose, everything comes to an end eventually. Now, what was I talking about?!
At this moment, I have come so far away from my original path that my reflection is lost. I'm sure I was reflecting on something lifechanging or perhaps, something not so lifechanging. Let's see...Be nice to others, I'm a nutty romantic and I love historical romances/mysteries. Oh-kay...! Confusion at this late hour is probably just that sneaky sandman bidding me with his real purpose in mind: Go to sleep, you loon! Oh well, not to worry, for there will be many more afternoons to ponder over and nights to lose sleep in. Hopefully when that happens, Barney Miller will be on again!

Milk, Coffee and Donuts

Milk for her, coffee for me and donuts for us both. It had been a couple years since I'd eaten a slimming donut, but since I watched a friend of mine, a much thinner friend, eat a couple of chocolate donuts over the weekend, I've been thinking the dreaded, "Should I or shouldn't I?" It sounded pretty good and why not, I'd waited a couple years!

So my three year old daughter, infant son and I all went to the grocery store for onion soup mix to make a roast and of course, that turned into eight more items that we suddenly "needed." Then my son fell asleep in the stroller and all the possibilities that accompany the freedom of a sleeping baby came into view. I decided, along with the risk of the eggs I'd bought being unrefrigerated for too long (according to my mother), to stop at the bakery donut case.

I've never been too interested in donut cases, unless they have a rarely seen cream puff, but the Long Johns have always reminded me of being little and my brother taking me to the bakery donut case for a Long John while my parents drank coffee and visited with neighbors after church.

Anyway, my daughter picked out two donuts, one for her and one for "Daddy" based on the color of sprinkles or ribbons of icing. So without bursting her choice bubble, she wound up with a red-sprinkled Bavarian Cream donut and blue-ribboned custard-filled donut. Against my hopes, I also ended up with a decorative blue-ribboned Long John, although I'd prefer just plain caramel. But that's me, kind of simple when it comes to desserts.

So we found our way over to the very nice cafeteria area (honestly, one of the nicest I've seen!) with a small glass of milk, a Hazelnut coffee, a sleeping baby and unrefrigerated eggs(scream!). So now I'm watching my daughter very neatly take a timid bite out of this gigantic donut, with the determination and fear of finishing the whole thing. She only ate half, but I could see it in her eyes, she was willing!

Through her making milk bubbles with her straw and my realizing that a Long John is a huge donut and how in the world did I eat an entire one as a kid(?!), I realized I was looking at myself as a child. It wasn't uncommon to sit quietly with my parents and grandparents as they drank their coffee and a couple of donuts were cut up into quarters for all of us to share. Speaking of, I'm sure my grandpa was looking down from heaven and saying, "Don't you want to cut that?," meaning, "Cut that into four pieces!" Now that I think of it, everything seemed to be made into quarters. Paper, food, blankets, trash; I actually still fold my food wrappers and trash into quarters and neatly throw them away. I don't know why, there's just something uncivilized to me in wadding stuff up. So anyway!

As I was saying, there I was, realizing that as small as the act was, my daughter and I were carrying on a tradition. It really doesn't seem that long ago that I was sitting there, smelling Folgers while eating a donut and drinking cold milk with my own family. But here I am, thirty years later, looking at my very own daughter sharing small traditions that I remember experiencing as a child. And I wonder how she'll remember these little moments filled with donuts, milk and coffee, and if she'll attach a sense of fondness to those memories as I have. I hope she does, because those small traditions that I hadn't even realized were "traditions" accompany some of the best memories of my childhood. And I'd give anything to have her experience that.

Siding, Sandpaper and Pampers

To start with, I have a partially filled bladder, but I ignore it to run into the garage to finish building a shelf before my 7 month old wakes up. It's 11pm and it's my only chance. So I start measuring twice and drilling once (I sawed the pieces earlier during the Lakers play-off game, which was not a happy decision for my husband since he had to deal with two tired kids in my absence.) and rigging different stacks of wood, newspaper and cardboard to create the invisible partner needed to hold the two pieces of wood perpendicular so I could screw them together. Whew! Hard to believe I was sweating, but I was! You really do burn calories doing woodworking!

So anyway, during my earlier cuts, I realized that my brain had let me down at Lowes and I'd calculated 14.5 inches to go into 48 inches 4 times. Oops! So I had to improvise with some of my own wood scraps. There was that warped plywood behind the bikes and why is it even still in the garage and of course, I have a hundred tomato stakes but neither was what I needed. And then I saw them, nestled behind the tree of tomato stakes were two planks of gray siding that I kept from my childhood home when I was helping my dad clean out his garage. Yep, I'm a sentimental pack rat. Case in point, just earlier this evening, I refused to let my husband dispose of two chairs that are too dangerous to sit in because of loose legs, but I couldn't let them go because my nephew colored on the seat of one of them when he was a toddler (He's 12 now.).

So the siding from the house my parents lived in for 43 years would be the top shelf of my little project. That's kind of neat. Next, I was rummaging through the stack of sandpaper I'd inherited from my maternal grandpa and smiled when I saw his handwriting on some typing paper with the words, "sanding sponge." He was incredibly organized and I often find myself labeling various things with masking tape just as he did or reorganizing a closet so that it is at its highest level of functioning. So there I was, full of nostalgia and kneeling on a Pampers box for cushion against the garage floor and still needing to go to the bathroom. It was now 12:13am. I worked and thought about my dad and grandpa at every bead of sweat and change of the bit. Slow, steady, and with patience; this is how I learned to work in the garage. And as I finished, I felt pretty confident that they would have been proud of my work. My little shelf unit would have gotten the "well built" comment, which is all I could ask for! I hope that I am carrying on their traditions in the workshop and that my grandfather is watching from heaven with his critical eye and "hmph"-ing in approval. He's also probably a little confused at the use of the Pampers box.

I dared to compare my shoes!

So tonight I went to the opening of the second "Sex in the City" movie and it didn't disappoint. Afterwards, I was in the restroom with all of the younger, trendier moviegoers who opted for stylish outfits in honor of the movie. Of course, while in the stall, I contemplated (while looking at them on another pair of feet) buying a pair of the "very now" wedge sandals for myself and trading in my own shoe's attempts at being feminine Birkenstocks. Sigh. It's hard not to watch a movie with cutting edge style and be somewhat inspired to edge it up a bit. And don't get me wrong, I have plenty of classic pencil skirts and gorgeous heels, but I also have my old standbys, my birkenstocks and loafers.

But then I look in the mirror as I wash my hands and notice that I still look pretty good; younger and thinner than a week ago, in fact (Hey, maybe that diet is finally working!). And I'm sure that the younger girls in the trendy dresses I'm comparing myself to in the bathroom are also probably sizing me up as some young, mis-guided twenty-something who doesn't know a capri from a cargo pant. But alas, I'm in my mid-thirties and full of wisdom that allows me to care little what other people think of my dressed down option for movie night. And they probably don't realize that my trouser shorts and plum knit top are an outfit that I feel good wearing because even in my overweight state, it's a becoming outfit on my post-pregnancy body. They don't know that my husband would have loved to have been my date and the fourth male in the mostly female audience (pretty sure two of the three were gay) but he had to stay home because we couldn't get a babysitter. And even though he was dog tired from our three year old waking him up at 4:40am to help her blow her nose he still told me to go to the movie because he knew how much I wanted to see it on opening day.

It was a great movie and I related to so much more of it than I imagined. There was so much evolution in the characters with marriage and kids and how they still tried to hold onto their identities through it all. It was a very "I am woman, hear me roar!" type of movie and a celebration of friendship. And even though I absolutely loved being a part of their world again, I left the movie and that bathroom with such a quiet contentment of where I am in my life. I've grown so much in the past five months as a wife, mother and person. I've allowed myself to deserve breaks and time to myself. It took me awhile, but I got there. And I've grown in my friendships, too. I've created more depth with an entire array of women, from my very best friends to women I knit with but can't remember half of their names. I've listened to friends and strangers while nodding my head in understanding as they vented their problems. I've really grown to appreciate the connection within every level of friendship.

As I walked to my car, I was reminded how much I missed my own best friend tonight and wished that I could call her up and get a drink together. Unfortunately, she lives far away and has her own children to take care of(by herself). So I left her a message telling her how much I miss her and how the movie reminded me of our friendship and how lucky I am, blah, blah, blah. The great thing is that she won't even bat an eye over my sappy message. We've left plenty of those over the years for eachother. Of course, she'll laugh at my comparison to younger women in the bathroom and their shoes! And she'll be surprised and delighted that I even care to wear trendy wedge sandals over my comfy birkenstocks or loafers. And even though she's miles beyond me in the cool and trendy department, unconditionally, whatever I wear, whether it trendy or "predictable me," she'll think I'm the coolest thing ever! And people wonder why women identify so much with "Sex in the City" It's really not that hard to figure out.

Balance

Well, I'm back and attempting to post this blog before any distractions, such as my cat leaning over half of the keyboard hinting to be petted or that I really need to take my vitamins before bed, can deter me from my goal. Whew! I have been busy lately! Suddenly, I have a life and a very busy social calendar. I don't know, a few months ago I finally accepted that I deserved a life outside of momhood and boom, here it is!

As I've processed(and blogged) before, I was on my way to bitterville as I waited until the proper age of my two kids to be before I would allow myself some selfish moments, such as a new pair of shoes or a couple nights a week of activities. Well, I have now gone beyond being "cured" of my mommy martyrism and my social calendar is filled to the brim with events, activities and hobbies. Actually, I've always relished in being super busy and really, it's kind of my element. But I still have a 6 month old son, a 3 year old daughter and a 33 year old husband to coexist with and WANT to spend time with, so we are all trying to find a balance that works for us.

I recently took some golf lessons that really explained the proper foundations of your grip, swing, stance, etc, which is great for me because my confidence has shot through the roof in that area. And now I'm in this Tuesday night league for women which has me getting home pretty late, just in time to peek into my children's bedrooms as they lay sleeping and tonight, kneel on the floor next to my husband who is already in bed and turning a "goodnight" chit chat into a "goodnight conversation!" We ended up talking about this temporary chaos that we're currently living in, and how we're often tagteaming so the other can get some recharging time. Sometimes we snap at eachother because of lack of sleep or other frustrations and how we're trying to fit about a million things into a single day! I'm pretty sure we're not the only ones out there experiencing this either! Luckily, I felt closer to him after our talk and remembered that we are partners in all this, something we remind eachother of often.

I'm not sure what I'm trying to say or if there's a purpose to this post. But I'm here as a mother, trying to balance all of my superhero multitasking skills with my non-mothering interests. And balance is again the goal when I try to fit in my mom duties with my "me time" activities and my "husband time." But most importantly, there's luckily a balance that both my husband and I are striving for in our relationship, which is really the most important one in this family. Because we are the foundation that our entire family is based on and from whom our children will learn the traditions and memories that they will pass onto their families. That's a tall order of responsibility! So anyway, mushy or not, whatever you take from this, we're all maintaining a balance by struggling, reconnecting, recharging, searching for our own identity and searching for the best way to love. And at times, it seems really hard. But if you think about it, it's the best way to realize you're living.

My Spoon!!!

It’s pretty bad when “getting out” is my going to Jiffy Lube on a Friday afternoon for an oil change. What’s sad is that I was giddy as the serviceman greeted me and I explained that I needed to remove “my child” before I gave him my keys. Ah yes, taking the new tot to Jiffy Lube, that’s what human contact is all about.

Speaking of human contact, I wonder about something I did earlier to my husband. Well, I really have to set this up by asking, why do husbands refuse to honor your wishes when it comes to the kitchen? Listen, I'm the one who came into this relationship with the umpteen appliances, pots and pans, dishes, silverware and spices. And usually men don't have a use for a carousel to organize all of their spices. Anyway, even in this modern era of women having equal rights and all, the kitchen is primarily the woman’s domain (Did I just set back women a hundred years?). Well, it is unless you marry one of those guys who owns a cuisinart, a wok and owns more cookbooks than you do. I did not marry one of those guys. I married a man that, although he is very clean and tidy, used to stir his macaroni and cheese in a non-stick saucepan with a metal fork. We recently just got rid of that pan.

So my husband loves the dishwasher and thinks that everything, including the cat, should go into the dishwasher. Of course, he also practically washes the dishes and utensils before putting them in the dishwasher, but that’s a whole ‘nother nutty quirk. Just to keep things fun, he also tries to put any dirty pots and pans in the dishwasher, because it’s a magical land that the dirty pot must experience. I, of course, come from the school of handwashing any dirty pots or pans and wooden spoons or knives with wooden handles. Now, I don’t know if he didn’t grow up with any wooden utensils in his house or if his parents just didn’t explain the treatment of these utensils, but he refuses to believe that any wooden item should not go in the dishwasher. Note: It’s not good for them to soak or be exposed to too much water. Of course, my husband refuses to believe me when I tell him this and pretty much concludes that I’m “just making that up!”

This brings us to what happened today. I was unloading the dishwasher and what did I find? My long-handled wooden spoon. And yes, this is my perfectly balanced, smoothly-handled wooden spoon that I found in an antique store years ago and yes, it screams, “They don’t make things like they used to!” Well, how in the world did that get in there? I can only guess. My 5 month old or perhaps, the cat? Probably neither.

So I know that I want to say something to my husband, but don’t want to sound naggy, so maybe I’ll wait until he gets home and nonchalantly ask, “Oh, do you know how the wooden spoon got in the dishwasher? It must have been an accident, because you know it’s not supposed to go in there. Heh.” Well, that’s not what I did. Because maybe he’s acting like a child and testing the waters to see how far he can push me. And he thinks my wooden utensil theory is stupid and is purposely defying me. Or maybe he was just oblivious to the fact that he put it in there. Probably the last one. Whatever the excuse, I decided to call him at work on his busiest day of the week, even though I knew that he would be diligently trying to get his work done before 5 pm. But I called him anyway. I could have waited and I could have forgotten, but he needed to know what he had done and I needed him to know what he had done…..right then!

So he knew he was in trouble as I explained the reason for my call. Even though he claimed he just threw “everything” in without realizing it, he still couldn’t defend that he had left the wooden spoon in there after we’d discussed a day earlier why wooden utensils don't go in the dishwasher. He defied me. (Well, says me.)

Anyway, I really wasn’t mad about it and it probably was an accident. And hey, I’ve got it pretty good if my husband loads the dishwasher in the first place, right, compared to lots of other women’s husbands? So I wonder, did I call him to find out about the wooden spoon or did I call him in a subconscious effort for some human contact? I mean, there’s my new baby and 3 year old, but they're both at a little different level in conversation than my husband. And there’s the cat, but she’s still giving me that look since we brought home the first baby. So I wonder…is my husband my excuse for human contact or is he just my friend? Probably the latter.

NOT a size 12!

Okay, so here I am, with not enough hours in the day and still, I'm trying to do EVERYTHING at 12:10am. This is normal, right? We've established that I'm a night owl, so that's not a stretch, but let's keep in mind that I don't have any recovery time in the morning if I do stay up late. No, those days are long gone. And still, I do this to myself knowing that I'll be struggling to stay awake in between Dora and diaper changes throughout the morning.
So I'm sitting here on the couch, having just showered after my late night workout, with a book that I intend to bookmark and a Lands End catalog that hosts the new swimsuit I'm ordering. And I'm watching the news too, to catch up on all the political gossip since yesterday. 22 pens? Really? Anyway! So I made the mistake of breaking out the tape measure to see just how far off of the imaginary size in my head I am. Well, pretty far. I won't go into inches, but it's about 3 inches larger than I would have hoped. Sigh!
Now, my attitude(decidedly): An 8 lb.1oz. baby boy left my body alittle over 4 months ago! And really, my work out regimen has only been consistent for about 6 weeks, as a zombie lived in my body 3 months before that. I'm already stronger and my stamina is coming back, I can feel it. There is hope! But no, I still don't fit in my pre-pregnancy clothes and yes, I am trying to watch what I eat, and boy, do I want to keep wearing those comfy maternity jeans! For some reason, my mother does not understand that my post-pregnancy waist does not react the way hers did after her children were born. According to her, she was in her pre-pregnancy clothes 2 weeks later. I just want to scream, "I'm not Heidi Klum, Mother!" But when I stop listening to my mother and amazingly, quite a few strangers that feel the need to critique my progress, I step back and realize, I've got to cut myself some slack. It'll happen, I'm not quite hideous yet. Still have both eyes and nice hair, so there's not much to point and stare at in public. Yes, I'm still a ways from a comfortable size 12, but it'll come. And until then, I can't wait to get my "All-Over Control" new swimsuit!

Night Owl turned Parent

Do you ever find yourself forcing the book closed that you’ve been reading for the past 3 hours, just so you can claim to be a responsible person now that you’re a “parent” and you’re trying to get on a better schedule? And in closing said book, you turn off the light, adjust the covers and lie there remembering how for the past 3 hours you’ve been yawning and bargaining “just to the end of this chapter…., then I’ll put it down." And now, with the book and light taken care of, you wait for sleep to appear. But what really happens is that you continue to think about your book and how much you are enjoying your book; and why did I close my book and turn off the light again? And suddenly, you realize that your husband is aware of the fact that it’s one in the morning and you’ve just now turned off the light. Although he shakes his head at why anyone would pass up the chance to sleep, a God-sanctioned holiday in his mind, he is silently proud of you for turning off the reading lamp. What he doesn’t know is what lies in wait in your mind: My book. What happens next? I’m almost done, I’ll just finish it tonight. Why am I wasting all this time thinking?! I wonder if I could turn on the light again without him noticing? Hmmm? Now, I’m far from tired and mentally stimulated, so maybe I’ll quietly slip out of bed and …..darn it, he’s awake! And even though it’s pitch black in the bedroom, with the exception of the baby monitor light, I can feel his disappointed look as he accusingly says, “What are you doing?” What am I doing? I’m not quite sure, I just know that I’m awake and wishing that I had slipped my book under my nightshirt before I left my side of the bedroom. Now I can’t possibly retrieve it without him seeing me in the bluish glow of the baby monitor that I’m holding. Initially, I had reached for both the monitor and the book, but he woke before I could stealthily grab them and sneak into the living room.

Why would anyone, he quietly thinks, stay awake reading this long when they know that after the baby wakes, and only 4 hours of sleep, they'll be greeted by child #2, a 3-year old that is ready for the day the moment the sun peeks through her drapes? Why would anyone do that to themselves? But these are the consequences that you knowingly embrace when you are a night owl!

I feel as though I am betraying my husband, because I am not the wife that desires an automatic bedtime slumber at 10:30pm, but a night owl that yearns for the reading of a book into the wee hours or the spontaneity of making corn muffins at 2am, just because it sounded like a good time to make them! Man, I love corn muffins! And any A.M. zombie-like repercussions of my late night accomplishments are well worth it! We night owls are capable of being inspired to do just about anything at 1am! Ever reupholster a couch at midnight because there’s going to be a TNT marathon of Jaws starting? Sorry, I can’t deny that I’ve done this.

Well, it is now 1:36am and I’ve decided to try and go back to bed now. I don’t know why. Maybe it’s part of the compromise of marriage and I don’t want any more disapproving looks from the other side of the bed. Or maybe I know that the baby will definitely wake in the next 2-3 hours and I should give in to a responsible action like “getting enough sleep,” so I can possibly function as a human being during the sunny hours (Zombie Mommies are never peppy!). Possibly that I have now lost my motivation to make corn muffins or read my book by the small dresser lamp. Anyway, it could also be that I'm feeling old. I mean, I’ll be 35 in October and a baby and preschooler really have put a cramp on my night owl lifestyle. I probably should start getting more sleep, but it’s so difficult when I have so much to do after 10:30pm! Surely, there are others that can relate to my nocturnal adventures! So for the moment, I'll be responsible and return to bed and see what happens. Night.

Moving On

It's not a secret that I took the stay-at-home-mom thing pretty hard when we moved to our present city alittle over three years ago. I was pregnant, hormonal and in shell shock that my life had changed so drastically from what I thought it would be. I'd never planned on staying at home or being without a job, but without going into detail, that's what I ended up doing and I'm still doing it. But in taking on that role, I also adopted the mentality that I didn't deserve anything for myself, be it trendy, fun, or normal thirty-something doings. I'd beat myself up for buying anything and half the time, I'd end up returning it! But lately, I've been looking at things differently.
You know, I've been getting rid of a lot of stuff lately. Everything from tops that don't fit my post-pregnancy body to books I never thought I could part with. Having a toddler and a new baby doesn't give you much time to daily "tidy up," so I take my cleaning inspiration when I can get it! For example, this evening, after cleaning the parameter of our bathroom floor with a tissue (you know, where all the dust & hair go) I moved on to our shared cabinet on the countertop. I bought this cabinet when I was dating my husband and it became a permanent fixture in the three master bathrooms we've shared during our marriage. He has his side and I have mine, although my toiletries have definitely encroached on his space without a single complaint (seriously). For a few months now, I've been thinking about throwing away these two lotion bottles that only have about an eighth left in them. But THESE are the two lotions that I used during the first summer of our courtship and the scents take me immediately back to 2001. Of course, in their present condition they don't even smell anymore so I don't know why I kept them for this long in the first place (but I did, because I'm nostalgic!). So, in moving forward, I tossed them. It was time; it didn't seem like I needed them anymore. I mean, I still have all my memories AND I got the guy, so why do I need those old lotion bottles? I even purged a few other things from the cabinet. And I didn't even shed a tear while doing it.
In addition to getting rid of things, I'm also buying myself some fun items that have nothing to do with diapers, pull-ups or children's clothing. I've gotten a new lipstick, a book, scarf, couple pairs of shoes and I'm sure some other stuff, too. These are all unnecessary things that were not part of the "I'm a mom now, so I am not a priority" mentality. And you would think that now with two kids I'd be pinching the pennies even more (don't worry, I'm still a coupon/deal fiend!), but lately I've been realizing that it is okay to give myself a little treat every so often. I don't want to be resenting this period of motherhood as that time when I rarely did anything for myself. I don't want to decide that it's okay to be stylish again when the kids are grown, not as needy and I'm suddenly 50! These might seem like silly statements, but I guarantee I'm not the only mom out there that's felt this way. Well, I'm turning over a new leaf! I don't know why or what's caused it, but I've decided that I'm no longer on "pause." I really feel as if my life, our life, is moving forward to where I want to be. By the way, since my little revelation as of late, this whole period of "motherhood" is suddenly accompanied by a whole lot of contentment and happiness. Funny how that works, huh?

Lost and Found

You know it’s really easy to lose yourself nowadays. I’m the 34 year old parent of a 3 month old and an almost 3 year old and like so many moms out there, I lose myself all the time. You sacrifice television programs or music you’d like to listen to and instead, the theme song to Wow, Wow Wubsy is a regular anthem in your house. I remember, before I had children someone was referencing some childrens tv show that I’d never heard of and I felt so righteous in saying with a sneer, “Sorry, I have no idea what you’re talking about” and also thinking “ because I have my own life." Harsh, I know, but it’s honestly what I was thinking. I couldn’t understand how you could let yourself get so run by your child’s interests. Now honestly, my husband and I are pretty good about trying to maintain balance and not giving in to every desire of our daughter’s but you still end up with your life heavily influenced by your child’s life. And believe me, at age 3, you are so instrumental in sculpting and teaching them that it’s ludicrous to suggest your life wouldn’t be heavily influenced by your kids.

Like so many lost souls, I'll get up and do the 25 tasks (or attempt to do them) in the first 4 hours of the day, along with attending to the needs of my children, which yes, includes the cat. And day after day, I no longer see myself, but a shell of who I thought I would be. Now, I’m not trying to write about how hard it is to be a parent and I’m the only one that’s dealing with any of this. No, that’s insulting to other parents and to those that don't have children. Who am I to say what's hard for some people and why it is or isn't hard based on whether they have kids? But I can vouch for myself in saying that it's been hard! Being a parent is such a selfless responsibility that you really need to give yourself "you" back and go and recharge your batteries. The wonderful thing is that in doing so you will eventually find yourself again and the inevitable cycle will repeat itself again next week.

Because I have a wonderfully understanding husband, I often get the chance to go find myself for an evening (or weekend if I'm lucky). I have found myself on a Saturday afternoon, driving around town and listening to "Whatta Know" or "Garrison Keillor" on NPR. I don't know why I get comfort in the dry wit of those shows but I do. It could be that they remind me of growing up with my parents and appreciating the variety show/theatre/storyteller aspect that accompanied most of our entertainment. You know, comfort radio. While braving the sea of endless January potholes and deciding which stores will visually stimulate me the most, I'll get a drive-thru coffee or smoothie. If it's my second coffee of the day, I'll be Stuck in a standstill in the parking lot between Crane Coffee and Juice Stop, as I decide to ingest more caffeine knowing that in doing so I'll risk a fussy baby later (joys of breastmilk!). But still, the allure of a latte!

However my search goes, be it a long distance conversation with a best friend or discovering a new singer that suddenly puts you "back in the know!" of society, it's a part of yourself that you've reconnected with and those creative juices flowing again are yours and yours, alone. Key word being "yours." See? Found again!

Chicken Noodle Soup

As I sit here eating my chicken noodle soup, grilled cheese sandwich and listening to the end of Caillou (my daughter is watching it while eating her own lunch), I revel in the temporary calm of this meal. We're all sick with a cold this week, including my 2 1/2 month old, so it's been a trying time. As all grilled cheese sandwiches go, the outside crust is yummy and buttery, so I reach for a fancy Poinsetta-printed napkin from the nickel-plated napkin holder that my husband probably thinks is more for decoration than practical purposes and a smile creeps into the corner of my mouth as I think of my grandpa. I suddenly want to eat this meal in the most civilized manner, with a napkin on my lap and leisurely enjoying each bite. As opposed to my garbage disposal impression, which consists of cramming my sandwich and slurping my soup before an offspring needs something from me. When I reached for that napkin, I imagined what my grandpa would have said or reacted to if he'd seen that soup running down my chin while simultaneously preparing another bite to enter my mouth.
He'd have been shocked, he would have made some cutting, intelligent comment that would have made everyone else laugh and left me horrified at my barbarianism. His conclusion of my uncivilized behavior would have branded a Scarlet letter on my forehead in his mind and during each subsequent meal, he'd have watched me out of the corner of his eye to catch me in such low behavior again.
The thing that was so delightful about my grandpa was that he was a very quiet, kind person that had the presence of a giant. It wasn't that you needed his approval, but you definitely didn't want him to notice you doing something he disapproved. I don't know if he meant to, but his reactions to most things during my lifetime with him were the most entertaining past times for my extended family. It was always interesting to find out what Grandpa's reaction was to a behavior more than what behavior had been committed. I doubt he now approves of my dipping my sandwich in my soup either, but I'm not giving that one up when eating at home.
So when I reached for that napkin, I knew that I was really reaching for a memory to come to life before me and to be sitting with my grandpa again. It reminded me that the laziness and lack of civility towards myself was not being true to his influence on my upbringing. And maybe that was his way of letting me know he was looking down from heaven, still watching out of the corner of his eye.

My Mistake

Have you ever given permission for someone to pass along your cell number to a person and then later wished you could turn back time and have initially come up with an excuse to say no? That's how I feel right now about a person that keeps texting me. I'm busy. And yes, I'm too busy to get text messages that don't mean anything to me or don't include me in the obvious laughter that has made this person "Laugh Out Loud(LOL)" and decide to text me in the first place with information that I didn't solicit. Grrrr! Unfortunately, I can't block this person from sending these to my phone because their position is one that must be dealt with delicately. That's all I can say really. Anyway, what really annoys me is that I was planning on writing about my new stainless steel bowl, plus some other kitchenware and how much happiness they've brought me-yes, I said happiness - anyway, instead of writing about something lighthearted and insightful, my afternoon zest has been thwarted by this most recent dumb text message from this person that I mistakenly read. Grrrrr. See, I grrrred again, this isn't good. Now I understand why people lie and say they've moved to Brazil just to get away from someone. Hopefully, this person's interest in me will taper off soon. If not, my frown will remain "side down."

Too negative?

Boy, am I glad that I'm using a computer! I just typed out a couple of sentences and after realizing they were too negative, voila, deleted! Computers are great that way! I really want to write something inspired, as I hope this blog to be most times, but I'm feeling kind of worn down and uninspired. It's not writer's block, it's complainer's block. So I'd like to complain about situations in your life that you're forced to sit through because you're being polite. Earlier this evening, I was hounded with questions about why I chose this or decided that or why I didn't do it that way, and I just wanted to scream, "Lay off! Because of this and that and they had no openings and we decided this instead of that! And it was 2 years ago and I've moved on!" Sheesh! Actually, it was as though I were talking to my mother! Don't get me wrong, mothers are great, but they also don't let up and they think they're being clever when they "suggest" something to you 5 times, but in different verbiage each time. Like you're going to have some epiphany that 5th time and succumb to their bidding. "Wow, I never thought of it that way, I'm going to suddenly change my mindset regarding this situation!" But this person was not my mother, so she didn't even get the daughter thought response of, "Bite your tongue, bite your tongue, she's your mother and she's only trying to help. No matter how old you are, she'll always have 'suggestions' for your life." I mean, I find it exhausting to just think of my own mother asking me these questions, so you can imagine how it felt to be interrogated by someone else. Sigh! See what I mean, this post if far too negative, but at least I'm not establishing my blog as too happy-go-lucky! So even though I really want to delete this entire post, I'm going to leave it for posterity and the proof that I really did get down to the computer and "write something, damn it!"

Who, Me?

I did it! I'm here! Somehow with an 8 week old baby and a toddler I was able to make it to the basement to fulfill the task that I've been thinking about for a couple months now. My blog. "Blogs" or "blogging" has been an intriguing thought for me for while now, but I wasn't sure if it would cost anything or if anyone would have any interest in what I have to say. So we'll see. It'll probably just be an outlet for me to express myself in a literary way(ha, I'm claiming to be writing literature! Well, aren't I full of myself!). But in reality it will really be comparable to my singing "Memory" from Cats while sitting behind the wheel of the car in the garage so my parents won't hear me. I was always scared to death of anyone, especially my parents, hearing me learn to control my voice. Anyway, this blog is just my little fantasy world that I have something to say and somebody out there wants to hear it. Like I said, we'll see.