Mommy Always Wins

Epic Crap-itude

noreply@blogger.com (Colleen - Mommy Always Wins) — Tue, 01 May 2012 16:43:00 +0000

The other day a friend of mine and I were sitting in the break room at work, taking a little afternoon time-out. The fact that this breakroom is on the 36th floor and has pretty stellar views of Lake Michigan really just means that we're some of the luckiest women ever.

So we're sitting there, in our posh leather chairs, zoning out at the Lake, and we got into a conversation about potty training. Specifically, how to you get over that last hurdle? Your kid knows what he or she needs to do, regularly does it, but still has an occassional "crap-in-the-pants", seemingly for no other reason than to drive you bat shit crazy.

Because my kids are a few years older, I often have something to offer in the way of advice. In this case, I had no idea what I'd done at that time, probably because potty training is that traumatic. Like childbirth, as soon as its over you push the details out of your mind only to be ridiculously optimistic when it comes time to do the same with your next kid.

But I did remember my youngest son going through that stage.

"Did I ever tell you how Will used to poop his pants almost every time we went to the McDonald's PlayLand?" I asked.

Eyes wide, I think she said something like, "Wait - what???"

Yep, its true.

And only when at the McDonald's PlayLand. I still take my kids there quite regularly. Even if we don't eat at Mickey D's, or even if we just go and have ice cream, its a pretty cheap way to entertain your kids and get rid of excess energy in the dead of a Midwestern winter. Two years ago, when Will was three, I swear he pooped his pants every single time we went.

It was during a time when my life was utter chaos. I was working full time, my husband (at the time) wasn't around and I had two very small kids to entertain constantly. I wasn't handling my life so well and letting them play in that germ-infested cage for 30 minutes meant I got to read a few chapters and regain a bit of my sanity.

Before my kids would go play, I'd ask, as any good mother will, if they had to use the bathroom. Sometimes I'd even take them and both would go, but it didn't matter.

There would inevitably be a point at which I'd see Will come down the slide with a slightly shocked and horrified look on his face.

I knew exactly what it meant. I'd round up both boys, attempting to ignore the fact that the older boy was wailing about how UNFAIR it was that he had to stop playing and drag them both to the bathroom.

The absolutely gross, dirty bathroom.

Too heavy for the changing table, I'd pull off his pants and dirty underwear and throw the skivvies away in the diaper pail. I'd then lean him over my leg while squatting down on the floor and fix him up. Most times I had an extra pair of undies with me or a pull-up, but I'll admit - there was a time or two when the pants would go back on, commando-style, and after washing up well we'd make our way back out there.

What? You mean to tell me you'd let a little lack of underpants stop you from getting your 30 minutes of shriek-laden sanity? Pshhhh...WUSSES!

Then...there was that day.

That memorable, fateful day.

It was about -10°F outside with the wind chill and we were at the gool ol' PlayLand. There was the grimace at the bottom of the slide, the clean-up, the re-release of a lighter, freer (ahem) child back into the box of germs.

A few minutes later, when doing my regular child head count...what was this? Will? Wait! Will! What the hell?!? FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, CHILD, YOU DID NOT JUST COME DOWN THAT SLIDE WITH THE LOOK OF SHAME AND DISGUST ON YOUR FACE!!!

Oh no he di'int.

Oh yes, he di-id.

My cherubic-faced toddler had, in fact, crapped his pants. Again.

While wearing no underwear.

Its a damn good thing they're cute!

Will, in more recent, poo-free times

ink'd

noreply@blogger.com (Colleen - Mommy Always Wins) — Tue, 13 Mar 2012 01:35:00 +0000

A few years ago, I was married. I was overweight, overworked and not appreciated. My husband worked a shift opposite of the one I did, meaning most days I'd work my 8+ hours then run around to pick kids up from day care and spend the evenings juggling them and any chores I had to do on my own. I had abandoned any friends I'd had in the hopes that any time I may have gotten to spend with them could be spent fixing my broken relationship. I had no free time, nothing fun to look forward to, and it was exceedingly hard to recognize all of the positive things I had in my life.

I had painted myself into a corner, and was cutting corners everywhere in the hopes that I could just hold everything together.

I didn't have enough time or patience with my kids to be a decent mother.

I didn't have enough time to myself to do anything.

I didn't feel sexy enough to attract my husband...I didn't feel wanted, and I didn't feel valued.

I simply wasn't ENOUGH of any one thing.

I was failing -- struggling to stay afloat -- and I felt alone.

I spent the better part of a year unbelievably depressed about all my shortcomings. I had a husband I rarely saw, and when I did, he wasn't even nice to me, let alone a partner to me.

It was the most lonely I've ever felt in my entire life.

It wasn't merely my ex-husband that had me feeling down on myself, a lot of it was internal. In fact, most of my anxiety and stress and self-doubt was self-imposed. I held myself to standards I'd never dream of expecting a friend to live up to...God knows why I'd put that pressure upon myself but I did.

Eventually I got to that point where I'd had enough. I simply wasn't going to allow myself to be that woman anymore -- the one who ran herself ragged. The one who couldn't handle her kids and who yelled all the time. The one who turned down invitations to girls' nights. The one who wasn't enjoying life and felt guilty for wanting to be happy at all.

Something had to change, so I started to go to the gym. I lost weight and got in shape. I got back the body I had in high school. I realized -- I am attractive.

I looked at my life and realized I had amazingly smart and funny kids. I realized that I might not have time to make home cooked meals every night, or attend every school event, or to know on a first name basis any of the mothers of the other kids in their classes, but my kids were happy and well behaved and loved. I knew -- I am a good mother.

I started to realize that I didn't need to wait for a man to travel with me, to go places and share experiences I wanted to have. I could do those things alone. In fact, I could fly to cities across the country and meet up with friends and have a damn good time...see amazing things...laugh until my solar plexus hurt. I saw -- I am fun. I am worthy enough of companionship.

Realizing these things were true helped me to start to mentally get my shit together. I realized it may not be the job of my dreams but I had a great job working with great people that paid me enough to live on my own, pay my own bills and still have enough money left over to take my kids on little weekend trips. I am worthy of a blessed life.

The further I got into this journey I've been making over the past few years, the more I saw that I was ENOUGH, and no one needed to see that but me. That word started to bear significant meaning to me.

I. AM. ENOUGH.

Of all those things.

I repeated it to myself until I believed it. I wanted to tattoo that word on my arm so that in those dark moments when I cried at night...feeling that I might always be alone, or that I wasn't good enough...I'd have some reminder of who I really am...something to snap me out of my funk and remind me that I won't always feel that way. It won't be like this forever.

But I hesitated.

Something about that word -- ENOUGH.

It sounds rough. Harsh. Like I'm proving to someone who I am...that I'm good enough. And that was missing the point. I don't believe anyone should ever have to prove themselves to anyone else. EVER.

So I waited.

And over the past 6 or 8 months of my life a new word emerged.

faith

I realized that to believe all of those things about myself, I had to have faith in myself. I had to believe, without a shadow of a doubt that I was a good mother...a good lover...a good friend. I had to have faith that where I am in my life right now is not where I'll always be. I had to have faith that I needed to go through all of those trials and tribulations in my life to truly see the blessings I've been given. I had to see that in my darkest moments I had friends...that no matter how much I'd pushed them away in the past...that those friends would be there to pick me up and love me when I felt like I deserved love the least.

And most of all I had to have faith that God gave me all of those bad things just as he gave me the good, to make me the best me I could be. And I continue to have faith that just like he does for all of us, God wants me to be happy. That I deserve happiness. And companionship. And love.

I have to have faith that if I can just be patient...if I can continue to work on myself and being the best ME I can be...that God will send me the things I need in my life to be really truly happy.

I will continue to have faith.

I want to note that this was an extremely emotional post for me to write. I often hesitate to write things of real substance here, for fear that people who know me personally will read them and take offense to what I've written. But I'm tired of being a coward. In no way do I mean this post to bash my ex-husband - despite what happened between us (which could never be summarized in a short post like this) I harbor absolutely no ill will toward him and wish him only good things in his life. I can only tell MY story, and I've come to realize through telling it personally that lots of people can relate and find strength knowing that I've come out the other end a stronger and happier person. That is why I wrote this today and showed my new tattoo to y'all...in the hopes that some people will see it and a little seed of faith will begin to grow inside their hearts as well.
~ Colleen

I am grateful...

noreply@blogger.com (Colleen - Mommy Always Wins) — Tue, 28 Feb 2012 17:20:00 +0000

I sorta just needed to remind myself how awesome my life is this morning, and I've been wanting to write more here, so two birds...one stone...

...for a car that starts every time I turn the key.

...for having enough money to fill my tank as often as needed.

...for kids who get themselves dressed and ready in the morning.

...for sunrises over half-frozen farm fields.

...for morning radio DJ chatter.

...for random questions from the backseat. ("Momma, how much longer till winter is DONE?")

...for remembering to pack myself a lunch.

...for NOT forgetting my wallet a second day in a row.

...for light traffic.

...for tea and a cozy chair with a great view for a few minutes' break with a friend.

...for work that keeps me busy...and paid.

And most certainly, for more love (and goofiness) from friends than one girl should ever be lucky enough to have!

This shot is straight-out-of-camera.
We were having too much fun posing under this bar's blue track lighting.
WHO THE HECK WOULDN'T?!?

“The soul is healed by being with children.”

noreply@blogger.com (Colleen - Mommy Always Wins) — Thu, 09 Feb 2012 18:31:00 +0000

~ Fyodor Dostoyevsky

Yesterday I wrote about this horrible dream I had Sunday night.

It left me shaken for some time afterward and I finally fell asleep that night after letting my mind wander through the various cute and funny things my kids had done over the course of the weekend. We'd had a great few days together. I have to say it was the first time probably EVER that I thoroughly enjoyed my kids the entire time when usually, by Sunday night (with two kids by myself for days on end) I would be exhausted and completely ready for a day in the office the next morning.

Normally, my kids go to sleep without much fuss. I want them to have the experience of being brothers in bunk beds, whispering and giggling with each other in the dark, but to a certain extent, you know? If they get too loud or start fighting, it typically takes only one warning and they're out a few minutes later.

Monday night a little voice called out from his bed long after I thought he was asleep.

"Mama? I'm HOT!"

The electric baseboard heating in my apartment is probably from 1972 and has two settings. Antarctica or Arizona. I, apparently, had selected Arizona. I think it was about 93° in there when I opened the door to tend to his cry.

I turned the heat back to Antarctica and checked on Nick. He was sweaty-headed, but sleeping peacefully.

Still affected by my dream the night before, I asked, "You wanna come sleep with Mama?"

Mama's Bed is like the all-time favorite spot in our house right now. A few weeks back I finally set up my second TV in my bedroom. It had been on my dresser for awhile with no real purpose. I wasn't about to pay AT&T for a second U-Verse box considering how little I watched the one we had, but I liked the idea of burrowing under the covers in the midst of the dark Wisconsin winter to watch TV at night.

So just after New Year's I bought an off-off-off brand blu-ray player with wireless Internet capability and connected it to my existing Netflix account. Mama's happier than a pig in poo and my boys are more than willing to put on PJs at 6:30 on a Saturday night so that they can watch episodes of Walking With Dinosaurs or America's Funniest Home Videos while all cuddled up. Plus they have my ex thinking that I have a "Movie Room" in my apartment.

Invited to the Holy Grail of Awesome Places They Have to be Invited to Go and Never Get to Sleep, an excited four-year-old excitedly whispered, "YEAH!"

It was just before 9:00. I had planned to watch a few episodes of Breaking Bad before bed, but a little one-on-one time with one of my favorite little men was suddenly way higher on the good times list.

I had him climb under the covers while I stood in my adjacent bathroom washing my face ("Why do you do that, Mama?") and brushing my teeth ("Hahaha! Momma, you're funny!"). I flipped the switch across the room, leaving nothing on but the bedside lamp. ("Oooh! Its all cozy and dark in here!") And he just kept talking.

Most of the time when he gets into these talk non-stop moods I'm busy trying to do other 20 other things at the same time and the sound of his little voice continuously asking questions and demanding answers drives me slightly batty.

Monday night, his questions were beautiful.

He excitedly told me about his swimming lessons, his friends from school and his favorite Nintendo DS game. He snuggled up with me, his face inches away on my pillow, his pink cheeks slightly chapped from the pool water. He giggled as he asked if we could have McDonald's for dinner the next day, and when I said no he laughed again while asking if we could have Taco Bell instead. His big brown eyes sparkled in the low light as he took in every word I said. I could smell the bubble-mint scent of his toothpaste.

I wanted to memorize the expressions on his face, the roundness of his cheeks and the earnest way he waited for me to answer every question.

Finally, sighing and slightly laughing, I said, "Ah, Will..."

With a huge grin on his face he said, "I'm a funny little dude!"

I laughed. "That you are, buddy!"

"Mama?" he asked.

"Yeah?"

Rolling to face away from me on the pillow he asked, "How bout we finish talking about this in the morning?"

Now really, what could ease my mind better than that?

Vivid

noreply@blogger.com (Colleen - Mommy Always Wins) — Wed, 08 Feb 2012 17:17:00 +0000

I had a horrible dream Sunday night.

I often have extremely realistic dreams. I may have dreamt of some small, insignificant thing - sitting on concrete steps in the sun, talking to a friend, for example - but when I wake up it actually takes me a few minutes to shake off the feeling of the sun on my skin, and I'm often disoriented a bit as I work through realizing it didn't really happen.

Not all my dreams are that powerful, but many of them are. So when I dreamt that my son Will died Sunday night it really shook me -- to the point that I got out of bed, snuck into his room and held his warm little hand while he snored away on the top bunk, oblivious to the fact that I stood there in tears, thanking God that he was still breathing.

I had been in an exposition center of some sort. There were hundreds of people milling about, and I was happily setting up some sort of display booth, chatting with the other people setting up around me. I've worked expos like that in real life, back when I was a marketing lackey, and while they used to have an air of excitement about them, it was only to a certain extent. I mean, I was out of the office and all, doing something more fun than sitting at a desk staring at a computer monitor, but it was still work. It still meant standing on my feet for eight hours at a crack, infusing a smile into a conversation about something that I wasn't really all that excited to be talking about.

But in this dream it was different. The expo itself felt like it was going to be more about fun, not work, and I had some really cool giveaways planned for my booth. (Maybe I was at BlogHer? Ha!) I was wearing jeans and a t-shirt, sitting on the floor with my shoes off, putting a display together. I had a name tag hanging around my neck on a lanyard, and I was laughing with a woman a few feet away who was struggling to set up a display in her booth as well.

Then I looked up and saw a good friend of mine, her boyfriend and her kids standing there with stunned looks on their faces and I knew something was wrong.

I jumped to my feet and ran over. "What is it?"

Her face was pale. "Its not good. Someone got hurt."

I immediately knew. "Its one of my kids, isn't it?"

I didn't wait for her to reply. She had been standing at an opening to a long walkway that led to another section of the expo center on the other side of the street. I took off running down it in my socks.

I can remember dashing around people who had stopped walking to take in the view from the windows along that walkway. I remember feeling things on the floor under my feet, realizing I wasn't wearing any shoes. I remember my name tag flying out behind me as I ran.

When I reached the other side, there was a ramp that led down to street level, and I almost fell sprinting down it. There, on the sidewalk, just outside the doors was my boss and his wife.

"I'm sorry. He didn't make it," he said, sincerely upset by what he'd seen.

"Its Will, isn't it?" I cried. He only nodded, choking back tears.

"WELL WHAT THE HELL HAPPENED?" I shouted at no one in particular, whirling around, trying to figure out where the paramedics were, where the cops were.

There was an ambulance there, parked on the sidewalk. It was dirty but white, and its lights were on but not the siren. There were no windows in the back, just a plain white door and suddenly I realized my baby was inside that ambulance.

A crowd of people stood around, having seen what happened, and one man stepped forward to fill me in.

"Your boy. He was hurt. Someone called 911 and the cops came. The paramedics were down on the ground, helping him. We thought this guy was one of them. He had on a navy blue windbreaker. We thought he was official."

I stared at this man, not seeing his face. I was sobbing.

"This man...he walked up, and picked up your boy's head and looked in his eyes. Then he said, "Nah, he's not worth it." Then he flipped him over and smashed his face into the sidewalk three of four times before anyone could react. He killed him."

I broke down. I fell on my knees on that sidewalk. The man continued, putting his hand on my shoulder.

"He was going to be OK, your boy. No one knows why that man decided he should die."

Suddenly, I had to see him.

People had gathered around me, asking me questions I couldn't answer, offering me water or a hand or a hug. I physically pushed them away and walked steadily to the back of the white ambulance.

Slowly, I opened the back door. The only thing inside was a small boy wrapped in a white blanket. He was swaddled like a tiny baby - the blanket covering everything but the round of his face. He was lying on his side and I rolled him over and picked him up. His face was bashed, swollen and bloody, but I could clearly see that it was my son. I cradled him to my chest, sitting inside the back of the ambulance, rocking with him and sobbing wildly while my heart hurt.

I just couldn't understand WHY.

"WHY?" I shouted. "WHY WOULD SOMEONE DO THAT? HE WAS A WONDERFUL, BEAUTIFUL LITTLE BOY THAT EVERYONE LOVED!" It was so senseless. So wasteful. What sense could anyone find in wanting to end his life?

When I woke up I looked at my phone and saw it was exactly 1 a.m. I laid there for a minute, telling myself it was OK - he was fine - it was just a dream - go back to sleep. Only I knew I had to check and see for myself. So I tiptoed in, his room lit only by the hallway light, to find him sleeping peacefully on his side, one hand stretched out toward me with his fingers slightly curled.

He was snoring lightly as I took his little warm hand in mine and thanked God that it was just a dream.

The Crocheted Snowsuit (a.k.a. Fistfights Over Imaginary Things)

noreply@blogger.com (Colleen - Mommy Always Wins) — Wed, 25 Jan 2012 02:51:00 +0000

My children are insane. I've told you this before, but to be a good, imaginative child I think its required that one be off one's rocker just a titch.

A few weeks back I taught myself to crochet.

I know, I know. How very Ethel of me.

I've heard its therapeutic and gives you some sense of purpose and accomplishment as you physically create things. I've also heard that crocheting is like working worry beads - your mind is half engaged on the project, leaving the other half to wander and ponder things, leaving some of your woes behind with each stitch.

Or maybe that's just my friend and I overanalyzing the scarves we're making in the work cafeteria. Whichev.

Anyway, I set out a few weeks ago to make a giant comfy scarf for myself. My sons have seen me working on it, and Nick's even sat with me a few times, mesmerized as my fingers looped and pulled the yarn. I may just have him convinced that magic's involved but either way, they're both impressed I actually made something.

See? FUN WITH GREAT BIG GIANT SCARVES! Winter in the Midwest I tell ya...

So Sunday afternoon I took my kids out in the dreary cold January rain so that I could get some needles from the craft store with which to weave in the loose ends of my completed scarf. After that quick trip we stopped at the grocery store.

As we pulled into the parking lot, the following wisdom flowed from my eldest child's amazing little brain:

Nick: "So Mom. I know what we can do. We should get, like, a whole messa yarn. Like a WHOLE WHOLE BUNCH. And we could all - you know - we could all - what's that called?"

Me: "Uh, crochet?"

Nick: "Yeah. CROCHET - a whole bunch all together. And then your piece can get sewed to my piece and then we'll sew those onto Will's piece. And we'll have one big giant piece that we can sew into like, pants and a coat all together. For all of us to be all cozy in outside at the same time."

Me: "You mean like a snowsuit?"

Nick (eyes wide): "YEAH! A snowsuit! And we'd all go into it together so that if we go sledding then all we need are boots!"

Me: "Wow. A crocheted group snowsuit?" {Regretsy flashed to mind} "That'd be...awesome, Nick." {Awkward Family Photos flashed to mind}

Nick: "Yeah! And we could get one of those...wood things?"

Me: "Wood...wood things? What?"

Nick: "You know - that are like loooong sleds?"

Me: "Uh, a toboggan?"

Nick: "YEAH! A big long toboggan so we can all go sledding on it together."

Me: "In our crocheted family snowsuit?"

Nick: "YEAH!"

Me: {thinking that some mother probably tried making something like this back in the 70s} "So if we're all in this snowsuit together, how are we going to fit in the car? How will we buckle our seat belts?"

Nick: "We don't. We'd haveta walk. Or, you know, put it on at the sledding hill, DUH."

Me: "Watch your mouth little man! What if someone has to go potty?" {trying to get him to see the impracticalities of a group crocheted snowsuit}

Nick (shrugs): "We could put a potty in there somewhere."

Will: "Yeah. The potty goes behind you, Mom!"

Me: "Lovely. Just how exactly am I supposed to be able to sit on the toboggan with a potty in my pants?"

Both: "Hee! Potty in your pants!"

Me: "Hee! Potty in my pants!"

Nick: "Or we could just hold it."

Me: "Yeah, I think that's the wiser option."

By this point we're dashing through the puddles in the parking lot. I needed literally FOUR ITEMS.

So I don't need a cart, right?

Moms? NEVER THINK THAT. Just get the damn cart anyway, even if your kids are like 16.

At this point, my kids are still stuck on the idea of the family-sized crocheted snowsuit and I'm cursing Dr. Seuss, who seems in some way responsible.

You NEED a THNEED!

Will: "I GET TO GO IN THE MIDDLE!"

Me: {wait, wha???}

Nick: "NO. I DO. It goes by age, dummy. First Mom, then me, THEN you. You're on the end."

Me: "Don't call your brother dummy."

Will: "NOOOOO! We take TURNS in the middle. DUMMY."

We get to the deli counter. The ancient old ladies behind the counter are s l o o o o w w w and unorganized. There also seems to be some disagreement as to just who's turn it is to shave more ham.

Nick: "Nuh uh!"

Will: "Uh huh!"

Nick: "Nuh uh!"

Will: "Uh HUH!"

Nick: "NUH UH!"

Will: "UH HUH!"

Me: "OK, OK! You both get turns being in the middle of the imaginary crocheted family snowsuit! Knock it off!"

After nearly 10 minutes of this I'm still at the deli counter, a bickering kid in each hand, attempting to put distance between them.

Gertie and Dot there, behind the counter, are getting heated. The woman in line in front of me gives up and accepts the .16 pounds of ham that is left, favoring a husband who's possibly irritated over a lunch meat shortage over the insanity that is the argument between my ridiculous children and the plastic-gloved face-slap that's becoming imminent behind the counter.

They ask for my order. My arms are being pulled from their sockets by two little ape children who are now "Uh huh-ing" and "Nuh-uh-ing" over exactly how the pretend family crocheted snowsuit will close - buttons or zippers.

And that's when I heard it. Nick had looped around behind my back and belted his little brother across the face. Because...

Nick: "BUTTONS JUST DON'T MAKE SENSE, MOM!"

Duh.

Mayonnaise Bread

noreply@blogger.com (Colleen - Mommy Always Wins) — Thu, 19 Jan 2012 15:58:00 +0000

Quite obviously, I write about my children here a lot.

My youngest, Will, has often been a great source of blog fodder. Time and time and time again. And again. And time again some more and more and more. Seriously, the kid provides me with hours of entertainment daily. I swear he's some old man reincarnated in a small boy's body. He's hilarious and fearless and sometimes just completely strange.

Take for instance his newest request for breakfast.

Mayonnaise on white bread.

Back in the days of learning to use the toaster, Nick, the older boy, found a love for toast with peanut butter and honey. I mean, who doesn't love that, right? Pure awesome. Plus Nick could make it on his own which meant he wanted to eat it for every meal of the day.

Will on the other hand decided that peanut butter and honey toast was not quite unique enough for his tastes. One morning, after hemming and hawing about whether he wanted cereal or a bagel for 10 minutes and me nearly losing my stuffing over the fact that he should just pick something already for the love of Pete he sat upright like he'd had the best idea ever and declared, "I'll have mayonnaise bread!"

Surely, I thought, he wasn't actually going to eat the mayonnaise bread. I thought it'd be one of those things that kids say they want but when they see it on their plate they're all, "Well, I really didn't want that." Except that he ate his "white-on-white open-faced sandwich" happily.

Then asked for it again the next day.

Hey, if we're not dawdling or arguing in the morning? Have at 'er.

I see all these goofy quirks about my son and love every single one of them. I never want him to lose sight of how great it is to be who you truly are - to live life the way that suits you. I never want him to stop saying things like, "That's unbelievable!" or "Holy NUTS!" I never want him to stop being fearless when nose to nose with bees or while at the top of a sledding hill.

I never want him to change, yet I know he will.

One day he'll be in middle school and he'll let some bully make him feel awkward about something and he'll decide to be less of whatever that something is. He'll have a girl in his social studies class that he'll want to impress, so he'll be a little less enthusiastic or outgoing so as to seem cooler. He'll get to high school and decide that maybe the golf team is nerdy and he'd rather go out for football. It breaks my heart to think these things but I know some version of them will be true.

I know that all I can really do is make him feel loved, every day, for being exactly who he is. I can let him know that in my home he's always encouraged to be his silly, quirky, amazingly smart little self.

And hopefully, when he grows up and gets past that high school stage of life, he'll realize that if I loved him for being himself that maybe there's someone else in this world for him that will love him for who he is, too.

And maybe just knowing that will give him the confidence to go back to living life the way he sees fit.

Catharsis

noreply@blogger.com (Colleen - Mommy Always Wins) — Mon, 09 Jan 2012 21:31:00 +0000

I'm telling this story today because it came up with a friend over lunch the other day and its a great example of the events in my life that have made me the type of person I am. Go ahead, laugh. This shit's funny, too.

In the early 90s, when I was a teenager, my family was poor. Really poor. "Come-home-from-school-not-sure-if-the-lights-will-come-on-when-I-flip-the-switch" poor. "Evicted-from-our-run-down-duplex-in-November-homeless-for-the-holidays" poor.

On New Years Day 1994 the Wisconsin Badgers went to Pasedena to win the Rose Bowl. My three brothers, my mom and I were finally back together under our own roof, in a new run down duplex. I remember we all slept on the living room floor that first night, and I remember lying there in the dark with my family, hearing the neighbors cheer as the Badgers clinched the win.

Sometime that year my mom got a job working for what was then called Midwest Express Airlines. Circumstances required her to take whatever job she could get, which meant my 5'6" skinny little thing of a mom was working outside in the Midwestern winter, loading and unloading luggage from planes. NOT easy by any means.

One of the perks of working for the airline, however, was that each year, she and each of her family members would receive one free standby ticket to anywhere Midwest flew. This meant that for the first time EVER, each of us kids would get to fly in an airplane.

I'm fairly certain that was her motivation behind that first trip. The idea that not only could she actually take her kids on a vacation but that we could fly there, too. Because she started in the fall, the trip was hastily planned, and in January 1994 the five of us flew to Washington, DC.

From touch down to take-off, we were there for 26 1/2 hours.

The only things I remember from that DC trip were
1) having a homeless man in the subway call me by name (which he and everyone else could clearly read on the front of my varsity letter jacket) and
2) the only place/thing/landmark we saw was whatever Smithsonian museum has rows and rows and rows of old dresses from presidents wives and such. No monuments. No White House. No historic anythings.

Let me pause here so that you may realize that my mother drug four kids, three of whom were boys, aged 6-16, to the airport, through the airport, from the airport to the hotel (I have NO memory of how that happened, btw), from the hotel to the subway, navigated the subway, got us lost on the subway, got harrassed by homeless men calling me by name on the subway, to the Smithsonian. And not the good one with the dinosaurs and the giant diamond but the shitty Smithsonian with nothing but dresses, only to go back to the hotel via the subway (on which we got lost AGAIN) to go to sleep, get up in the morning and go back to the airport and head back home. Oh, and we of course couldn't afford to park at the airport so we'd taken the city bus. Five people. With luggage. On the bus. The routes of which, let me tell you, my mother navigated no more savvily than the Washington DC subway system, meaning that we took a bus we weren't meant to take and ended up standing in the cold in downtown Milwaukee in front of a bar for 45 minutes waiting for a connecting bus to pick us up and take us closer to our home. Because that first bus had been the wrong one, this meant the stop we eventually got off on was a half mile from our house. Imagine us wheeling our hand-me-down luggage and toting our school backpacks full of clothes in the winter cold. I shudder to think of how pleasant we must have sounded.

We should have just stayed home.

The second trip was a little better. The following summer my mom saved her pennies to take us where every mother worth half their weight in salt wants to take their families to prove they're good parents -- Disney Land. I'm guessing the only reason we went to California and not Florida was probably because Midwest flew to LA and not Orlando. It might just as easily have been because my mom thought it sounded cooler. Whichever.

Prior to the stint working for Midwest, my mom worked for a rental car company at the same airport. This time we were staying for a week and mom was going to work her connections to get us a rental car. A friend of hers worked out a deal that she pay for the lowest cost rental (a Geo Metro) and we'd get a free upgrade. Sweet!

Only the message about the upgrade sorta didn't make it to LA.

This meant that five people, each with a week's worth of luggage, had to cram into a hatchback smaller than a twin sized bed. And then my directionally-challenged mother drove us through LA.

Yay! We can get out of the car now!

I don't think I have to tell you we got lost.

But Disney Land! We were going to Disney Land!

Except when your kids are sorta spread far apart in age you can imagine that the younger ones are going to love it oh-so-much-more than the older ones.

I was 16 and one of my brothers 15. The younger two were 8 and 6. This meant that while the older two of us wanted Space Mountain and Not Disney Land, the younger two wanted tea cups and Pirates of the Carribean before it was Pirates of the Carribean circa the awesome Johnny Depp years.

Pretty much all I remember of the Magical Kingdom was tears and frustration. And chasing down Chip and Dale for autographs to make my baby brother happy.

And oh God - the day my mom decided to take us to see the ocean? Lost. In standstill traffic. With motorcyclists whizzing by between the lanes of cars. Mom swearing. Screaming, "WHAT IN THE HELL THAT IS JUST SOOOO DANGEROUS!!!" Little brothers crying. Me asking how we could possibly not find the ocean. My "just drive west" directions not appreciated.

And another day "checking out" Hollywood Boulevard. I took many pictures of stars on the sidewalk. I remember going into a scary-looking candy store and seeing the Capitol Records building from afar. And that's about it. I'm surprised we weren't all maimed or mugged or forced into prostitution.

The best part of that trip? The crappy hotel pool.

Yeah. Hold on tight. Cuz that floatie might save you. And don't forget to hold your nose.

I remember all four of us splashing about in a pool not completely unlike the ones outside cheap hotels in the Dells (much like this one). I could swim then lounge on a deck chair with a book while my youngest brothers jumped in 1,000 times with their Donald Duck floaties and my third brother sulked around like a sullen teenage boy. It made us all happy and it was free.

So yes, the family vacations my mother worked so hard for were pretty much a bust. Its not lost on me just how many hours she must have had to work in the cold and snow to be able to do something like that for us, even with free airfare and car rental deals.

Parts of those occassions are funny to me now, looking back. But it taught me that the best of intentions as a parent sometimes don't work out the way you want them to. You may mean well and even believe you're providing your family with something very special and meaningful. But if you have to drag your kids kicking and screaming or are going to lose your sanity in the midst of providing that super awesome cool thing? Its probably not worth it.

Cuz the damned kids are gonna pretty much just love the crappy hotel pool anyway, and you certainly don't have to travel 1700 miles for that.

Christmas Card Photo FAIL. Kinda...not really.

noreply@blogger.com (Colleen - Mommy Always Wins) — Thu, 15 Dec 2011 17:16:00 +0000

I learned my lesson a few years ago. I dressed my boys in cute matchy sweaters and posed them in front of the fireplace, attempting to achieve The Perfect Christmas Card Photo.

Clue: It went not so perfectly.

More than one hundred photos later and I was unbelievably frustrated and the boys both unbelievably crabby. And overheated.

Last year, burned a bit by the experience, I opted not to take a Christmas card photo at all, and instead used a cute pic of the boys taken at a family wedding.

See? Uber cuteness

This year, I was feeling up to the chore again, only I was no longer delusional about the patience thresh holds of myself and my children. On a Saturday afternoon, I put my boys in matchy sweaters and asked them to sit on the floor in front of the couch.

"This time? We're going to do SILLY PICTURES!" I told them.

They were only too happy to oblige.

I love how Will went for "jazz hands with thumbs in his nose" for this one. Very clever.

Looks like Will just delivered some shocking and unbelievable news.

(When in reality they were making fart noises and laughing hysterically.)

SMELL MY HAND! Smell it!!!

"WHY DIDN'T ANYONE TELL ME MY ASS WAS SO BIG?!?"

Um. I don't even...whatever.

You just don't see enough belly button on Christmas cards these days!

I love that this is hands-down the best shot I've ever gotten of Will's face.

You know, if you can crop out or ignore the fact that he's kicking his brother in the head.

My intention with all the silly shots was to 1) get it out of their systems and B) get some real smiles out of them! In my opinion there's nothing worse than those canned kid smiles where they look half constipated.

Wouldn't you know it but I got some AMAZING shots of them in the midst of all this crazy silliness.

And nobody stressed out in the process. :)

Believe it or not, there's real brotherly love there.

Miracles DO happen!

The official 2011 Xmas card photo

Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays to you all!

The Pop-Tart Predicament

noreply@blogger.com (Colleen - Mommy Always Wins) — Wed, 02 Nov 2011 14:54:00 +0000

Sometime over the summer it occurred to me that teaching my children to toast their own Pop Tarts would buy me an extra 30 minutes or so of sleep on the weekends. I immediately conducted a lesson on the quietest way to drag a chair across the room, the safest way to stand on said chair and the best way to fashion a mitt from a paper napkin so as to not burn oneself on the napalm that is a hot Pop Tart when it first comes out of the toaster.

From there we quickly moved on to toasting other things -- bagels, waffles, bread -- and before I knew it I had a six-year-old who made himself two waffles one morning and a sloppy mess of a bowl of oatmeal brought nearly to boiling because he had "accidentally nuked it for a real long time, Mom."

All small set backs aside, teaching my boys to use the toaster has been, until today, a super big win. They're learning self-reliance, I'm getting a titch more sleep and we're keeping the makers of all toaster pastries from needing a government bailout.

This morning, however, all was not frosting with sprinkles.

I was three rooms away drying my hair when I heard an all too familiar wail. I entered the kitchen to see Will standing on a chair in front of the toaster crying. What he said was this:

"BLAHBAWAAABAAAWAAAAAAHHHHHHH....AND NICK SAYS I HAVETA EAT IT!!!"

I soothed his tears and shooed his older brother away and finally got this translation:

"I accidentally made a chocolate Pop Tart but I don't want a chocolate Pop Tart I want a strawberry Pop Tart but Nick says too bad I have to eat it cuz I cooked it already and he hurt my feeeeelingssss!!!"

Dear God. It was 6:30 in the freakin' morning and I just canNOT handle tears over Pop Tarts at 6:30 in the morning. I told the small boy I'd eat the chocolate Pop Tart and helped him to find a packet of the strawberry kind instead. I left the room to finish drying my hair.

Again -- three rooms away, OVER the sound of the hair dryer which was 5" away from my ear holes -- I heard sounds of not one but TWO children in absolute hysterics.

I entered the kitchen to find two small boys in tears and what sounds like

"BUT I ALREADY COOKED IT AND BLAAAHBAAAWAAAAAAAAAHHHH! NICK HURT MY FEEEELINNNNNGGGSSSS..."

and simultaneously

"I'M JUST TRYING TO HELP CUZ HE WAS DOING IT BAD AND WE'RE GOING TO BE LATE AND HE'S SO MEAN TO MEEEEEE!"

Why, again, did I decide two was a good idea?

And then I saw smoke coming out of the toaster. Oh holy crap on toast I'm going to have to call the friggin' FIRE DEPARTMENT and BEFORE 7:00 IN THE MORNING.

I peered into the top of the toaster to find one very burnt strawberry Pop Tart. I forced the toaster to pop it up, then dumped it onto a waiting paper plate.

The gist of the story was that Nick saw Will trying to get the Pop Tart out of the toaster and for reasons known only to six-year-olds, thought he should "help" his brother by toasting it again for him. After cranking the "darkness dial" all the way up to "black as night."

I dried more tears, sent the older boy away AGAIN, and threw away the burnt pastry. I shooed Will off the chair and put a new strawberry Pop Tart into the toaster myself and stood there, waiting for it to cook. Needless to say I didn't have time to put on any make-up this morning. Sorry office people.

So lucky #3 pops up as I'm coaxing kids into jackets and reminding them not to forget backpacks and I'm only half paying attention as I grab the Tart with a self-made paper mitt. A corner breaks off and I chuckle.

OK bastard Pop Tart you WILL come out of that blasted toaster.

I try again. The SECOND corner comes off.

WHAT IN HOLY HELL -- IS MY FREAKIN' TOASTER MESSING WITH ME?!?

I peered inside the now reeking toaster. I saw that when I dropped lucky Pop Tart #3 in, it somehow became wedged BETWEEN the little fork-like thingies that normally pop up the item you are toasting. And then, when the Tart got all good and hot and gooey? The fork-like things got stuck inside the Tart, meaning the rest of the damn thing was really pretty stuck. And since I'd broken off the top corners and the toaster had been going for about 30 minutes at this point, it was roughly 687°F and there was absolutely no way in hell that I could get the blasted thing out and NOT burn my knuckles at the same time.

I gave Will a cold Pop Tart and shooed him out the door.

Sorry, kid. Better luck tomorrow!

The beauty of the unpublished post

noreply@blogger.com (Colleen - Mommy Always Wins) — Thu, 06 Oct 2011 18:18:00 +0000

It often happens that I see a trend or a writing prompt online and I think to myself, "Interesting! I should write about that..." Only when I start, I realize that what I'm writing is just a wee bit too personal for me to share online. Then I realize: I don't *have* to share it.

I'm then able to let my true feelings flow onto paper in unbelievably honest and real ways. I don't have to worry about snarky comments, hurting anyone's feelings or being misunderstood. I say what's in my heart and on my mind and don't worry about sounding either too sentimental or too bitchy. I don't often edit what I write...I just let it flow. Some posts are very long. Others are only a few lines. I don't worry about it following a particular style of writing, or finding just the right photo to accompany my words.

If you were to get a glimpse into the drafts folder of my email account or the unpublished posts on this blog you'd see dozens of them. Looking back on some of these "un-shared" thoughts, though, there are three that stand out, hands-down, as some of the most meaningful and well-said things I've ever written. These unpublished posts have helped me understand myself, and each time I re-read them I see the things that are blatantly important to me.

#1: Miss-Britt.com: "Say it out loud, write it down"
This post inspired me to open a new notepad document and write out what I really wanted of my life. I wrote for probably only 10 minutes, but when I was done I realized that nowhere on that list did I mention things that would make me happy...only relationships with people. I also realized that I already had most of those relationships.

#2: Bloggymoms.com: "Describe the best date you ever had" (prompt for Aug 22)
Sound goofy? I thought so, too. Only when I was done I re-read what I'd written and realized that what I thought was a great way of spending time with someone I care about probably wouldn't be seen as so stellar by someone else. Shows a lot about the type of person I am.

#3: Schmutzie.com: "What are the five best decisions of your life?" (inspired by a tweet by Karen)
Like most lists, I wasn't sure I'd be able to come up with five. But when I was done scribbling this out on a few pieces of notebook paper, I was reminded that I'm exactly where I ought to be in my life.

Do you ever write posts and that you never intend to publish?

Golfing with Will

noreply@blogger.com (Colleen - Mommy Always Wins) — Tue, 04 Oct 2011 03:08:00 +0000

Alright - before you go thinking I've turned all "self-help hippie" on y'all or abandoned this blog altogether, I need to get this post published. Cuz lots of good stuff is happening every day and I've not been writing about it. Shame on me.

Remember how I took Nick on a "Mommy Date"? A few weeks back it was Will's turn for a little one-on-one attention. When I reminded him that we could do anything his little heart desired - eat anywhere, do just about anything (except go waterskiing) - you know what the little dude said?

"I want to go swimming. With our friends."

Something we'd done 100 times this past summer. It was pretty darned adorable that he's really that happy with our "regular day-to-day" life, but I wanted him to have his own special day. I suggested we go mini golfing instead.

Which, of course, if you've read any of Will's stories lately, led to a conversation about God.

"Momma, you need a bigger golf club than me."

"Yep baby, you're right."

"Cuz you're taller than me. You know who's golf club is the BIGGEST?!?"

"Who's baby?"

"GOD'S. Its the biggest ever!"

The kid's a natural. Most four-year-olds don't have the patience to line up a putt and gauge just how hard is hard enough to hit the ball over the little hill but not over the lip on the other side.Will does.

And I'm not even exaggerating when I tell you MY CHILD GOT NOT ONE BUT TWO HOLES IN ONE.

TWO.

I've never gotten one...EVER. And I've been on this planet 29 years longer.

Afterward, with the sun starting to set, I pulled out my phone to do a search of nearby restaurants.

"Momma, can we go to Panera?"

Having no idea where the nearest Panera was, and having just found a burger and malt place a few blocks away on my phone, I simply muttered, "No bud. We're going to go try this burger place."

"But I don't want a burger place. I want a Panera place."

I admit it. I opted for the "Mommy fib".

"Buddy, there's not a Panera around here. Besides, we go there all the time. How bout a cheeseburger and a chocolate shake instead?"

At which point, of course, he shouted from the backseat, "YES THERE IS!!! THERE'S A PANERA RIGHT THERE!!!" because, of course, there WAS a Panera RIGHT THERE.

I simply admitted defeat by saying nothing and pulling into the lot.

Whereas Nick spent his dinner hour with me talking about Mommy and Daddy and his thoughts on our new living arrangements, his younger brother simply talked. Non-stop. About anything and everything that entered his brain -- no filter applied -- until the Mom of two little girls next to us just couldn't stop laughing at the number of statements he was making about her daughter's soccer shoes, what it must be like to have a sister, and mostly, what it must be like to be a girl.

"Yeah," I said, looking at her, "he's the little brother." She simply nodded, smiling, and I knew she completely understood.

Thoughts on goals. And having them. Or not.

noreply@blogger.com (Colleen - Mommy Always Wins) — Fri, 16 Sep 2011 21:02:00 +0000

As I go through this transitional stage in my life I've been thinking, obviously, a lot.

Its become clear to me that one of the big issues that lead me to having such an unhappy life previously was that I spent years chasing a dream. My ex and I had a clear goal between the two of us of the type of life that we wanted -- right down to the jobs we'd have and the house we'd live in.

But you know how the old saying goes, "If you want to make God laugh, tell him your plans."

Its clear to me now where we went wrong, or at least where I did. I had become so intent on working to make this plan reality that I completely lost sight of the "here and now". I forgot to enjoy the current moment. I missed out on so much, and lost so much along the way, including the relationship I was in. We both had our eyes so set on the prize that we forgot that we needed to stay in touch with each other. Because without that, what good is the end goal, anyway?

So yeah. That was my life and it isn't anymore. The only good that does me now is that I have the knowledge to understand that goals can really just be a distraction. You can get so set in what it is you think you should be doing that you miss what God really is blessing you with in your life.

So I set out on this new phase of my life with new intentions. To not have goals.

I know. Sounds slackerish, right? That's what I originally thought.

I read a post by Leo Babauta (who writes Zen Habits) a few months back about letting go of the illusion of control. When I read it I initially thought, "My God that's extreme!" I mean, to not have any expectations or control over ANYTHING?

Over the weeks that followed, however, "control" and letting go of it became a recurring theme in my life. It became very clear to me that someone was trying to tell me something here. It was as literal as if I'd been handed a sheet of paper with big block letters on it.

"You are not in charge here."

And then? Well, have you ever had your young child say something to you that just chills you to your bones? Makes you look at them in awe and wonder if maybe their child-like innocence allows them a connection with the supernatural that adults long ago lost?

Because weeks after thinking I'd come to the conclusion that I do not have to have control over my life and that I was well on my way to being happier because of it, my four-year-old chubby cheeked cherub of a boy piped up from the backseat on a recent trip to the zoo.

"Mom," he began, playing with the brim of the Brewer's hat in his lap. "Do you know that God's in control?"

I rearranged the rear-view mirror to look at his face. "What's that bud?" Will has a bit of a speech impediment, and the word "control" could have easily been interpreted as several different things.

"CONTROL," he said impatiently, waiting for his dense mother to get it. "God's in control. Of everything. Not you. Not Daddy. Like, you know, in Wii. With a controller. But he doesn't have a controller he has it in his mind."

I asked him where he'd heard that. He replied with a shrug, "In my brain. I just know."

Wow. Well OK then.

And today, almost a week later I see that I needed to hear that. While I understand the concept behind living a life without expectations and the importance of enjoying the present, I haven't yet incorporated it into my own life. Or I had started to but wasn't actually "there" yet. Does that make sense?

I was struggling with control. Again.

And it was writing this post - starting to tell that story about what Will had said from the backseat that really got me to "get it".

If it doesn't stick now? I'm gonna get me one of these and you can just hit me with it.

My favorite people

noreply@blogger.com (Colleen - Mommy Always Wins) — Sun, 11 Sep 2011 03:28:00 +0000

There is a unique Kite Festival in Milwaukee this weekend and I took my boys this afternoon. It was a free event and pretty cool!

The colorful kites obviously made for some great photos, but I also got some awesome shots of my boys!

I'm going to have to get a few of those framed!

I am Colleen Vanier, the worst blogger in the world.

noreply@blogger.com (Colleen - Mommy Always Wins) — Tue, 30 Aug 2011 21:18:00 +0000

While at BlogHer a few weeks ago, I was a little taken aback when someone called me an "Old School Blogger". Huh. I have had this little space on the interwebs since early 2008. Before then I had a geocities blog, and since back as far as 2002 I've had some sort of site online. Maybe I am old school.

Or a nerd. Whatever.

When I think "old school" bloggers I think of other people who've not just written a blog for a long time, but people who are far more successful at it than I.

Don't get me wrong - I don't exactly care about being successful at this, whatever "success in blogging" might mean. I do it because my entire life I've been a writer. Its simply an outlet to share what I write - however crappy or entertaining that might be - with other people. I'm completely comfortable with why I'm here and with how many people do or do not read.

That hasn't always been the case. For a long time I struggled with "why the hell am I doing this?" If you were to poke through my archives...MAN I wrote some crap! There were times I was the consummate mommy blogger, gushing about my babies. Other times, trying too hard to get folks to click over to my blog, I wrote about things no sane person would ever care to read. Like cleaning off the top of my fridge. (I did find a baggie of bullets up there, but other than that the cleaning experience really didn't need to be documented.) I did PhotoHunts and Thursday Thirteens and Wordless Wednesdays. I linked to any carnival or blog hop I could find.

I cre8buzzed and I plurked and I tweeted. I obsessively visited as many blogs in a day as I could, leaving a trail of drivel-ous comments behind, hoping other readers or the blog's owners would click back and read my blog, too. I posted ads and checked site stats nearly hourly.

I had become obsessed.

Seriously.

I didn't realize it until much later, but I had begun to use my blog and online social networking to fill the huge voids I had in my personal life. (I went to a great BlogHer session about it this past year - you can check out the 'Til Blog Do Us Part?' live blog here.)

Until I went through a bout of depression in late 2009/early 2010. I all but had a breakdown and I just mentally couldn't stress about many things anymore, my blog included.

I'm back at it of course, and back to "normal". I've stopped focusing on how many posts I write (screw those stupid NaBloPoMo things) and instead decided to focus on writing quality posts.

These days I still read blogs, but you'll notice I have no blogroll. Its just one more thing I can't keep up with. I typically have 1,000+ new posts in my Google reader and that's just fine by me. I have a fan page on Facebook for this site that I just don't do much with. I still tweet, but more often about my lack of coordination than anything else. I finally created an account on klout only to find I have influence in pirates. (Seriously? Not "Milwaukee" but "pirates"? Whatever Klout.)

So I know the song and dance. "Have a niche!" (niche smiche) "Write what you know!" (farts and boogies) "Network!" ("I need chocolate. That is all.") "You are your own brand!" (Uh...is "completely unfocused and easily distracted" a brand?)

I may be the very worst blogger in the world, but you know what? I DON'T CARE.

Because honestly, lately I've had more positive feedback on what I've written than I ever imagined possible.

Private emails from friends thanking me for what I wrote. "I can so relate...its like you KNOW MY LIFE."

Quiet comments in the hallway. "I just want to tell you I love the way you write."

Comments on my personal Facebook account. "Can you write a book? Because I would like to read it!!!!"

*I* always thought I was a good writer, but to have other people tell me that? And that they appreciate what I do?

IS PRICELESS.

I am Colleen Vanier, and I am the worst blogger in the world.

And I'm totally cool with that.

Words to live by

noreply@blogger.com (Colleen - Mommy Always Wins) — Wed, 24 Aug 2011 21:27:00 +0000

Lately, I've felt myself struggling.

I feel comfortable with the big things in my life - my job, my apartment, my kids. I'm thankful for all of it to the point that sometimes I get teary thinking about how blessed I am -- to be able to pay my rent, to live comfortably, to have a good job, to have two healthy, smart, crazy little boys.

But its almost as if, because I've taken care of the basics - food, shelter, clothing - that I now find I'm sitting back, looking at the minutia and feel like I'm overwhelmed by it all.

My kids had a BAD night the other night. Whining and crying and fighting -- and I was ashamed at my reaction to them. On top of it, we had friends over to witness our group meltdown. It was absolutely horrid.

There's too much to do, too little time in which to do it, and school starts next week. I'm stressing about things I have no reason to stress over. Worrying about things that are out of my control. I'd love to take my own advice but sometimes it just doesn't stick, you know?

So, after days of wading through the muck and mire, and fed up with myself, I literally took pen in hand today and wrote down on paper what I was going to do, so as to see, in black and white, how I was going to get my life back to "center".

And then I prettied it up and made it purple for you.

This was influenced, I'm sure, by my love for Pinterest and posting quotes to my "Werds" board, this post by the lovely Lucrecer Braxton who always has amazingly inspiring quotes to share on Facebook, and this post by Alli Worthington on Life Lessons for her boys. Thanks for the encouragement and inspiration, ladies - I've started to feel better already!

What would your "Words to Live By" say?

Shark-tooth, ooh-boppa-doo

noreply@blogger.com (Colleen - Mommy Always Wins) — Fri, 19 Aug 2011 02:18:00 +0000

My six-year-old has shark teeth. Until yesterday, his bottom teeth looked like this:

Poor kid. It was SO early when I took this.

Which, as a parent imagining years worth of orthodontist's bills, made me shudder. Several months ago we found his permanent teeth were coming in and somehow they'd neglected to give his baby teeth their eviction notices. When he was sad that he couldn't yet share stories with other friends his age about money left under his pillow, we decided that we'd make the fact that he had two rows of teeth a cool thing.

Then at the same time made a dentist appointment to have those lil babies pulled before school starts.

But I silently prayed that my boy wouldn't have to go through the trauma (as "fluffy" a trauma as having baby teeth pulled by a dentist may be) of having to have his teeny little pearly whites pulled and that he'd get to enjoy the small rite of passage of losing them naturally instead. For weeks we checked those bad boys:

"Any wiggling today?"

"Nope."

until finally finally one day he showed me that one actually was loose. Halle-freakin'-lujah.

And I swear, just so he could prove to be more like me every day, he refused to pull out that tooth even once it was so loose it was hanging out all sideways. I mean, look at that picture. The sight of that tooth all snaggly in there still skeeves me out. FLEH.

The past few mornings I warned the sitter of his super loose tooth in fear that it would just pop on out while he was talking and a baby would find it while crawling across the floor and shoot it down the hatch before anyone could stop him. And then there'd be poop to poke through and God forbid we be responsible for poop poking.

Instead what happened is while watching The Incredibles at the sitter's yesterday, he reached in (probably while not fully thinking about what he was doing) and just plucked that tooth out.

I walked in the door yesterday evening to have Will shout excitedly, "MOM! NICK LOST HIS TOOTH!!!"

To which Nick replied, "SHUSH! I GET TO TELL HER!" Elbowing his little brother out of the way, he stopped six inches in front of me, craned his head up and said, "I lost my tooth! See???" then proceeded to open his maw and poke around in the raw hamburger-like mangled gum line that was left in front of his new permanent tooth.

"Awesome!" I proclaimed, and the sitter produced a small ziploc baggie with the world's tiniest baby tooth inside. Its amazing that he could chew anything.

Just in time for school pictures. Yay.

While at dinner last night, he asked me how to spell a few words.

"I'm writing a note," he explained.

This is what it said:

When I asked him why he'd be sorry the tooth fairy had to come to our house he simply said, "Well, what if she's like, on vacation or something?"

How sweet that he doesn't want the tooth fairy to have to cut short her water skiing trip in the Dells.

Wouldn't you know it but this morning that tooth was gone and in its place were two crisp one dollar bills. He proudly showed them to his brother and I.

Then Will, ever the naive little brother, asked, "Nick, where's your tooth?"

And he replied, "The tooth fairy turned it into this money, duh."

Mommy-Nick Date Night

noreply@blogger.com (Colleen - Mommy Always Wins) — Wed, 10 Aug 2011 20:55:00 +0000

"Momma, I wish you and Daddy were still married."

I knew this was coming. I could see the cogs in his head turning, day after day, trying to wrap his head around what was going on. It was the very reason I thought an evening one-on-one with my six-year-old was important.

"Yeah baby? How come?"

He frowned, thinking, then shrugged. "I dunno. I just do."

The fact that he didn't see his father and I together much in his six short years isn't the point. Its that "mommy and daddy being married" is what he knew. And now its different.

"Well, you know Momma loves you very much, right? And we have fun together." He nodded. "And you know Daddy loves you very much. You have fun with him, too, right?" More nodding.

"Mommies and Daddies never stop loving their kids," I told him, all the while knowing that in some sad cases this wasn't true. In our case, however, it would never be anything but the truth, and I knew it was something of which he needed to be reassured.

We were sitting at a local burger place at an outside table so as to be near our bikes. We had ridden them from my apartment less than half a mile away, a bike ride being his activity of choice after accepting the fact that we couldn't fit water skiing into a Tuesday evening. We breathed in the summer air and watched the fat bumble bees busy among the flowers in the planter while we waited for our food to be served.

He made me laugh as he came up with one "what if" scenario after another, posing hypothetical questions about his brother, his toys, his life and God. He wiggled his two loose teeth while we talked.

"Does that make you sad? That Mommy and Daddy aren't married any more?" I asked a bit later.

Swinging his feet on the stone bench, he poured his little heart out to me.

"Hmmm...sometimes I cry and I'm sad. But sometimes I'm not." The thought that I was making my child cry was undoubtedly upsetting. But the "sometimes not" was encouraging. It shows me that he's developing a survivor's ability to adapt to his new life that I can only think will serve him well.

"Well I certainly hope you're not sad anymore. There's no need to be sad!" We began to list together all the things that were happy and good in his life -- both at my house and Daddy's. It was a pretty long list!

We wrapped up our evening with ice cream cones and a trip to the park. Next time we have a Mommy-Nick date night we'll have to do it on a Saturday...you know...when there's hope of having enough time to go water skiing.

The art of letting go

noreply@blogger.com (Colleen - Mommy Always Wins) — Thu, 28 Jul 2011 17:09:00 +0000

One of the biggest lessons I've had to learn over the past several months was learn how to honestly, truly and completely let go.

My entire life, I felt this general sense of anxiety. Whether I fully realized I was doing it or not, I internalized stresses and frustrations and they sat in the center of my chest like a toxic ball of lead. I never stopped to consider whether the things I was worrying over were worthy of my anxiety, whether they were even items who's worry was mine to have, and this struggle I was fighting was keeping me from truly enjoying the more important facets of my life. It was keeping me from enjoying the "right now" because I was so focused on the "what next?"

I see this now. But letting go was something I needed to learn to do on many levels -- and is something I still work on almost every day. I had to learn to let go on what I think of as an "ideological" level, an emotional level, and a physical level.

The physical was easy. When I realized my relationship with my husband was for sure coming to an end, I started to look at apartments. When I signed my lease, it hit me, "Oh my God - am I going to have enough space for all our stuff?" I've never been a person to have to have things, but all the same I'd spent a lot of time and money making our lives as comfortable as possible.

But when my husband cancelled our satellite service and without even a heads up to me wiped out all the shows on our DVR? Yeah, I was peeved. For about 20 minutes. And then realized that I had actually been stressing out about watching all the shows I'd recorded before I moved out.

SERIOUSLY? Who the hell stresses out about watching TV?

Me. I did.

And that was SAD.

And so I let it go.

Did I really need to watch all those shows? No.

Was I really missing out on anything important? No.

Would most of that crap be available online or in reruns? Yes.

Twas no big thang. There were more valuable things I should have been doing with my time anyway.

And then I began to pack. I went through the linen closet and realized, "Holy shit we have a lot of towels."

I packed six. (Plus the boys' beach towels.) Six bath towels are more than enough for three people.

So as to be fair, I packed half the glasses in the dish cabinet. And then I put some back. I realized we'd accumulated so much STUFF over the years that I didn't even need half of it. I hand-selected which pots and pans I'd really need. How many cookie sheets and other baking pans. I left far more behind than what I took.

Plus, because the house is on the market waiting to be sold, most of the artwork was left on the walls, leaving the walls of my apartment blank slates for me to fill with just those things that are truly important to me. (But that's a topic for another post.)

So once I got going the physical was easy, and now I have a cozy little living space that isn't packed to the gills with stuff and I can completely clean it in less than an hour's time. Ta da. (And my DVR is still almost completely empty.)

Emotionally? Not so easy.

I struggled for a long time emotionally, flipping and flopping between, "OH MY GOD I'M GOING TO BE A SINGLE MOTHER AND HOLY FARK ON TOAST WHAT ARE PEOPLE GOING TO THINK?!?!?" and "I don't care what people think, this change is going to be good for me and my kids and I'm the only person who can make that decision."

I come from a very large and rather close family, most of whom are still married 20 - 30 years in. We're a religious family, and I was raised Catholic. People just don't get divorced. What was my family -- a group of loving, fun, boisterous, great people -- the people who taught me the importance of and how to care about others -- what were they going to think? Their opinions matter most to me, but still they didn't see what happened in the real, honest-to-goodness day-to-day of my life. They didn't see the fights and the name calling and the loneliness and the lack of anything between us.

I slowly realized that my family loves me. This may not be a popular decision, but in time, I was sure that for most of them anyway, that love for me would win out.

And the rest of the "world"? In the end, those who really care about me will still be there. Those who don't and want to judge me based on something they don't know anything about? I don't want them hanging around anyway.

Probably most of all I had to let go of my own self-imposed theories on where I should be in my life and who I should be.

Did you get that? Looking back later the way I am now, I see that most of the stress I was feeling I put upon myself. It existed in my own head and nowhere else. As kids we're taught that you meet that special someone, you fall in love, you get married. Maybe you buy a house, you have kids, the end. But life doesn't always work that way. It would be great if it did, but often times it doesn't. And that's OK. That doesn't mean that if you do these things out of order, or retrace some of your steps that you've failed.

Letting go of that sense of failure was DAMN HARD for me.

So I let go of things, I let go of this emotional crap I was hashing and rehashing in my head. I've come a long way, baby, but now I'm dealing with things that are probably harder than even the emotional ones.

I am a first-born child. I have three younger brothers, we grew up poor and our parents got divorced when I was about 11. I was the built-in baby-sitter. When my Mom was at work I took care of my brothers -- feeding them, making sure they did their homework and went to bed on time. I somehow became responsible for taking care of a lot of things for them...making sure they were in certain places at certain times, making sure they acted certain ways in certain situations. I played middle-man almost my entire life, communicating what one side of the family needed to say to the other. Basically, as a very young kid I was responsible for a LOT.

But now I find I'm in a new situation. Not only do I not have to worry about my own kids as much because they're getting older and can do many things for themselves, I no longer have them in my care every waking moment.

Let me pause here -- I went from working full time and being with my children every. single. moment. I wasn't at work and doing everything with them on my own to working full time and having my children about 60-75% of the time.

I have days without children and *WITH* FREE TIME.

While this is GLORIOUS in a lot of ways (sleeping in! grocery shopping alone! 10 minute intervals without anyone shouting "MOOOOM!") its also hard. I can't control where they are or what they're doing when they're not with me.

I have to let go of the idea that I'm the only person responsible for their safety. I have to let go of the fact that I don't know if they're eating well or brushing their teeth or going to bed on time. I have to accept the fact that my ex may take my kids somewhere and one may have his face bitten by a dog. These are my children -- my very reason for doing everything that I do -- the sources of so much of my joy and the first things I think of before make any decisions in life, but

ACCEPTANCE DOES NOT EQUAL APPROVAL.

It simply means I am at peace with the fact that its not in my hands. I have to have faith that their father loves them just as much as I do and will eventually learn what's important, what's not, and whether or not its a good idea to have great big parties with lots of drinking while the kids are there.

I'm learning to let go of control and oh my hell if that isn't the hardest thing for me EVER. Before the house could be listed for sale we had to have a new roof put on. To save money and because of this big supportive family that all regularly help each other out, the soon-to-be-ex told me he'd handle rounding up volunteers to help with the roof. Only I know him. Well. I knew damn well there'd be issues with him being in charge of making those arrangements. Shingles had to be ordered. Volunteers needed to be rounded up. Information had to be communicated to all those involved.

I could have stepped in and handled it. God knows I've done just that a hundred times. But I didn't. When none of my brothers knew of the project a week before I could have thought the worst. When I asked how many people were coming to help out and he said, "Oh, three, I think," I could have let him visibly see my eyes bulge out of my skull. When I volunteered to make food for the workers, strap on a tool belt and climb up on the roof myself or simply keep the boys out of the way and he didn't respond with what he wanted me to do? Well, I decided I was going to take the boys to the zoo that day and then I left him to it.

In the end the roof was done in a day. Enough volunteers were scrounged up, and due to the amazing support of friends and family -- many who just saw a need and stepped in last-minute -- it all worked out OK. There wasn't anything for me to have worried about anyway.

But really what's the worst that could have happened? The house would have been delayed going on the market, but well, so what? Its done and I didn't have to worry about it.

I can now recognize that tight anxious feeling I still sometimes get in my chest. But I know for a fact that the results and benefits of letting go of whatever I perceive my current issues to be will far outweigh whatever it is I think I'll get out of holding onto them.

I often have people these days ask, "So how are you? Really?"

And I can honestly reply, "I'm good. REALLY GOOD."

Because when I say I've experienced a sense of peace in my life over the past few months like I've never known before its for these reasons.

Letting go doesn't mean giving up.

The Road to Hell

noreply@blogger.com (Colleen - Mommy Always Wins) — Fri, 22 Jul 2011 00:15:00 +0000

The other night, Will fell asleep in the car on the way home and stayed sleeping after I carried him inside and put him in his bed. That left Nick and I with about 30-45 minutes of "alone time" before his bedtime.

The kid was AMAZING. He was SO funny and cute and talked Non. Stop. It made me realize:

HE WAS DYING FOR MY ATTENTION.

It occurred to me that Nick is often overshadowed by his younger brother simply because Will is, well, younger. And pretty damn adorable. And quirky.

Which doesn't mean Nick isn't. Nick, in his own right, is amazingly cute -- the near stereo-type of the six-year-old American boy, right down to the freckles on his nose and the cow-lick in his hair that just won't ever let it lie down quite right. He says crazy-smart things that sometimes hit me like a sucker punch to the gut. He cannot tell a lie (either he'll admit his fib to me out-right or the smile on his face provides a dead giveaway) and has a pretty awesome imagination.

But the total amount of minutes in any given day where Nick is the sole focus of my attention are sadly very few, and like any working Mom (or any Mom with more than one kid), I hate that. Which led me to think that maybe he could really use some one-on-one time with me, especially considering that our lives have been a little turned upside-down lately.

So I emailed the idea to my Mom and she agreed that one night next week she'd come over after work to watch Will for me so that Nick and I could have a "Mommy Date Night". (Will to get his own "Mommy Date Night" sometime shortly thereafter.) With the boys in their beds last night, I pitched the idea to them.

"Guess what? We're going to have Mommy Date Nights! Won't that be great?" I looked at their faces. They had no idea what the hell I was talking about. "Each of you gets a turn to go somewhere special -- and we'll do anything you want, you get to pick! -- with JUST MOMMY. All by yourselves. Won't that be fun?" They each appeared to be pondering this.

"Nick gets to go first because he's oldest, then it'll be Will's turn. Will, Grandma is going to come over next week to hang out with you while Nick and I go out!" I wanted each step of this to sound as fun-filled and magical as possible, but I could quickly tell by the look on Will's face that he did NOT consider this my best idea. As his face began to fall I added, "You get a GRANDMA DATE NIGHT!"

This was apparently NOT any consolation. Will's bottom lip quickly jutted out and he screwed his little eyes shut tight. He threw his head back, mouth wide open and a loud "WAAAAAH!" came out before the tears began to fall. Nick, on the other hand, was smiling excitedly.

"Will, buddy! What's wrong???" I did my best to hug him up on the top bunk.

"I -- no -- you -- can't -- LEAVE -- ME!!!" He was sobbing as if I'd just taken away his birthday cake.

"No, no, buddy, I'm not going to leave you. YOU get to have a SPECIAL NIGHT, too. And you get to hang out with GRANDMA while its Nick's turn!"

It wasn't working. In fact, each thing I said made him only cry harder.

"I get to be with YOU TOO!" He shouted. "Dad says! When you're not at work I get to be with MOMMY!!! You can't go without me!!!"

There was no consoling him. Finally I just had to say, "OK, OK. Never mind. NO DATE NIGHT." Several minutes of rubbing his back and two tissues later he was ready to be tucked into bed again.

When I sat on the edge of Nick's lower bunk to hug him goodnight he whispered, "We still get to go, right?" To which I just nodded, whispering, "What would you like to do?"

His eyes practically DANCED with excitement as he looked at me and shouted, "WE'RE GOIN' WATER SKIING!!!"

Oh Lord...

Wordless Wednesday: The farmers market

noreply@blogger.com (Colleen - Mommy Always Wins) — Wed, 13 Jul 2011 19:36:00 +0000

Westown Farmers Market
Zeidler Union Square -- Milwaukee

Roadtrip to Happiness: All the Small Things

noreply@blogger.com (Colleen - Mommy Always Wins) — Thu, 07 Jul 2011 20:26:00 +0000

OK. So I don't have this all figured out just yet, but I sat the other day and actually had a good cry over how thankful I am for my life at the moment. I'm still working my way toward living a happier, more meaningful life, but I can at least share with you the things I think I've already figured out.

And then, you know, later I can just post about how wrong I was. Again. (Hee.)

I remember, not even a year ago, someone asking me what I needed to be happy. I couldn't even answer the question. I had no idea.

The truth was I was stuck. I kept wracking my brain, trying to find things that would make my current situation better. I was hoping to find the right combination of stuff that would turn my miserable life around and make it happier...make it better...fix it.

It took me a long long LONG time to realize that I wasn't ever going to be happy in the situation I was in. Deciding to split from my husband was a very hard decision for me to make, but once I made it? It was like a weight had been lifted.

But back in those days when I had no idea what I wanted or needed out of my life, I knew that there were still little bits of happiness I could focus on every day. I mean, these were days when I did nothing but work and take care of my kids alone...I had no time to myself and very little to look forward to. I had no one to laugh with or even complain to about the events of my day. I was stagnant -- stuck in the mire of this life I had thought I wanted for so long.

I didn't want to spend my life just bitching and complaining about all of this, and the truth of it was, that's all I was doing. Any time I got a chance to see a friend or talk to someone on the phone I unloaded about how frustrating this was, or how angry that made me. After months and months of this I somehow got an aerial view of my life and thought, "My GOD -- what in the HELL am I doing?!?"

So I started to make mental lists. What have I got to be thankful for today?

And the bullet points I started to make included things like taking a coffee break with a friend at work. Taking a walk by myself over the lunch hour. Downloading an app for my phone that takes cool retro-looking photos. My four-year-old telling me a crazy story. Picking up a new book from the library.

Small potatoes, right? But they made ME feel good.

Then someone suggested I write them down. (duh) Writing things down makes them feel more real, at least to me, and if you write them in a pretty notebook with a pretty pen, well then they even LOOK better, right?

I started to realize there were lots of small things that I already had in my life every day that made me happy.

And the accumulation of days worth of pages of tiny happy thoughts? Only fueled me further and allowed me to see that I can do this. I can be a happy person, too.

Lions Den Gorge Nature Preserve
Grafton, WI

The Boys & The Big Tree - Year 4

noreply@blogger.com (Colleen - Mommy Always Wins) — Wed, 06 Jul 2011 02:32:00 +0000

Three years ago, after a particularly crazy day at work, I took my kids to the park.

It was one of those days I laughed about later, though at the time I was frustrated and angry that things couldn't just go smoothly for once.

Looking back, though, I'm glad I did it. I'm glad I'm the Mom that Does Things, even if things aren't perfect or are sometimes even half falling apart.

I'd rather have memories of treating my kids to a picnic in the park, even if they dropped their hot dogs in the dirt and the napkins all blew away than NOT.

No one ever looks back and says, "Gee Mom, I remember that time you took us right home after picking us up from the sitter's. That was AWESOME!"

On that day back in 2008, I looked up from the playground and saw this enormous tree and decided it'd be a great place to pose my kids for pictures. Each year since, in June, I've found a reason to be at Greenfield Park and pose my kids in front of The Great Big Tree.

And I take their pictures, even if they aren't perfect.

2011

2010

2009

2008

"I get by with a little help from my friends..."

noreply@blogger.com (Colleen - Mommy Always Wins) — Thu, 23 Jun 2011 00:30:00 +0000

~ The Beatles

I really really hesitated to publish that post yesterday. For weeks I kicked it around in my head, writing and re-writing it until it settled into a crevice of my brain and felt comfortable there. But even still, I nervously hit publish and quickly walked away for fear that I'd try to take it down right away.

To be honest, I was worried that I'd get lots of negative reactions, but instead, what really happened is I got more supportive and loving comments and private messages than I could have ever hoped for. I was literally moved to tears by what some of my friends wrote. And I'm not a crier.

Why I'm so concerned with what other people think of me is probably something I should spend long hours thinking about. The real underlying reasons that I was so worried about people's perceptions would probably keep a shrink busy with me for months. But what struck me was the thought, "Why did I question my friends and family like that? Why was I so quick to sell them short?" Cuz really, aren't the people I choose to surround myself with smart, loving, NICE people? Hell yeah they are!

Part of me, too, was concerned about offending some of those who are closest to me by saying anything at all. I don't feel the need to share the deepest of details of my personal life, but I do feel the need to share, with people who've read these stories I tell about myself online, and many who've become real friends over the years, the basic facts about my life. I needed to put myself out there and say, "Who I am hasn't changed -- its shifted a bit, sure, but THIS IS WHO I AM AND THIS IS WHAT I'M DOING."

There's no way I can go on talking about my life and my kids and the crazy things that we do without this basic fact being known. So there it is.

I've made HUGE personal changes in the past few months, all for the better. I feel freer...lighter...happier. I want to share these things with the people who read my blog because if the things I've gone through help even one other person to obtain even just some of the happiness I've achieved in such a short time, my GOD I've got to do it.

And I haven't achieved these things alone. I feel by sharing my story online I'm paying back the kindnesses I've received by paying them forward. It feels important to me to do so.

So yes, I'll still tell you about the crazy things my kids do (because let's face it -- boys who are 4 and 6 1/2 years old provide more than enough blog fodder) and the crazy things I do (because I'll admit -- I'm still an ungraceful klutz), but I also want to share with you things that inspire me and the things I've been doing to gain back a little bit of the happy I'd let slip away from me over the years.

Even if some days all I do is post pretty pictures.

Lions Den Gorge Nature Preserve
Grafton, WI

I want to offer a most sincere and heart-felt THANK YOU to everyone who's hugged me, emailed me, texted me, left comments, sent IMs, tweeted or even just thought good thoughts about me/for me/toward me over the past few months. It thrills me more than you'll ever understand to know I have people who care about me. THANK YOU.

“A person often meets his destiny on the road he took to avoid it.”

noreply@blogger.com (Colleen - Mommy Always Wins) — Tue, 21 Jun 2011 17:23:00 +0000

~ Jean de La Fontaine

When I was pregnant with Nicholas, I read all the baby books. I made lists of baby names and registered for every onesie, wipe warmer and bouncy seat I thought we'd need. I painted his room and hung a wallpaper border, got a used dresser and a new ceiling fan and painted those to match. I went to every required pre-natal doctor's appointment and attended childbirth classes, as you do.

Despite all those efforts, I completely ignored the part in childbirth class where they covered what happens when you have a c-section.

I mean, what were the odds that was going to happen to me?

Well it did. (Twice.)

Sometimes, no matter what you think is going to happen with your life...despite your best efforts for the contrary...things go differently than you'd have planned.

My husband and I are getting a divorce.

This is a long time coming, after many years of...you know what? I'm going to leave it at that. Simply know that I draw many parallels between the preparations for my children's births and the way they actually entered the world and my marriage. If you know me personally, I'd be happy to share with you the details, but for the majority of my readers, you need only understand that it wasn't a decision arrived at lightly, or quickly. I spent a long time agonizing over the stigma I felt internally at the prospect of being a single Mom...of being divorced...of possibly letting my family down.

Obviously, no matter the way they were born, I ended up with two healthy, happy, amazingly smart and wonderful little boys. And hopefully, over the next few months or years I'll rediscover an equal number of positive traits about myself and my life.

I already feel as if I'm on the cusp of something great.