Suburban Stereotype

Cleanin' House

2012-05-23T14:20:00.000-04:00

I wish I could say I haven't blogged lately because we've been on some fabulous vacation. Or even some mediocre vacation.

Or even some crappy vacation.

Truth is, living life has been kicking my butt lately.

I've hit 32 weeks pregnant and I look about 132 weeks.

Seriously.

I appreciate the well wishers who say I don't look "big." They mean well.

But truly, I should have my own zip code.

There has been so much transition here lately.

School is wrapping up for the year. I meet that with mixed emotions. Excited that the kids get a break but acknowledge that they will be home 24/7 now. Things always get tense here when everyone is cooped up on top of each other all day, every day.

And Joe and I have made the monumental decision to put our house on the market.

After 6 years of living here, and this being the only home our kids have ever known, we made the decision to pull the trigger.

Yes, we LOVE our house. We have put a lot of love, time, sweat and tears into it.

We had plans and dreams to do more, but then we got a swift kick in the pants that clinched it for us.

Our neighborhood is changing. It's losing some of its suburban, neighborhood-y, family feeling and taking on more of a feeling we don't love.

Now instead of worrying about the millions of things I always worry about, I have some new fears added and it's just not worth it.

So...this weekend we are having a ginormous garage sale in preparation for staging the house to list.

It's been freeing to see piles of crap that I know is leaving.

I've read about how getting rid of clutter and junk can free you emotionally and mentally. It's true!

I shook my head as I cleaned out my closet and looked at shoes that were missing their insoles or literally had layers of dust from not being worn in years. I came across a high school track t-shirt that I couldn't part with for some reason.

Broken purses that I told myself I'd have repaired, "onesie" socks that will never find their mates, pants that haven't fit me since 4th grade, sports bras I think I wore in junior high...

And-awesome of awesome-I FINALLY found my FAVE maternity shirt. It's purple and says, "Touch the belly, Lose a hand." Love. It.

This weekend is a major decrapification of the entire house. I'm not sure how we're going to do it with all the kids under foot, but we're determined.

This should be a bang up garage sale. Our trash could be someone else's treasure. :)

Looking for a house? Give me a call. We may have just the thing for you! ;)

Who Are You...REALLY?

2012-05-10T10:04:00.000-04:00

I struggle with this every day, I swear. That battle between who I want to be and who I really am. In Romans 7:19, Paul said "For what I do is not the good I want to do; no, the evil I do not want to do--this I keep on doing." (NIV)

Amen brother, amen. This is the mantra of my life. From eating to exercising to cursing to being hateful to being proud...it's the same.

I know what I SHOULD be doing and what I WANT to be doing...and then I march off and do the EXACT opposite.

One of my biggest fears is being a hypocrite. Naturally I am because it's almost impossible NOT to be at some time or another...but I mean the day in and day out variety.

I see so many people who check off the box that says "Christian" and then proceed to live their lives in such a way there is no mistaking they 1) have no idea what the Bible says, 2) don't care what the Bible says, or 3) Make the Bible into what they want it to say.

Now, do I have a corner on the Bible? Not really. There are parts I question and parts I don't understand, but I'm talking about issues that God is absolutely, crystal clear about.

I see Facebook posts all day long in support of things that clearly fly in the face of the Bible, yet if you click the "About" section of that person's profile, you'll see they proclaim to be Christian or Catholic or some other variation of a Bible believer.

That's upsetting.

At least be honest about who you really are. Why hide behind a title or denomination if you don't really believe in its tenets?

Why is it okay to take God's Word and twist it into what feels good to you? What's easier to swallow?

I don't know...I'm taking a guess here since I'd have to ask every single person who does this WHY they do this, but maybe there is something comforting in professing a faith we don't really hold to. It's easy to claim God as our own in times of need and struggle, but conveniently forget his Word on certain subjects when it doesn't 'benefit' us in any way.

Or when it's not something we want to believe/follow/hold to.

I think <---and you all know with a preamble like that something profound is about to follow since I am full of sage wisdom [insert sarcasm font here], I think that God wants us to choose Him.

I've heard it said that He is a Gentleman and will not force His way in anywhere.

I keep telling Joe I hate where our world is headed. Now, is it really that much worse than it was 10, 20 or more years ago or do I just notice it more now that I am a "grown up"? That's a whole other debate...

But, today I realized (not for the first time) that God will allow whoever is going to be president to be president. Whoever it is, I believe, God will allow it to be. So, He's in control. And even if that makes things harder for Christians, maybe it's because it's time we start taking a stand for things and make a public CHOICE for Him.

With past administrations, it's been a little easier to claim Christian...I have never felt my beliefs or my freedoms more challenged than I do today. Maybe this is where God weeds out the men from the boys?

If things continue going the way they are, conservatives will continue to be targeted and hated for being conservative. It will be dangerous to speak out against main stream beliefs for fear of persecution.

Maybe that's where we find our voices, where we speak up for the things that we have been able to coast along about until now. I'm just supposing. Who knows how things will be.

All I know is more and more I wish I could live like the people in The Village...in a small commune with my closest friends and family away from the crime and degeneration of this world. But then, that wouldn't exactly be doing what God has called His people to do for eons, now would it?

Narrow is the path to get into Heaven, God said. I feel it narrowing more and more every day. I want to fit through. I don't want to take the easy way out just to follow the majority, or to avoid confrontation.

Most importantly, I want to be real. Whatever I say I believe I want to own it.

I wish everyone did that, regardless of his or her beliefs. It doesn't mean we all have to agree, just...be real about who you are.

**Stepping down off soap box.**

Chaos & Clutter Is My Middle Name

2012-05-08T12:46:00.002-04:00

I had every intention of writing about all my pregnancy woes today.

Like my swollen cankles.

Or my aching back, or my pitiful hip.

Or the lack of sleep.

Lack of waistline.

Etc etc...

But then I thought...naw...maybe another day. Let's talk about something positive. Like the office (aka kids' crap room) that has made quite the transformation.

In our house, what we lack in bedroom and storage space, we make up for in living space. We have a large living room, a finished basement and what we call the "Office"...a sun room that used to be a porch. Thank God the previous owners decided to enclose it and make it part of the rest of the house.

This area has easily saved us from moving, killing each other or going stir crazy with 7 people in one home.

It's this room where we store all of the kids' toys and costumes (I hate toys in bedrooms and the main living room), stash their many, many books, keep their Play Station, let them watch TV, and plan to do most of our schooling if we do decide to go ahead with home/cyber schooling next year.

Here's how it used to look when I desperately called in a professional organizer:

I feel it's important to note that the room did not always look like this.

However...if I didn't kill myself and follow the kids around to clean up their mess or nag them to do the same, it would inevitably end up looking like this.

And then I would cry.

And maybe yell and throw things and have been known to grab a trash bag and go a little nutso throwing things away.

So, I figured there had to be a better way to handle this.

SO...in came the Pro to give me some feedback. She actually complimented me on quite a bit that I was doing right and the advice she gave surprised me...she told me to start with my bedroom closets.

Pardon me?

I didn't call you here to look at my closets.

:)

So, I devised my own plan for making this room *work*.

Here is the "After"

We got rid of the desktop computer and the desk to make more room for this armoire. It holds the TV, the printer, the modem for the computer, all of our bills ready to be paid, and some other important papers. The drawers hold the kids' DVDs and Play Station games along with other office-y things like envelopes, staples, stapler, printer paper, etc.

That double recliner was bought on clearance at a store closing sale for less than $300.

The table in the middle was a Craigslist buy. At $20 for the table and the 4 chairs I consider it a steal.

The bookcase was bought at Target for $69.

Here's how we personalized the table. The 4 oldest finger painted it. It's where they play games and will eventually do schooling.

These three bookcases were bought at Target for $20 each. I went a little cheaper with these ones since we were buying 3 at a time. They are not the best quality, but they serve our purposes and are holding up nicely.

The beige baskets in the middle are also a Target buy. $6.99 each.

The red basket at the top in the middle: Target, $9.99

The artwork up above was free. It's my kids' artwork and the phrase in the middle I printed on my computer.

The white dresser you see a tiny bit of at the far end of the room was another Craigslist steal. You can see the transformation of it HERE. It was also $20 and I painted it to hold their toys and costumes.

This room is still a work in progress, but man oh man am I SOOO much happier with it.

It has secretly been a blessing that our dog has a chewing fetish for the kids' toys. Should I feel bad that I privately cheer him on when he gets a hold of one of their 572 little guys?

We've purged, we've organized and we've made some smart purchases. We're growing into this room and making it make sense for us.

Now if only the rest of the house would magically do that.

And speaking of those closets...that's a ~~nightmare~~ post for another day. :)

Linking up today to MY FAVE DECOR BLOG EVER:

I'm Such A Rebel...Bucking The System

2012-04-26T11:46:00.000-04:00

An interesting conversation with a friend yesterday spawned this post. And then another conversation with another friend today solidified that I simply had to blog about this.

I decided to keep our oldest 2 home from school on Monday. It was pouring, it was supposed to snow 6 inches, and the person who usually graciously helps me get them after school had a sick little one at home and couldn't help that day.

So, at 8:00 that morning, I made the command decision that the boys would be staying home. Yes, the school is only 2-3 blocks away at the end of our street, but the thought of loading and unloading the 1 yr old and 2 yr old in a stroller, and bringing our slow poke 4 year old along--not to mention this ever burgeoning, heavy belly that goes everywhere I do-- on this RAINY day...on this road:

Was enough to make me cry.

Yes, that's the school alllllllll the way at the end of the street...at the TOP of the next hill. See all those cars parked along the side. Picture all of them plus cars lining the other side of the street as well. They park up ON the sidewalk, which leaves me no choice but to walk in traffic with all the kids. Pushing a double stroller. Enormously pregnant. In the rain. I've done it before. Many times. And lived to tell the tale.

All of these things flashed through my mind and made my decision in 2 seconds flat.

Well, I forgot to call the school.

So, I got a call later that day with a message from someone at the school. She asked me to call the school with the "reason for R's absence."

I immediately got annoyed.

I know, that's a hard thing to imagine-me annoyed.

But I thought, "I have to call YOU to give YOU a "reason" why they aren't in school??"

If I want to spend the day with my son, I have to ask permission. And the reason given must be deemed permissible by the administration.

Any time they are late or miss, I must write a note explaining why.

If they are late or miss too many times, if the administration doesn't deem it permissible, the boys can receive demerits. Which can lead to different punishments.

I have a real problem with asking anyone permission for anything having to do with my children.

Now, if you have read my blog over the years (and God help you if you have...I imagine you've had some intensive therapy as a result), you know that I struggled with even sending our oldest to school to begin with. I wanted to homeschool. I felt called and convicted to be the one to teach my kids.

I am not saying that is or should be every parent's feeling, but it was/is mine.

As a teenager I was staunchly opposed to homeschooling. I thought it was weird and destructive and dangerous. I thought it left the homeschooled kids at a huge disadvantage socially, academically, and scholastically. And I was 16 so I had obviously figured it all out. ;)

Once I made it into my twenties (when I really knew everything) I started seeing the world a little differently. I had a job that took me inside public schools in a tri-state area and I interacted every day with high school and middle school students. I saw and experienced a lot. I saw fights, disrespect, rudeness, threats, disruption, harried teachers and substitutes doing their best to hold the class together, let alone actually follow the lesson plan. I saw students built like professional athletes challenging and sassing teachers who looked like they were still in junior high. I listened to kids bad mouth their teachers, other students, and completely unplug in the classroom--and usually distract enough others to create a disturbance and derail class.

I watched as some teachers took the "let's all be friends" route and cursed, swore and told off-color jokes in the classroom. I was present one day when a twelfth grade teacher called the janitor a "Rat Bastard" in front of the whole class because he (the janitor) had taken her trash can and not returned it.

I remember planning a hiding place or route of escape whenever I would visit a high school--just in case a student or someone else came to school with a weapon the day I was there.

Some days it was like I was right back in high school, all gawky with braces, steeling myself to what the other kids would say to me about my hair or my clothes, etc. I had high school "boys" make suggestive comments, ask me for my phone number, and draw me incredibly detailed pictures.

I had a student stand up in class one day and announce he was going to bring a gun to school the next day and "shoot everyone" because his team didn't win the game we were playing. (I spoke with the administration about this comment, in light of their zero tolerance policy, and was politely brushed off.)

I spoke with many, many girls who were pregnant or already had kids...and were only in 10th grade or younger. I listened as some girls cried to me about their boyfriends using them and leaving them or their awful home lives where they received no support or encouragement.

I could go on and on (and probably already did...)

All of this started changing my views about public schooling. It had changed so dramatically in even the short time since I'd been a student.

And then, in 2005, R was born.

And my world changed over-night.

I had to leave him at 3 months so I could go back to work. I cried all night the night before and the entire day of. I don't think the daycare staff had ever seen a mom cry so hard.

I managed to work for a year, have another baby, and continue to use daycare. Every day I cried after dropping them off, wondering why I wasn't home with them.

Finally, after doing the math, Joe and I realized that I was working to pay daycare. It really wasn't worth it for us to have me work.

Glorious day! I was able to give my notice and be home with my babies.

(Yes, yes...I DO Know the HUGE and enormous blessing that is. And my heart breaks for all the moms who would love to be home with their kids but can't for whatever reason.)

Let's move forward to the fall of 2010. I was all set to homeschool R. Joe was on board (reluctantly and hesitantly) with me trying out homeschooling for kindergarten.

3 days before registration, I got cold feet. I started remembering all the fun parts of school when I was a kid and I worried that I was going to make him miss out on some of what were fun memories for me. Those early, rite of passage type things like school shopping, a new backpack and pencil box, the first day of school smell (you know, the new classroom smell.) Field trips, gold stars, etc.

And I caved.

There were also some less than supportive comments from friends and family members at the decision to homeschool, so I had that on my shoulders as well.

I caved.

I caved and I hate that I did.

So....we've survived almost 2 full years of public school and where am I today with the thought of keeping the kids in school?

Same place.

I question it. I hate it and I still feel just as compelled, if not more so, to be the one who teaches my kids.

That call from the secretary asking me to call with the "reason" for R's absence was the final straw.

I feel like so many of my rights and responsibilities are being stripped away.

My kids have 7 hours a day with people I don't know, being treated in ways I have no idea about, and being taught things, passively and actively, that I may totally disagree with. But I will never know.

Some things I do know they've been taught? How to spell the 'F' word, that 'Dick' is sometimes used as a 'bad word' and the middle finger is the "baddest word of all." They have been told about what Hell is and who goes there (all compliments of classmates). They will learn the wonders of evolution in a short time and already hold beliefs (based on school teachings) about how long ago the dinosaurs were on earth.

They bring home books about witches and Halloween that I would rather they didn't. R was discouraged at one time from trying to read books above his grade level, and (IMHO) bullied by a lunch aid at another time.

L has been ignored by a (different) lunch aid when he asked for help opening his lunch (more than once). I found this out when I kept finding unopened snacks in his lunch box. Now we put everything in zip lock baggies, but the thought that he raised his hand and was ignored enrages me. L thought it was no big deal...but I thought it was a big deal.

Are there only bad things in school? Of course not. In fact, we actually LOVE both the boys' teachers. We have been very, very blessed with who they have had for teachers.

But these things are enough to make me question even more our decision to send them to school when I could teach them outside of school.

I would immediately dress them in overalls, give them bowl hair cuts, seclude them from all outside contact, and make them marry their sisters.

Right?

I know that's the kind of scenario many people picture.

In fact, they would probably have more and better interaction with other kids their age and other ages because it would be in a different environment. Instead of an over crowded classroom filled with kids at all different levels of learning and temperaments, where teachers have to spend 7 hours a day entertaining and cajoling students to pay attention, they could do shorter time periods in a smaller, more controlled environment so they are actually focusing on the lesson rather than on Jimmy who has climbed under his desk for the 5th time. (This is not an arbitrary example. I observed in L's class twice this year and both times watched as kids were up and down, disrupting the room over and over. I was exhausted just from watching. I can't imagine being a little kindergartner, where this whole school business is all new anyway, and having to decipher what the teacher is saying while she repeatedly admonishes the active students over and over.)

I am a rule follower by nature. I find comfort in following directions. I love to read the manual to anything new. I used to take the Policies & Procedures Manual home from work to read just for fun. Seriously.

I don't buck the system in most ways.

I pay my taxes
I go the speed limit (ish)
I obey the law
I brush twice a day
I vaccinate
I sleep my babies on their backs
I have a huge ~~crush on~~ respect for law enforcement and military
If I get too much change back, I immediately bring it to the cashier's attention
If I forget to pay for something in my cart, I will take it back in
I vote

But this is where I feel like it's me against the mainstream.

I don't want to send my kids to someone else to be taught anymore.

I think there was/is a place for it. Certainly back when the entire family was out in the field and had very little if any education themselves, a teacher who was college educated was the best option. Even today, many parents can't afford to stay home and school their kids. Many say they have no desire to. I've heard lots of people say their kids wouldn't listen to them if they schooled them at home. (That one always makes me sad.)

Many don't feel adequate enough to teach their kids. (And after laboring over my kids' kindergarten and 1st grade homework, I understand that feeling.)

But I still feel convicted.

Anyone can have a baby. The hospital sends you home with a folder of info and wishes you well after a couple of days. Then...you're on your own. Your kids are under the radar.

But....all of the sudden when they turn 5 or 6, it's time to register them for school. And everything changes.

Suddenly you owe the school all kinds of explanations and are required to get so many permissions from them concerning your own kids.

It has always bothered me that between the hours of 8:20 am and 3:00 pm, Monday through Friday for 9 months of the year, if I wanted to see, talk to or spend time with my school-aged kids, I have to get permission. I have to ask someone else if it's okay. And if it's not deemed appropriate or permissible, then I can face repercussions including court for not sending my kids to school.

I get it on some levels. There are those kids who wouldn't get an education if it wasn't for public schools and government mandates about education.

And the rules have to be the same across the board or there can be trouble. I really do get that.

And as long as I have them registered in public (or even private) schools, I have signed on to those conditions.

So here is where I am signing OFF from those conditions.

I don't want to feel like I'm mindlessly cow towing to these rules simply because it's expected and the "norm." For so many it's simply unheard of to think of bucking the system and taking the care and education of their own children into their control, their responsibility.

I am ultimately responsible for who these kids become. Or at least for preparing them for all of life. Not just the scholastic parts, but the spiritual, mental and emotional parts as well. I take that very seriously.

So, for me, that means something different than the standard K-12 public or private schools.

Here's where I'm becoming a rebel of sorts.

And if you don't feel these same convictions...so be it. I can only act on what I feel is best for my family. And, quite honestly, not everyone SHOULD homeschool.

And I know there is an entire system available to me to aid in making sure they receive a quality education. Homeschool Co-ops, groups and even public libraries offer great programs for homeschoolers and support for parents. I'm excited. My teeth are actually chattering at the idea of finally doing what I have felt called to do for years.

We haven't solidified the way we'll go about this yet: homeschool, cyber school, etc. Joe is trepidatiously dipping his toe in the water of doing something outside the norm. (Did you catch that $5 word I just used?)

We're just started to look into our options. And it's very exciting!

Facebook Profundity

2012-04-25T12:53:00.000-04:00

Joe & I

I had to look that word up, by the way...profundity.

It means deep insight. Something profound.

Surprisingly, I found it on Facebook today.

I'm not talking about the Pinterest, bumper sticker 'profound' kind of stuff you see there all the time (and I constantly 'pin' :)

I mean meaty, chewy, really deep stuff.

Here it is:

Marriage Is For Losers

You can be right, or you can be married; take your pick. I can’t remember who told me that, but I do remember that they were only half-joking. The other half, the serious half, is exceedingly important. This is why.

Many therapists aren’t crazy about doing marital therapy. It’s complicated and messy, and it often feels out of control. In the worst case scenario, the therapist has front row seats to a regularly-scheduled prize fight. But I love to do marital therapy. Why? Maybe I enjoy the work because I keep one simple principle in mind: if marriage is going to work, it needs to become a contest to see which spouse is going to lose the most, and it needs to be a race that goes down to the wire.

When it comes to winning and losing, I think there are three kinds of marriages. In the first kind of marriage, both spouses are competing to win, and it’s a duel to the death. Husbands and wives are armed with a vast arsenal, ranging from fists, to words, to silence. These are the marriages that destroy. Spouses destroy each other, and, in the process, they destroy the peace of their children. In fact, the destruction is so complete that research tells us it is better for children to have divorced parents than warring parents. These marriages account for most of the fifty percent of marriages that fail, and then some. The second kind of marriage is ripe with winning and losing, but the roles are set, and the loser is always the same spouse. These are the truly abusive marriages, the ones in which one spouse dominates, the other submits, and in the process, both husband and wife are stripped of their dignity. These are the marriages of addicts and enablers, tyrants and slaves, and they may be the saddest marriages of all.

But there is a third kind of marriage. The third kind of marriage is not perfect, not even close. But a decision has been made, and two people have decided to love each other to the limit, and to sacrifice the most important thing of all—themselves. In these marriages, losing becomes a way of life, a competition to see who can listen to, care for, serve, forgive, and accept the other the most. The marriage becomes a competition to see who can change in ways that are most healing to the other, to see who can give of themselves in ways that most increase the dignity and strength of the other. These marriages form people who can be small and humble and merciful and loving and peaceful.

And they are revolutionary, in the purest sense of the word.

Because we live in a culture in which losing is the enemy (except in Chicago, where Cubs fans have made it a way of life). We wake up to news stories about domestic disputes gone wrong. Really wrong. We go to workplaces where everyone is battling for the boss’s favor and the next promotion, or we stay at home where the battle for the Legos is just as fierce. Nightly, we watch the talking heads on the cable news networks, trying to win the battle of ideas, although sometimes they seem quite willing to settle for winning the battle of decibels. We fight to have the best stuff, in the best name brands, and when we finally look at each other at the end of the day, we fight, because we are trained to do nothing else. And, usually, we have been trained well. In the worst of cases, we grew up fighting for our very survival, both physically and emotionally. But even in the best of situations, we found ourselves trying to win the competition for our parents’ attention and approval, for our peers’ acceptance, and for the validating stamp of a world with one message: win. And, so, cultivating a marriage in which losing is the mutual norm becomes a radically counter-cultural act. To sit in the marital therapy room is to foment a rebellion.

What do the rebellious marriages look like? Lately, when my blood is bubbling, when I just know I’ve been misunderstood and neglected, and I’m ready to do just about anything to convince and win what I deserve, I try to remember a phone call we recently received from my son’s second grade teacher. She called us one day after school to tell us there had been an incident in gym class. After a fierce athletic competition, in which the prize was the privilege to leave the gym first, my son’s team had lost. The losers were standing by, grumbling and complaining about second-grade-versions of injustice, as the victors filed past. And that’s when my son started to clap. He clapped for the winners as they passed, with a big dopey grin on his face and a smile stretched from one ear of his heart to the other. His startled gym teacher quickly exhorted the rest of his team to follow suit. So, a bunch of second grade losers staged a rebellion, giving a rousing ovation for their victorious peers, and in doing so, embraced the fullness of what it can mean to be a loser. When I’m seething, I try to remember the heart of a boy, a heart that can lose graciously and reach out in affection to the victors.

In marriage, losing is letting go of the need to fix everything for your partner, listening to their darkest parts with a heart ache rather than a solution. It’s being even more present in the painful moments than in the good times. It’s finding ways to be humble and open, even when everything in you says that you’re right and they are wrong. It’s doing what is right and good for your spouse, even when big things need to be sacrificed, like a job, or a relationship, or an ego. It is forgiveness, quickly and voluntarily. It is eliminating anything from your life, even the things you love, if they are keeping you from attending, caring, and serving. It is seeking peace by accepting the healthy but crazy-making things about your partner because, you remember, those were the things you fell in love with in the first place. It is knowing that your spouse will never fully understand you, will never truly love you unconditionally—because they are a broken creature, too—and loving them to the end anyway.

Maybe marriage, when it’s lived by two losers in a household culture of mutual surrender, is just the training we need to walk through this world—a world that wants to chew you up and spit you out—without the constant fear of getting the short end of the stick. Maybe we need to be formed in such a way that winning loses its glamour, that we can sacrifice the competition in favor of people. Maybe what we need, really, is to become a bunch of losers in a world that is being a torn apart by the competition to win. If we did that, maybe we’d be able to sleep a little easier at night, look our loved ones in the eyes, forgive and forget, and clap for the people around us.

I think that in a marriage of losers, a synergy happens and all of life can explode into a kind of rebellion that is brighter than the sun. The really good rebellions, the ones that last and make the world a better place, they are like that, aren’t they? They heal, they restore. They are big, and they shine like the sun. And, like the sun, their gravitational pull is almost irresistible.

Kelly Flanagan is a licensed clinical psychologist in Wheaton, IL. He is married, has three children, and enjoys reading, writing, and learning from his children how to be a kid again. He blogs regularly at drkellyflanagan.com, and this post can be found at (http://drkellyflanagan.com/2012/03/02/marriage-is-for-losers/).

This is worth the read! Please...if you skimmed over that article, PLEASE go back and read it.

You know that saying, God is rarely early but always on time? I don't know why I am always pleasantly surprised when He puts something in my way that I so need. This article was one of them.

Let's take a walk back a few days ago, shall we?

I'm channeling Sofia from Golden Girls as I begin.

Picture it...our house, 2012. I'd had another one of those days when I wish to do so much and have the energy to do nothing. My back hurt, I was tired, the kids were driving me nuts, and the house was destroyed.

Joe walked in from work and I could tell he already had a chip on his shoulder. he'd apparently had a crappy day too.

I laid on the love seat in the kids playroom and asked him to rub my back--an action that I KNOW will create a sigh and eye roll from him. At best.

So, he grudgingly started to rub my back and I don't even remember how things so quickly spun out of control from there.

Here are the nuts and bolts:

His perspective:
He had a crappy day
He came home to a messy house (which I know he hates)
The kids attacked him with a million requests the moment he came in the door
He was starving
He was tired
There was no dinner made
I asked him to rub my back

My perspective:
I was exhausted from never getting good rest
The kids demanded and drove me crazy all day long
My back--as usual--was killing me
As fast as I would clean the messes, the kids made more. I couldn't keep up.
Beyond feeding the kids, I HATE to cook (and Joe knows this. I admit that is a weakness of mine)

So a world war began. We both raised our defenses and readied for battle.

I was angry. He was angry. We said mean things to each other. Pushed buttons.

And then when I tried to push him out of the way so I could get off the love seat and stomp myself upstairs, he wouldn't move and I had to flop around like a fish on the shore to get up.

No dignity.

It had the same affect as spraying a hornet's nest with a hose.

I was humiliated, angry, and ready to claw his face off.

He was frustrated, angry, and trying (successfully) to let me know that.

With all the rage of a warrior and the maturity of a fourteen year old, I stomped upstairs and locked myself in my bedroom. I sobbed into my pillow and told God all the injustices in my life.

I'm exhausted
I'm beaten
I'm hanging by a thread
I'm demanded of by my kids, my husband and the tiny human inside who always gets his first, regardless of whether or not I have anything left.
I'm unappreciated
I'm harassed
I'm over extended
I'm failing in so many areas
I'm crying out for support and get so little
I'm full of anger
I'm constantly riddled with anxiety
I'm fat and pregnant
My skin is a mess
My hormones are on overdrive
I didn't win the spelling bee in the 4th grade....

I poured it alllllllll out. Every last thing in the world that I could think of I laid on the table before God, trying to present my case of how unfair my life is and how badly I am treated.

I was justifying (to myself and to God) why I should be angry with Joe and tell him exactly how I felt.

He came to the door and asked to come in, but I screamed...yes, screamed...at him to Go Away. I'm telling you...this had all the makings of a Brady Bunch episode.

When I finally came out, and met the confused and apprehensive looks on my kids' faces, I calmly cleaned the bathroom.

???

I told you yesterday that I tend to clean when I'm upset or stressed.

And then Joe came upstairs and we had more words.

Let me cut this short and tell you it wasn't until MUCH later that night--and after I said some really awful things like, "I'm DONE!" and he responded with "Done with what?" And I defiantly pointed in his face and said, "Done with YOU!"-- that I finally went to him and hugged him and apologized.

I was awful. I was mean and I said those things to let him know exactly how hurt and angry I was.

I wanted to win.

Just like Dr. Flanagan said in his article, I wanted to win because I felt justified.

But truly winning is when I can express myself to him calmly and still tell him I love him-even when I think he is the biggest A-Hole this side of the Mason Dixon Line. :)

Winning is when I can still feel all those things yet keep my cool and know that this will pass. Like we always do, we'll carry on and find a way through this--but if we keep cool heads.

Not to mention our kids heard every. single. word.

IN fact, E (our 4 year old daughter) stood in front of Joe and told him he's not allowed to be mean to me. And M (our almost 3 year old son) put his little fingers over my lips at one point when I was yelling at Joe.

And a child shall lead them...

So, I learned a lot from this article. I hope you read it. It's grade-A, Class-act advice.

Mixin' It Up In Here

2012-04-23T11:03:00.000-04:00

The past week could have been a real downer:

Rainy, cold weather.
A midnight trip to the ER.
A hormonal roller coaster ride that ended in a huge fight with Joe.

But instead of writing about any of those things (at least for now) I choose to write about some amazing furniture scores I got from a friend.

When I'm stressed, I tend to either clean or decorate. So, this generous friend stepped in at just the right time. :)

Here is how our dining room looked only days ago:

That china cabinet was gifted to me and used to be a yellow and cream color, painted in French country style. I liked it and we've had it for 7 years. I painted it black to match our dining room table and chairs and patted myself on the back for saving us money.

Joe just recently told me he hates it. And has always hated it???

Last week, a friend told me she has a ton of things she wants to get rid of because her family is moving cross-country. The price was exactly in my budget. :)

Joe and I drove over and picked out some AWESOME pieces of furniture. It was too cool. What a great friend!

One of the things I fell in love with was a set of Ikea Epedit Shelves.

Ikea.com

I immediately thought "Office" but when we got home, we measured, and...alas. The walls in the office were too small.

Then we threw around the idea of putting them in the living room. Picture it right where those open shelves are, to the right of the arched doorway.

I don't know if you've noticed, but my style in the living room tends to be more on the traditional side. So.............I wasn't sold on putting something more contemporary in there.

But I knew I wanted these shelves! Come heck or high water, I was going to make these work somewhere in this house...even if it killed Joe. ;)

I had a brain storm and decided...let's try them out in the dining room.

And here's what we ended up with.

Again...my apologies for the crappy pic quality. Some day I will have a fab camera that takes pictures like the ones in magazine spreads.

Joe LOVES it. And so do I. I was afraid of going from the really traditional china cabinet to this much more modern one, but it works. The bottom 2 rows will have pretty baskets that we can store our junk in. And that our kids won't break like the crystal up above. Well, that's our theory. ;)

Baskets like this from Target.

Target.com

So, for now, that helped ease my foul mood and raging hormones. Thanks to my friend Laura. :)

And Joe...truth be told, he did most of the heavy lifting. ;)

Morning Mom Do-Over

2012-04-18T09:06:00.002-04:00

This morning was one of those that I wish I could rewind and do-over.

We were woke up at 6:30 by our 5 year who said he felt sick and that his throat hurt. If he has strep it will be the 4th time in 3 months. That means a tonsillectomy is probably on our horizon.

Then, our 2 (almost 3) year old fell out of his crib (trying to scale the side and escape) and cut his lip open.

When Joe went in to check on him I heard, "Oh, no, Babe..." So, I jumped out of bed (not easy with a pregnant gut this size) and rushed to see what was wrong. M had blood on his hand and face. He must have bitten his top lip when he fell and gashed it open. So, now it's all fat and sore.

Then...we realized the boys hadn't done their homework last night, so that was a rush at breakfast.

And our 6 year old told me that he needed some more birthday invitations because he dropped them and now he can't find some.

Finally...after digging for more info...I found out his teacher wouldn't let him pass them out since he didn't invite the whole class--although we did invite all of the boys, which was the requirement last year--so, of course, he ended up dropping them...which naturally led to losing most of them.

This is my son. He's extremely intelligent, but also extremely disorganized.

And I'm a little chapped at his teacher (whom I absolutely love) for not letting him pass them out. She told him to give them to everyone after school.

Have you seen what the school yard is like after school?

It's like watching a dam break. 300 kids running like they've just been paroled.

There is little to no chance my timid, short, 1st grader is going to seek out and find 11 of his classmates amid that chaos. The 11 classmates he sees for 6 1/2 hours a day, I might add, but isn't allowed to hand them an invite.

Makes me want to growl. And I think I actually did. I know I barked his poor head off. I went on and on about how frustrating it is and how I hate when people make my life harder...blah blah blah. I harped, I scolded, I berated... And now I'm all covered in Mom Guilt.

It's not even 9:00 yet and I'm ready to go back to bed.

Deep breathing. Calming thoughts.

The Happiness Project

2012-04-16T10:07:00.001-04:00

I just started reading The Happiness Project by Gretchen Rubin.

My sister-in-law read it and said how much it motivated her to get organized. I love the idea of being organized, although I'm not always very good at maintaining it.

So, I borrowed it from Leanne and started reading, excited to get that motivational kick in the butt to tackle the things I long for most, but hate doing: organizing and being disciplined.

I have to admit, I'm only in chapter 2, but I am a little bogged down by her writing. She's uber educated, and it shows in her choice of vocabulary and the references she makes (I've never read Tolstoy or Chaucer and I definitely don't allude to them in casual conversation). I can relate so much better to Family Circle or Parenting Magazine. I find myself wishing she could write a dumbed-down version for me so that I can concentrate more on the meat of what she's saying rather than the flowery, many -syllabled words she uses.

I find I prefer a writing style that is more "layman" and "real" than buttoned up and proper. But that's just me. I'm choosing not to throw out the "baby with the bath water."

Despite feeling a little under-pedigreed to read this book, I am learning a lot from it already. It IS motivating me to get down and dirty and dig into the ares where I most need organization: our pantry, my closet, the attic... So that's a plus.

It would be MUCH easier to do this if winter ever decided to officially be "over."

So, have you read this book? What is your take on it? Did it motivate you to create your own "Happyness Project"?

MandyP is Losin' It...Lost It?

2012-04-07T14:19:00.001-04:00

What are the symptoms of stroke? Because I think I may have had one.

Is pregnancy/mommy brain really a thing?

I feel like I am losing my mind.

In the past 24 hours I have been made aware of two very large snaffus that I have perpetuated.

My judgment is seriously impaired. I told Joe I shouldn't be trusted with our kids.

Or with heavy machinery.

Or anyone's pet rock.

For example, how is it possible that I look at these figures:

$207
$346.50
$117
$135

and come up with the sum of $598.50???

Seriously?

I know Math was never my strong subject but that's ridiculous.

And worse yet...those figures represent how much I owed someone. I added all 4 sums together--and then RE-ADDED them for good measure, KNOWING that I stink at adding and subtracting, and promptly wrote out a check for $598.50.

How do I remember to breathe in and out on a regular basis??

I've had pregnancy brain before...many times actually...but this one scares me a little. 2 things in 24 hours and who knows how many more that haven't been brought to my attention yet.

Anyone? Have any experiences you'd care to share? Any suggestions?

When Your Kid Wants To Quit

2012-04-02T11:33:00.000-04:00

I normally hate when someone calls their child their "kid."

I don't know why.

Joe has always been adamant that when our kids started something--soccer, football, dance, baseball, etc--they would not be allowed to quit (barring injury or some other major reason) because he wanted to teach them the value of commitment and follow-through.

I agreed.

Almost 7 years and 5 (almost 6) kids later, we have dealt with many break-ups already. First, our 4 year old daughter E "quit" preschool.

That's right. We were so proud to have a preschool dropout.

She stopped attending for about a week. I talked with her teacher, talked with E, talked with the Director, talked with Joe, talked to myself, talked to E some more....and then I thought I'd found the root problem and got to the bottom of it.

E's teacher called and spoke with her on the phone. E decided to go back and has since addressed the reason why she wanted to quit. All is well.

More recently, she was taking dance and gymnastics classes. She, unfortunately for her, shares my fear of heights and--well, physical activity-- so she announced she no longer wants to go back to class. She's afraid of flipping on the high bar and on the balance beam. No matter how much I assured her that her teachers would be right there spotting her the entire time, she didn't seem interested. She was genuinely afraid. So, Joe and I talked and decided not to force her to do something that obviously scared her.

Last night, her brothers (R-6 yrs and L-5 yrs) announced they no longer want to go to karate.

*Screech*

What?? They LOVED karate! It's an hour of fun and flips and running and more fun.

I don't get it.

Joe and I looked at each other like "How did we breed these kids who want to quit everything??"

What do we do now?

Do we force them to do an activity they no longer like just to teach commitment or do we take into consideration that they have been doing this for months, they are probably tired from full days at school every day, soccer just started, and the drive to get to karate is 30-40 minutes one way?

Believe me...I am not complaining if I no longer have to break my neck to get all 5 kids to class twice a week, then race home, eat dinner, do homework, get ready for bed and do it all on time. In fact, a large part of me was cheering when they said they didn't want to go again.

But...I don't want to set the precedent that they don't have to finish what they start. Especially when money is involved and they could potentially be burning hundreds of dollars up with nothing to show for it.

So...what's the answer? At what point do you listen to your kids and allow them the break of "quitting"? When do you think it is necessary to press on and make them see it through?

ISO...Compassion...And For Pete's Sake, Sound Judgment

2012-03-29T13:36:00.001-04:00

Man. Is my thinking way off the grid.

I swear there is less compassion in the world every day.

Or am I just the odd man out? Maybe I'm TOO compassionate?

Is that possible? To care too much?

I posted yesterday about some things in the news. One of them was a middle school student with epilepsy who was stomped on--on his head and other parts of his body--repeatedly by an "ex best friend."

The reason? The boy with epilepsy apparently [so it's been heard through other sources--not sure how credible] was heard saying he beat his friend in a wrestling match.

That's it. He was talking trash.

And the beating that resulted (and some are actually justifying) is this:

Click HERE for a video clip of the news piece along with cell phone video of the beating. Careful, it's not meant for little eyes.

And click HERE for the other boy's side.

Someone actually commented that we should be careful what we 'ask for' and that the boy who was beaten "pushed the other boy to his limit."

Really?

Where does that end? What's the line? What if someone is unstable or just plain having a bad day and his limit is [what he perceives to be] a dirty look?

If you watched the clip, you know that the "best friend" was well aware that one blow to the head could be fatal to this boy. So there was not one but many, many repeated blows to his head. Jumping into the air and using all of his weight.

I'm not sure how someone can say that and use that line of reasoning, but then quickly follow up with "but I'm not saying it was right..."

Um...yes you are.

And it's because of THAT kind of mentality that our "kids" don't think about the repercussions to their actions. Or--more frighteningly--don't care about the repercussions to their actions.

Please tell me you're also outraged by that video. By other things in this world where we make excuses for people being cruel.

Truthfully, does it matter what this boy SAID about the other boy? Are we going to equate hurtful or angry words with a near fatal beating that was cheered on by others? And videoed?

Was this boy running his mouth and stirring up trouble? No clue. Don't care. Doesn't matter.

If we follow this slippery slope of reasoning, there will be no governing what someone's "limit" is and what is justifiable. The next thing you know I'll be slugging it out with the idiot who cut me off in traffic or breaking a beer bottle over someone's head simply because they pushed me to my "limit."

And do you know how many times a day that could happen? My limit is pretty low. Some days, especially now with all these hormones, my limit can be breached just by chewing too loudly.

What Does Your Fruit Say About You?

2012-03-28T18:07:00.001-04:00

This post is born out of several events in the news within the past few weeks.

*The school shootings in Chardon, Ohio
*Student arrested in the Pittsburgh, PA area for making terroristic threats at the high school
*The man who walked into a court house in Texas and started shooting people.
*A student in Ohio with Epilepsy who was stomped on while on the basketball court because he was "antagonistic" and "liked to start fights." One blow to the head could be fatal for this 8th grader. The other students watching the event were chanting "Kill him! Stomp on his head!"
*Trayvon. Need I say more?

There are so many more that I didn't list and don't even know about.

It makes me sick. It makes me want to pack up my family and go live in some remote part of the world where no one will bother us and I don't have to worry that I will send my kids to school one day only to find out they were beaten, shot or stabbed to death. Or sexually assaulted by a teacher. Or a classmate.

I'm tired of it.

For all the herculean leaps we have taken as far as technology and medicine, we are light years away from where we used to be as far as public decorum and morality (IMHO).

Now, I know I am an exception as far as my worry meter on a daily basis, but there is relevance to my fear of sending my kids off to school for 8 hours a day. Countless people have access to them and their impressionable minds...people I have never met and know nothing about. How many kids are being treated horribly at home and pass that along to my kids? How many adults with their world views that are so far outside of my own, yet who have free, unfettered access to MY kids with a mission to make them more "well-rounded"?

What have we become as a society that our values, politics, and beliefs revolve around who has the most money and the party we least want to offend? Where has our value of human life gone?

No, not everyone is salt of the earth. Not everyone is a quality human being (or even considered a human being!) That doesn't mean it should be deemed appropriate to squash their rights.

I'm angry.

I'm angry at the world I feel like I'm leaving my kids. A world they will either have to toil and kill themselves to clean up or live with in the mire.

I'm angry at myself for caving on too many issues, of keeping quiet, of burying my head in the sand and selling out (and thus selling out my kids??) for the sake of not making waves.

This goes beyond politics, right wing, left wing, democrat, republican, tea party. This is a human issue.

We can dress it up all we want and call it "political" but it's really far deeper and more important than that. We can tie a bow on it and try to remain "calm" and "un-passionate" about these issues if that helps us sleep better at night, but I'm tired of doing that. I am anything BUT un-passionate about my family. (Note: I believe there is a difference between 'passionate' and 'hot-headed')

I don't want to be the intellectual who talks myself into believing certain things are okay and that others aren't simply because it's "political." Or the "deep thinker" who talks himself out of Heaven by following the world's highways and what makes sense in Washington.

If you disagree, it's not my goal to sit here and talk you to death-as some seem to think is reasonable when you disagree with them. These are my thoughts and convictions. If you are feeling the same way, but--like me--too afraid for whatever reason to stand up and clearly proclaim what you believe, then maybe you won't feel so afraid if you know others feel the same way.

It's scary to stand alone. Or to feel like you do.

It's also scary to watch the news every night and hear story after story of kids being bullied and killed by other kids, their parents, strangers, friends... To watch minute after minute of people being arrested for every imaginable crime under the sun.

And I think the days are gone when we think we can live within our own 4 walls and not be touched by it. No way. This is here. It's in our front yard. The battle line has been brought to us. Maybe because we refused to step up and defend it when it was *way back there* so it's crept forward and it's here inside my white picket fence.

I allow discomfort and fear of anger or rejection from sharing my beliefs with others-especially those closest to me. If I believe I am called to share the Good News and stand up for my faith--which I do--what is holding me back?

Fear.

That four letter 'F' word that gets stuck in my throat on an hourly basis.

I am afraid, y'all.

Afraid of rejection from those I love.
Afraid of looking like a hypocrite
Afraid of coming across like a know-it-all
Afraid of confrontation
Afraid of hurting the feelings of someone I care about
Afraid of failing in my desire to do the right thing
Afraid of being wrong and completely misjudging a situation

Afraid.

And I hate it. I watch people make the biggest mistakes and turn their backs on things they professed to care about--and leaving a storm in their wake-- and I am paralyzed. Frozen. I'm so afraid of hurting their feelings or making them mad that I will watch them blindly, willingly and sometimes brazenly walk into a bear trap. All while I smile and cheer them on.

And I'm to afraid to have the conversation. Not the "Oh my gosh Becky those pants make you look fat..." conversation. I mean the "Who are you and what do you stand for?" conversation. The "You aren't living the way you've always professed to believe" conversation. The "what example are you setting and what message are you sending?" conversation.

And the thing is...it isn't on my shoulders to enforce anything with people. Or to change them. But if it's on my heart and on my mind twenty-four-seven (which it is) it is my responsibility to share what I am feeling. In love and lovingly. What they do with that info is up to them. And their choice.

And most importantly, I need to be mindful of what kind of fruit I'm bearing. Meaning, what kind of life am I living and what decisions am I making? Am I robbing banks on weekends, but preaching in church on Sundays? Do I beat my kids at home, but lead my brownie troupe and teach parenting classes? Am I talking about my friends behind their backs but blogging about the importance of friendship and convictions? Am I spending time in a comedy club where "funny" is vulgar and demeaning and then smiling at all my "church" friends on Sunday morning?

And I need to check why it's so important for me to tell others how I'm feeling. Is it because I want to be 'right' and point out a believed flaw to them? Or is it because I care about them?

These are hard questions. And I struggle with some of the above scenarios (NOT the 'beating my kids' one...or the robbing a bank one...FYI).

Can we reclaim our world and this country or is it too late? Are we too far gone? At what point do we shake the dust off our sandals and move on? And will my sandals ever stop being stuck in the mud?

Just Don't Call Me Chubby

2012-03-20T17:54:00.000-04:00

It's March.

It's 70 degrees.

it's G-O-R-G-E-O-U-S outside.

And I am a bloated mess.

I mentioned in my last post that I am measuring "big." Meaning: my belly is measuring over 3 cm larger than I am weeks along. Instead of measuring 22 cm at my last OB appointment, I measured at 26. Yowza.

The doctor was not very forthcoming or worried about why I could be measuring big, so I Googled all the possible reasons on my own. I could have excess fluid, I could just have gained too much weight, the baby could be laying funny, or I could be having more than one baby.

I'm pretty sure I'm not having multiples (and wouldn't that be a hoot and just the thing to officially send us over the edge--or at least get us our own show? Hmm....)

It's very possible I'm just fat. :)

I gained 10 lbs in the past week.

I think there is a healthy chance I have excess fluid.

And I know this baby likes to lay funny because I already feel like he's crowning with every step I take.

So...I'm not worried.

But I am very uncomfortable.

For reals.

These are the feelings that usually come at the end of the pregnancy (or at least in the third trimester.)

I'm not even 6 months yet and I didn't think I was going to make it up the ~~mountain~~ hill to get my kids from school today. Seriously, I had a cramp that wouldn't quit and thought I was going to have to call someone to come and get me. I was a half a block from home. :-/

I have a taste of what Lance Armstrong must have felt as he eyed the last leg of the Tour de France.

Sadly, I don't seem to be sporting the "cute" baby bump that so many do at this stage. Mine is more like 2 fat rolls, one on top of the other. Not as adorable in those super tight maternity shirts that I used to love to wear at 6, 7 & 8 months.

As for the last post and the SMALL chance that this baby could have Down Syndrome....we are not worried.

I am not stressed in the least. Well, not beyond my usual neurotic obsessive anxiety that I have about everything. But that goes without saying.

We are not over-thinking this.

For one, the chance is SO SMALL that this little guy will have Trisomy-21 that we simply don't feel it is a likelihood.

For another, even if God did choose to allow us to have a child with special needs, we will still consider that an enormous blessing and love him with all of our hearts.

That was never a question in our minds.

If the God of the Universe--the God who we believe to be all knowing--chooses to bless us with a baby that has an extra chromosome, who are we to question, fret over, or regret that?

We believe all things happen for a reason and all things work together for good for those who love God and are called according to His purpose.

Phew. Didn't intend to get so heavy there. Must be the hormones. :)

And now I'm off to finish making the other 5 dinner. For some odd reason, they DEMAND to be fed several times throughout the day??

A Little Anxiety

2012-03-15T12:51:00.000-04:00

I had my 22 week OB appointment today. It went much better than my last appointment. I didn't share that here because I needed some time to digest it. And maybe to be in denial a little bit.

We had our ultrasound at week 18. I saw my OB the next day and he went over the results (which we were assured were fine by the ultrasound technician.) Baby looked great, was measuring appropriately and all was well.

So Joe stayed home with the littlest 2 while I went to my appointment by myself. My OB (this burly, Italian, fatherly figure who has delivered the past 3 of our 5 babies...and whom we LOVE) chit chatted with me, glanced over my chart and said, "Oh, we got your ultrasound results back. *Some incoherent mumbling* "Yeah...there's this one thing here I have to go over with you..." and then proceeded to listen to the baby's heartbeat, measure my belly and talk about the weather.

Finally, nearly hyperventilating, I said, "Okay, Are you ready to tell me what you have to tell me since I'm trying not to have a heart attack over here?"

He then explained that the ultrasound indicated a "soft marker" based on the ventricles on the left side of the baby's heart...the "soft marker" could be an indicator of Trisomy 21, or Down's Syndrome.

It was at that point that I stopped listening, stopped breathing.

All I heard was 'Down's.'

I swear I made him repeat the information about 3 times because I just couldn't "get" what he was saying.

What I do remember is that it was a .02% chance that the baby does have Down's. But because I'm 34 and riding the edge of that 35 and older line, he had to tell me. Being 34 (and so close to 35) automatically puts me in a higher risk category.

I left the appointment with some options: have an amnio (which the doc did not recommend), have the triple screen done (which we declined and typically do decline), or ask for genetic counseling at the hospital.

I calmed myself down the whole drive home and gave myself a pep talk that it was such a slim chance-there was nothing to get upset about. I couldn't fall apart when I told Joe because I didn't want to freak him out.

So, I calmly walked in the front door. Joe casually asked me how it went. And I...broke down in sobs and tried to get the info out as best I could as Joe started at me wide-eyed and terrified. I don't know how much of what I said he actually understood the first time.

I caught my breath, he hugged me. :) And then I was able to calm down to tell him what the doctor said.

We both decided that an amnio was out of the question, the triple screen was not an option (for us) because it could indicate a higher risk percentage, and still not be definitive, but could only serve to scare the daylights out of us more...and the truth is...knowing 'definitively' would only do one thing: prepare us somewhat for a child with special needs. It would not change our mind about whether or not to continue the pregnancy.

So, pan forward to today's visit. It was much nicer.

I was a little nervous.

But everything went well.

The baby is low. So low that I thought the doc was going to have to find his heartbeat in my toes.

And...I'm measuring "big." My belly is measuring at 26 when I am only 22+ weeks along and should be measuring the same as I am weeks along.

Hmmm...maybe there IS an extra little one hiding in there. ;)

The moral we've learned here is that we'll try not to overreact. We'll trust God to lead us and not give us more than we can handle. He's been pretty true to that so far.

Slow Down And Taste The Egg

2012-03-13T19:17:00.000-04:00

Today was a good one.

It was almost 70 degrees and sunny (for part of the day at least.)

I got to steal away to Target BY MYSELF and buy those things that I usually avoid and feel guilty buying...a hair dryer, a curling iron, some hair do-dads, etc.

I strolled the aisles slowly, unrushed, and actually remembered every thing I went in for.

There was no yelling, threatening, scolding, fishing kids out of racks, breaking up fights in the cart, denying the one millionth plea for a toy...none of that.

Then...after I paid and shut myself in my quiet van (without buckling 400 kids in their seats) I sat. Just sat. I bought myself a guilty pleasure at the checkout: a Diet Coke and a Cadbury Egg. I sat in the parking lot and enjoyed that Egg. Ohhhhhhhhhhhh how I enjoyed it all; the egg, the drink and the silence, the lack of agenda and demands. It was nearly a Rated R moment.

It's been nice taking a few days after my last post to think about things. I started a study by Beth Moore--one of my very favorite Christian women. I always have such clarity from her studies.

Mostly what I'm hearing from God right now is to be still and listen. Listen. That's not something I always do well or willingly. Maybe I'm one of those people that doesn't like "awkward" silence. Maybe I just don't know when to take my cue to let silence happen. Or let the other person talk.

But I'm trying to learn that.

I thought talking was a challenge-especially in front of group, but--for me--being quiet is far more of a challenge. It involves patience and governing the tongue...two things I usually lack.

Instead of running at the mouth about what was bothering me in the last post, I am contemplating. I'm weighing and measuring my thoughts and motives to see what's real, what's valid, and what's legitimate.

It's kind of nice. Refreshing. It's also a total pain in the arse. Patience is not really my thing.

But, with this new way of being, I'm learning to enjoy more, and savor things...like that sweet Cadbury egg today.

Normally, I would have gulped it down, looking at the clock, afraid I was taking too long and rushing home to relieve Joe of his solo responsibilities with the kids.

This "Southern" way of living may grow on me yet.

{WO}Man In The Mirror

2012-03-11T08:10:00.000-04:00

I think one of my many, many flaws...and one that always gets me into trouble...is that I tend to see people the way I think they are. I know that can't be helped to a certain point, after all I can only perceive things in one way-my way. But with me, I think I assume something about someone and then I look for corroborating evidence to prove that assumption right. And I usually don't realize I'm way off base until it's too late.

I'm famous for this.

It's frustrating and can have some really serious consequences.

It's like the honeymoon phase of a relationship--we tend to ignore or are blind to those things that should raise a flag or--at least-- annoy us enough to tell us, "pay attention to this--you won't be able to live with this later." Or "This is going to be detrimental to you or them or your relationship later..."

I think an old street-beaten cop would call this a *hunch.*

And I just don't always listen to my hunches.

But I'm starting to.

I think I'm being called to make some changes within myself and it's scary.

I hate change and I especially hate painful or hard change.

I've tried in the past with my weight, but this is a different, far more important kind of change. I need to change my insides.

I feel God calling me to get the crap out of my life so that I can see things clearer. You know the verse that says to get the plank out of your own eye before you worry about the speck in your brother's? Yeah. That kind of change.

I see a lot of specks that I feel burdened to address, but I don't think I'm in a place to do that the way I'm supposed to--lovingly and in good conscience--if I am blinded by this 2x4 in my own eye.

Sometimes living in this world feels awful. With all of the good, the bad is often so suffocating. The older I get (and maybe a smidge wiser) I realize just how ensnared and confused most people are. Nothing is easy or simple. And people are always so willing to put their own spin on things-especially "right" and "wrong" and some people are so intellectual and articulate that they will spend an eternity convinced--and convincing others--that they know more and understand better than others. Some people think that if you talk at someone long enough and "get down on their level"--very insulting I might add--that eventually you too will have your eyes opened and see that they are "right."

No matter how *nice* a person is, if they are totally lost in their thinking, yet intelligent enough to convince themselves and others that their's is the correct/valid/right way of thinking/believing...they are dangerous. I have been in contact with too many people like this--whether they intend to be this way or not--to pretend I don't get that gut feeling when I do.

And I have it in spades right now.

I have for a while, but confrontation is never pleasant. Especially if you feel like you're alone in a sea of conformity.

John 15:18 kept going through my mind last night: "If the world hates you, keep in mind that it hated me first."

Speaking the truth in a place where someone doesn't want to hear it is usually a sticky situation. And--I think worse--speaking the truth to someone when they believe they have a corner on the truth is hard, at best. And you have to consider, "Is it worth it?"

Will it be falling on deaf ears? Are they open to hearing you? Will it only add fuel to the fire? Is it better to keep quiet or is it your obligation to speak the truth in light of someone's blatant and obvious misunderstanding/misalignment of the truth? And the fact that they are leading others down that path with their charisma and intelligence?

I dunno. Still trying to figure that one out.

Maybe we are obligated to speak the truth...as long as we wait for direction from God for the right timing and the right words.

And when do you know if it's the right time?? Arrrgh?!

SO there it is...I'm sure it doesn't make sense, but it's kept me up all night. It's not as fun as board and batten or as funny as some of the other things I post about, but it's consuming my thinking right now.

And now it can wiggle around in your head too. ;)

Getting My Panties Out Of A Bunch

2012-02-18T21:09:00.000-05:00

There is nothing quite as refreshing --and sometimes frustrating--as a change of perspective.

Yesterday I yammered on about ignorant people. I railed.

The past few...I don't know...years?? I have felt so hateful.

This is the beautiful face my husband, my kids, and the general public have been so wonderfully graced with the past few weeks.

Hot right?

I know...JUST the thing the husband wants to come home to after a hard day at work.

And exactly what my kids are looking for when they seek out safety and refuge.

And what an inspiring and compassionate individual I come across as, right?

Psssssht.

I suck.

Here's what I WANT to look like all the time.

I want to look (and feel) happy and pleasant. I want to be approachable and not invoke fear in the hearts of small children.

I want my husband to arise and call me blessed. Instead, I think lately he's been calling me something else. Somethin' I ain't gonna put here. And rightfully so.

I have hated everybody lately. Everybody.

Relative. Hated you.
Friend. Hated you.
Stranger. Hated you.
Enemy. Really Hated you.

And all that hate just bubbled up and boiled over inside me and 1) caused my poor little guy inside to churn and swim around in it, 2) only served to make me feel worse and did NOTHING to the people who were irritating me and 3) gave me major heart burn.

So you see...it was all for naught.

But I didn't know how to turn it off.

How much was my crazy pregnancy hormones and how much was me being a selfish, spoiled brat?

Hmmmmm. Don't answer that.

Point is.....I need to get under control for my sanity, for my marriage and for my kids.

Sure those obnoxious people who annoy the bejewels out of me will STILL be there tomorrow, doing all they do to annoy me, BUT I don't have to feed into it or let them have any of my energy.

Easier said than done, True.

I'm all for a magic bullet kind of "fix" but I have a feeling this kind of fix is lengthy, takes some patience on my part (ugh), and probably involves copious amounts of prayer and time in the Word.

*Sigh*

All so very easy in theory and so very hard in practice.

So I'm not here to say, "Ta da! I'm all better" while whistling a jaunty tune and tossing my top hat into the air, buuuut I AM here to say that I recognize the change starts with ME. Not with anyone else.

As much as I WISH it started with you all... HAHA. Just kiddin'

Sorta.

I don't want those awful frown lines etched permanently into my face. The "crow's feet" wrinkles that come from smiling too much? Those I can live with.

I want people to see me and think of me as kind, compassionate, and most importantly, I want that to be TRUE!

I don't want to dwell on all the ridiculous people in this world who grate on my every last nerve.

Like the ones who take advantage or expect someone else to always get them out of a jam, or who are incredibly immature, or who are irresponsible, know-it-all....

*Ahem* I digress.

In conclusion...I can't control anyone else. ~~No matter how much I may want to or how much I try.~~

I can only (sometimes) control myself. :)

And I will try from this moment on.

Let's hope we've seen the last of Cruella DeVille, sans white streak.

Let's hope we see MORE of this gal:

I wouldn't mind seeing more of that handsome guy either. ;)

Ignorant People Of The World Unite!

2012-02-17T11:34:00.000-05:00

Hot topic today: Irritating/Rude People

How do you handle them?

It is inevitable that you will encounter them. After all, with so many billions of people on the planet--all with different backgrounds and beliefs, how could you NOT encounter someone daily who rubs you the wrong way?

Sometimes it's just annoying. The person/people haven't really done anything to offend you, they are just annoying. To you. Maybe it's the way they raise their kids, their beliefs, their annoying status updates, the way they mispronounce words or use poor grammar.

Sometimes you encounter someone who's had a bad day and you're the lucky one who gets the brunt of it. Perhaps they are terrific on a daily basis, but you are in their world at exactly the wrong time.

And then....then there are those who you get along with mostly, but maybe they have a tendency to fly off the handle, have knee-jerk reactions, or blow things all out of proportion. But because 85% of the time you like them, you tend to look past the other 15% of the time when they are complete idiots.

Of course, there are those who are always ignorant. Their opinion is right. They have no governor on their tongues and they really couldn't care less about how their words and actions make you feel.

I think I have encountered ALL of these "types" this week alone.

How do you handle it? What's your go-to resource for handling these less-than-pleasant interactions?

Do you say what you are thinking, feeling at that exact moment? Do you take 5 and collect yourself so you don't "sink to their level"? Do you have a snappy zinger that let's them get the point?

I am conflicted about how to handle these types of people. I had one ignorant lady yesterday offer her unsolicited opinion about the size of my family. I had 500 scenarios run through my mind in about point 2 seconds. I chose the "We're very blessed and think it's fantastic" route, but I so wanted to give her a STFU and mind your own business. Or offer up a "Has anyone had a talk with you about how ugly you are?" in response to her "Has anyone sat down and had a talk with you" concerning the fact that we are pregnant again.

Mature, I know. I didn't succumb to that desire. For some reason, I am still a little shocked when people are so bold, so free with their cutting remarks and unsolicited opinions.

Since I wasn't offering her fashion advice (in response to her dirty hair and decision to wear what were clearly pajamas to the doctor's office) I don't want or expect her parenting advice.

What about those who JUST get it wrong when they say things to you? Maybe you're sharing some news and they completely turn it around and say something that has no place in the conversation? It's as if their response was to something someone else said. You look around wondering who the heck they're talking to. You want to repeat yourself because clearly they didn't hear what you just said. Do you know someone like that?

How about the vague Status Update that is clearly aimed at SOMEONE but it's not identified to whom? Does your paranoia kick in and you wonder if it's YOU they're passive aggressively talking to? Perhaps this is the person referenced above who is famous for flying off the handle and prone to knee-jerk reactions.

Is it just me?????

How do you handle these people? I am actively seeking your feedback.

A Room Fit For Princesses

2012-02-13T14:16:00.000-05:00

Okay, so I'm on a little bit of a decor kick lately.

One room I would love to revamp, but I'm afraid to touch because it's already so cute is the girls' room.

E & H share a very small room. If this baby turns out to be a girl, we're kind of in trouble. There's only so much stacking that can be done in their tiny space without dormers and windows getting in the way, you know?

But...if I were dreaming, I would come up with a few things that I think are must-haves in a little girl's room.

Joe and I toured a house once (when we were wishfully looking to move into a bigger house) that had the most beautiful and whimsical "crystal" chandelier hanging in a little girl's room. It was glass flower chandeliers something like what was found HERE.

I think I would have to get one that was a little friendlier to my budget.

And speaking of lighting...I found one that I think would be pretty in my living room. :) It can be found near the alabaster glass replacement found HERE. It's second from the bottom. Most importantly, the price is within my meager budget. ;)

And then...there's still the matter of our bedroom that isn't quite finished.

We bought some bedding at IKEA, but I saw Gold King bedding and then stumbled onto THIS BEDDING and I am reconsidering...especially since I saw the price is slashed.

But...I think I'm going to have to cook it for a bit. Dave Ramsey would most definitely NOT approve and Joe is going to have a heart attack if I keep suggesting new things.

Until then, I'll keep dreaming...

Why Do I Dream About Remodels??

2012-02-12T09:28:00.002-05:00

When I was looking for photo inspirations for the Board and Batten Dining Room project we did, I found Houzz.com.

I chose "Traditional" for my style and fell in love with the very first page of pictures that popped up.

There is not one single thing I didn't like about the kitchens they showed. And the mudroom? Gah. I dream of a mudroom. Which I shared with you here.

Instead, we have one of those "Welcome to our home here's or living room" type entries...which is no entry at all. I guess in 1945 when this house was built it was all about business and getting right to visiting over taking off one's shoes.

So, after the dust literally settled from the dining room project, seeing the pictures at Houzz.com has reawakened my updating mojo. I want to launch into the boys' room next. I'm feeling some more Board and Batten coming my way...

I found these photos. Really digging the slide action in this one...although I envision many broken bones if we add something like this.

contemporary kids design by los angeles interior designer Cynthia Prizant - Prizant Design, LLC

What about this one? We could fit all the boys and even this baby if it happens to be a boy...talk about a space saver.

tropical bedroom design by tampa interior designer Studio M

So...I'm dreaming. I don't know that full fledged remodels are in the cards, but I can definitely use these pics as inspiration to work with what I got.

Along with my revamped interest in updating, I hope my wallet gets quickly updated too. :)

Batten Down The Dining Room

2012-02-10T22:40:00.004-05:00

Hi, All!

It has been a crazy couple of days here at our house. I have had my husband working like a DOG.

And I am sooooooo pleased with the outcome.

Okay...so YES we are on a budget. Yes, we are participating in a Dave Ramsey program, BUT we managed to eek out a small budget (and I do mean small) to work some magic in the dining room.

Here is a before pic. (Excuse the people in the shot, it wasn't taken as a "Before". I get carried away and start a project before remembering that critical step. Please just look beyond us. :)

So, you get a pretty good idea what it looked like.

I mean, we liked it. It was really pretty. But we've lived with it for 6 years. We were ready for a change.

I have always wanted the look of board and batten. I scoured Pinterest and the Internet looking for ideas.

Finally, after reading 75 million Decor blogs (including Thrifty Decor Chick, Decor Chick and Houzz.com) reading every tutorial I could find, and talking about it to Joe for about 3 months or more.....

I got that proverbial hair up my arse and we went to town gathering supplies.

We saved SOO much money buying primed MDF instead of using wood. It also saved us some elbow grease later when we painted.

And we were SO serious about doing a good job, we even bought a level. That's right, folks, we measured and marked stuff off and stuff. Just to make sure it was done right. ;)

Here are some "during" pics. You know, this is the time when you think it's never gonna get finished...And you wonder if you've bitten off more than you can chew...

Yeah, these are kind of crappy and all the furniture is smashed in the center of the room. NONE of these pictures are taken at the same angle as my crappy "Before" pics, but...

So, after 2 days of working, with breaks to wipe noses, wipe butts, run the kids here and there, make and serve meals, and the occasional bathroom break...here's what we finished with.

It's not "done"...we have plans for a few additional things, but for now we're pleased.

And a little celebratory glass of vino afterward. Don't worry...Joe drank both of them. ;)

Joe & I keep finding ourselves going back into the room just to stare at it. Amazing. I mean, it's farrrrrr from perfect, but we LOVE it!

Because we're so darn proud of this room, I'm linking up on My Uncommon Slice of Suburbia.

Update On Debt

2012-01-27T13:24:00.000-05:00

I should be jumping in the shower right now so I can make it to my son's school on time for his Dance of the Dragon, but I am going to eek out this post really quickly. (Real quick? Really quick? Real Quickly?)

I posted a while ago about mine and Joe's journey into Financial Peace University, a Dave Ramsey program.

We have been to 2 classes (tonight is actually our 3rd class) and we are really pumped at our progress already.

Before the program even started, we had been making strides to pay off debt. For like YEARS we have been paying off or settling credit cards that we had run up HIGH balances on when we had life's catastrophes smack us in the face. We. like SO MANY others, believed that the best way to handle these emergencies was to charge them.

And now we are paying the price...literally and figuratively.

At 29% or more interest, that purchase we made 4 YEARS AGO is still kicking us in the arse.

Anyway...in my last post I told you we had $400-something saved up toward our $1000 Emergency Fund. Guess what happened?

AN EMERGENCY. I kid you not.

Our washer died.

And with our gargantuan family, a washer is not a frivolous item. It's a necessity. We do about 2-3 loads of laundry A DAY and that's conservative. It broke down during the week the whole family had the flu. And the kind of flu where you should NOT take any chances if you're feeling a little pressure...catch my drift?

So, we had PILES of newly "striped" Batman and Iron Man underwear that needed to be washed. Time was of the essence.

So, while it sucked that we had to fork over our hard earned cash, it was awesome that we paid CASH....we didn't charge it. And that is a huge first step on the road to financial recovery!

In about a week's time, if all goes according to plan, we will have our $1000 Emergency Fund in place AND we will be paying off about $8,000 (or roughly 10%) of our debt. That will free up about $125 a month for us. It's a wonderful feeling.

I know this is just the beginning, but we are learning and hearing from others who have become debt free that as you persevere and press forward with this proven program, you gain momentum and pick up speed.

Um...here's where I feel I must confess something though...

Dave says that until you 1) Save $1000, 2) pay off ALL your debt (including mortgage), and 3) save 3-6 months of living expenses, your foot should not leave the gas pedal. That means, no frivolous spending that is not budgeted, no big splurges, and you keep your eye on the prize...

Well, *ahem* we kind of veered off the path a bit.

I know, I know!! I'm hiding behind my hands right now...

It was SORTA an accident (but not really...)
A friend GAVE us a queen size mattress, box springs, bed frame and headboard. GAVE US. As in FREE.

We had a King size bed which was wonderful because of its size, it was also horrible because of its size. Our bedroom pretty much only had a bed in it and very little space for walking around.

So, we thought a queen size would be wonderful for giving us some more space.

And as we were discussing it, I thought, "Hey...this would be a great time to tear up the carpeting that the dog ruined in there!" So Joe agreed.

As he was tearing up the carpet, I thought, "Eureka! This would ALSO be a GREAT time to paint this hideous green and sparkly yellow bedroom. The one that we have lived with for 6 years..."

So, that's what we did...we tore up carpeting and painted. We put the bed together and we are now finishing up with making it look "pretty."

We spent $$ that was definitely NOT budgeted. And I do have the guilts. But I'm also very excited for the bedroom to finally feel nice.

Not that I'm justifying...

So...that's where we are. A work in progress. :) As always.

**I was not compensated in any way for this post. Dave Ramsey has absolutely NO idea who I am and if he did, he would be kicking my butt for going off the track with this bedroom makeover...

But He's My Dad

2012-01-24T21:12:00.000-05:00

My life felt like a Country Song today. I got an awful call from my parents that my dad has been diagnosed with Esophageal Cancer.

That sucks.

Nothing sucks the breath out of your lungs quite like that.

You always know, intuitively, that as you get older and have a family, inevitably your parents age as well. And..no, no one can live forever...but this kind of news is never, ever expected.

I was stunned. I had a million questions all at once, but some I was afraid to ask. How do you ask your dad what his prognosis for recovery is or how long the doctors "give" him?

I know next to nothing about Esophageal Cancer except that cancer is a vicious, unrelenting, hateful, undiscriminating beast. Its ugliness has filled my life enough. It seems every day I am hearing tragedies about families diagnosed with or losing battles with cancer.

My parents were both so strong and upbeat on the phone. They were trying hard not to scare me and I knew it. And all I can think of now, in remembering how calm and wonderful they were, is how often I have belittled them and begrudged them the privilege of being considered good parents.

Or even good enough.

I have long been an ungrateful and thankless child and it totally sucks that it takes something like this to wake me up.

I can't even recount all the times my dad was there for me.

As a kid, I have such fond memories of him playing outside with me, helping me with school projects, training me for my elementary school's "olympics," watching TV together--just the two of us--singing in the kitchen (some made-up rendition of "On Top Of Spaghetti"), hearing his [loud] laugh, his monkey strength, knowing beyond a shadow of a doubt that he could beat up anybody in the world and would protect me at any cost.

I saw my dad as most little girls see their dads...he was my hero. He was the smartest person I knew and he could do anything.

Looking back as an adult, I know now how much my parents sacrificed for us. I know the heartache they felt with every ungrateful word I said and every time I acted embarrassed of them. I now understand how they loved my sisters and I and tried to provide us with a better life.

And I still see my dad as that same guy I used to have to crane my neck back to see...that 5'5 giant. :)

The guy who used to take us sled riding and make dinner, and wrestle with us.

He's my hero; He's the smartest person I know and he can do anything.

Including beat this diagnosis.

I love you, Dad!
xoxo

Hangin' By a Chronos

2012-01-19T21:37:00.000-05:00

Boy have I been chomping at the bit to talk with you all.

I read a blog yesterday by Glennon Melton called Don't Carpe Diem. Maybe you read it? If not, I'm amazed since it seems every single Facebook friend I have posted and shared it. It was shared over 76, 000 times on Facebook alone! 76 THOUSAND times.

If you are part of the 1% who has NOT read this...I urge you...go NOW and read it. And pretend I wrote it because I sort of did. I mean...I think she somehow mind-melded with me and took every single thought I've ever had about parenting and arranged it into this amazing and articulate masterpiece.

I was mentally kicking myself thinking, "Why didn't I write that??!"

My sister offered one possibility: Other than the obvious: I'm not Glennon Melton. I'm too hung up on the need to tie things up with a bow so that I don't come across as too negative. I've been feeling my posts on here of late were pretty negative anyway. And you KNOW there will ALWAYS be that bonehead who has to be antagonistic and tear you to shreds about bemoaning any part of parenting.

Every time I want to be negative...or REAL, as I feel it is...I'm so afraid someone will think I am not grateful for my beautiful kids or I'll offend those who would give anything to have babies. What about those who are opposed to big families (for whatever inane reason)...I hate to give them the satisfaction of a smug, "I told you so" attitude.

So, yes, the voices in my head are many. And I'm tired of listening to all of them.

In fact, I'm in a bit of a funk lately.

Seems that's typical for me in pregnancy. I get exceptionally moody and extra hormonal. I get the baby blues early and want to shut myself in a cave...I'm a breath of fresh air to live with.

And I tend to dwell on Chronos moments more than I should. You don't know what Chronos is? Then you obviously haven't read "Don't Carpe Diem" yet! Go ahead...I'll be here when you get back...

See? Wasn't that a good read? Don't tell me...you laughed. You cried...Right? Go ahead, share it on your FB page. I'll wait for that too...

Anyway...I was telling my sister how my Kairos moments tend to kick in at night, after I've rushed the kids to bed. I've held onto every vestige of patience I have waiting while they fight, put on pajamas, dig for 10 minutes for the perfect toy to have in bed, wrestle, brush teeth, play in the water, tattle on whoever wronged them, pick out a library of books to "read" in bed, tell me 22 last minute stories about the boy who sits next to them in school, and generally drive me mad. I threaten, I breathe heavy, I regain composure, I tuck in, I kiss them goodnight, I pray with them, and then...just when I am tip-toeing out of their rooms...looking at the light in the hallway like I'll one day look at the light surrounding St Peter, all hell breaks loose.

M cries that he wants a different book, L needs a drink, E's head hurts, R wants to tell me one more story about his day, and I look over to find the baby standing up in her crib, jumping up and down with not a care in the world...nor any sign that she will be going to sleep any time soon.

It's THOSE moments when my pleasant demeanor breaks and my "Goodnight-Mommy-Loves-You-Angels facade falls apart and I lose it.

I yell, "I said Good NIGHT! It's LATE! Mommy needs a BREAK!" And then I start barking orders and the peace and magic of the sweet bedtime is broken.

I usually end up apologizing, but by that time the damage is done. THAT'S how they will remember bedtime being. Not a soft kiss on their forehead and a sweet, whispered 'goodnight' but a guttural, animalistic, Linda Blair "GOOD NIGHT!"

And then I finally slink downstairs to the solace I've been pining for...okay so what if the dinner dishes are still on the table and the sink is overflowing with lunch dishes, and there is macaroni and cheese all over the floor, and toys strewn from here to there and everywhere, and our front door looks like a Payless store with everyone's shoes thrown haphazardly all around...it's my solace. I choose to ignore all that, the laundry in the basement, the baby banging her bottle off the back of her crib upstairs, M's weird bedtime chanting ritual, and I sit down. I take a breath and I enjoy the moment that no one is yelling at me or ordering me around or needing something from me.

And then...the guilt sets in. Those nagging voices that tell me how mean I was to the kids and how I will one day miss these days when they are all so little and at home with me. I feel the tears burning my eyes and my throat feels tight. I'm sure I've caused irrevocable damage--yet again--by being so short tempered with those little babies. I feel awful that I blew off R when he wanted to share something from his day with me. After all, it will be in no time at all when he won't want to tell me anything.

And poor E. How callus of me to disregard her headache. After all, I've had my share of migraines that no one cared about and I know how miserable they can be. Poor L. He didn't have a lot of juice at dinner. I'd sure hate to go to bed thirsty and not be allowed to have a drink.

So the guilt and the voices drive me up, out of my seat. I tip-toe back upstairs and into the boys' bedroom. I get L a drink of water and I tap R on his skinny little arm and say in a whisper, "Hey, Buddy! What was it you wanted to tell Mommy?" I smile serenely and rub my finger over his soft little cheek. And he starts to tell me his story. But it's not in the library-worthy soft whisper and tone that I used. It's in his full-on "Have I got a story for you" voice. I wince at how loud it is and sharply shush him. The shush gets M's attention, who rolls over abruptly in his crib and starts yelling that he wants a toy. Then L asks if he can get more water, and in doing so, gets E's attention across the hall. She, in turn, starts yelling to me that her head still hurts. I sigh very heavily and hold my head like it may explode at any moment. Because it very well may.

And then...I do it again. I yell to everyone to get quiet and get in bed, in a voice Johnny Cash would have envied. And then I repeat all the same motions as the first go-round of bedtime...complete with the guilty walking of the gauntlet where I collapse on the couch downstairs feeling worse than I had the first time.

Moral of that story: Do your apologies the next morning.

No seriously...the moral is...I don't know the moral. That's just where I happen to be right now. I'm beaten. I'm tired. I'm done.

And yet I know it will all start again in just a few short hours. Plus, this house needs to be picked up before the husband gets home and utters the unforgivable. "What did you do all day? This house is a mess!" And I have to add murder to my list of sins for the evening.

And I'm reaching into that reserve of mothering-ness that we're all supposed to have somewhere. I think it got lost along with my waist, my desire to cook and sew and do my hair and makeup every day.

And I think, "This sucks."

Why can't I carpe diem better? I feel the diem keeps carpe-ing my ass instead.

And then I get hateful and think things like this about perfect strangers, "I hate you all. Get off my planet."

And I reel it back in...slowly I refocus and try to spin my head back around.

And I remember those other wise words I've heard parents with grown kids say...."Your kids won't remember those times you snapped at them. They will remember more how much you love them."

And I hope to God they're right!

Happy New Year! And All That Jazz.

2012-01-05T13:26:00.002-05:00

Isn't this the post where I'm supposed to launch into how wonderful our holidays were and what my New Year's Resolutions are?

I just don't have the energy.

Our holidays were wonderful. I'll give you that.

They were also exhausting.

For 4 weekends straight we got together with family. Often on both days of the weekend.

I love my family. It was just very tiring going here and there.

Add to it the manic Christmas morning with 5 million toys and 12 lbs of wrapping paper...mixed with, 180-piece gifts the kids received and you'll have a better understanding of why I want to hibernate.

It's 106: in the afternoon and here I sit in my PJs, hair unwashed, face a bland, empty canvas, and I have zero desire to change any of it.

Joe had the flu. Joe gave me the flu. I volleyed between laying in bed and on the couch for 24 hours straight, stopping only long enough to slap together some PB&Js and then crawl back to bed. The kids were pretty much unsupervised that entire time. I'd yell from the couch to make sure our almost 1 year old was okay. But there was nothing, I mean nothing that could have gotten me off that couch.

Not free Coach bags
Not chocolate
Not Jake Gyllenhaal-shirtless or otherwise
...I don't think even a frggin bomb could have moved me.

I was that sick.

It happens about once a year.

And now it's working its way through the kids. I have every confidence that it will work it's way back to moi...just as everyone else is happily on the mend. And then you'll see the fine print of our couch embroidered on my face once again.

New Year's here was uneventful. We celebrated at home with the kids. We made pizzas, had ice cream sundaes and then had a sparkling wine toast at 10 PM. (Maybe even a skosh before 10, but the kids have no idea.) Then Joe and I sat up watching riveting TV waiting for midnight.

It was somewhere during the 20th episode of Dog the Bounty Hunter when I turned to find this:

You're going to have to use your imagination and lean your head to the side...this dadgum picture won't rotate like I want it to and I'm ready to put my fist through the computer screen after trying for 10 minutes.

So anyway...there I am, enthralled by another episode of Beth Chapman's cleavage and 20 foot fingernails, when I look over to say something to Joe...and I found that. What a vision.

We did manage to see the ball drop. And then we went to bed.

Where are the days when we just getting started at midnight?

I'm getting so old. It's very depressing.

Even more depressing...I'm watching the clock to make sure I can post this and STILL get in my nap before the kids come home from school. What's become of me?