My son, T. 2.5 is going through a stage now where he will invariably end up in my bed sometime between 12:15am and 12:30am. He does not go to my husband; he wants nothing to do with anyone but me. He … Continue reading
“What Went Well?” Three little words. Three very simple words. And they have become a part of my vocabulary over the past month. I know about Gratitude lists; I have kept gratitude journals, I have gone through phases of writing … Continue reading
Standing around with two of my best girlfriends at my daughter’s 4th birthday party, I found some validation, enlightenment, and perspective (as much as one might muster amid a horde of tiny, rushing, screaming humans).
It has been an interesting day for me today, and while I don’t frequently share these little incidents (mainly because they are horribly embarrassing and happen way too frequently), I felt this one was crazy enough to do so.
Parenthood: More than just juggling hearts and flowers!
When you have two working parents, and two children, there are many different things you have to try to balance. It’s not easy. It’s exhausting. It frequently requires a tag-team effort.
Yes, there are the meals that go uncooked, the house that goes uncleaned, and mass chaos but on top of that there are other considerations:
Can you relate to any of this? Parenthood: a wonderful journey requiring frequent comedy breaks and a massive sense of humor!
My niece has inspired a new list for me this evening. I will call it “Things I Don’t Get”…
1. Why anyone would need an additional belly button tattoo right next to the original: was the first one lonely?Didn’t it hurt enough the first time?
2. Skinny jeans: they certainly don’t make anyone skinny!
3. 18 self-checkout machines manned by 3 employees staring at the 26 people in the regular check-out lane for who shopping in the first place was a big enough ordeal without bagging it all too…
3.5 Ditto for airport self service kiosks;
4. Entertainment venues offering children’s parties where parents are not free;
5. The existence of caffeine-free diet soda in general (and how I have managed twice now in two weeks to buy it);
6. Why they can’t make in rewards card that accommodates a plethora of vendors;
7. Velveeta.
Clearly I am getting old, rigid and easily confused, but honestly it wears me out just thinking about this stuff.
The first item on my list is really just to razz my sister about her crazy kids…though yeah, STILL don’t get it.
Those articles that shout “you too can have it all” must be outright lies…or just belong to someone else’s reality.
It has been well over a month since I have written anything more elaborate than a Facebook status: partially because I haven’t had time and partially because I get ashamed when I see myself falling behind and would rather fall off the map than admit I see an inability to get everything done as a weakness instead of just a practical reality.
In the past few weeks, I have had a loved one unexpectedly hospitalized (way scary), giant projects at work, the birth of a new niece and travel shoved in with general survival. Add in several anxiety attacks, occasional bouts of exercise, toddler tantrum remediation and obligatory social occasions and you have…
Life.
It’s the way it goes. You roll with it or fight it; the former has benefits of conservation of energy, the latter allows room for the illusion that we have much control.
I went away for a hiring event (one I worked my arse off to plan and execute) for one of my company’s locations. It was many long hours on my feet, and my blister’s blisters had babies over a 4 day period.
My sainted hubby had the kids alone while I was gone. Both kids and the dog got sick at the same time. After 4 days of business travel I flew home, got off the plane, arrived at my house (after an hour stuck in rush hour traffic) and took over for the weekend.
Today I went back to work wondering
If I really did anything this weekend beyond herding crying children, wiping gooey, snotty faces and hiding in the bathroom (which doesn’t work by the way).
And yet? I have a job to go to and a reason to work hard. I have the children and family I always wanted. We’re not rich, but we have a roof and clothes and help should we need it. I have reasons to laugh daily. Everyone made it through their various illnesses, and I am still here to write about it all.
And while I wish I were writing more, perhaps I should just be grateful I can write at all, and be pleased when I can eek out more than a fragment in a bathroom stall (ew!) or during bouts of insomnia.
Or maybe at least I can be willing to accept that I am human, I can only do so much, and be thankful for those things that I do manage to get done…and accept that for me, if I am spending time cuddling my babies (and yes, they are not technically babies, dangit, but they are my babies) and providing for their welfare as best I can, I’m doing okay…and maybe work on trying to better fit some of the other bits in there too and not be so hard on myself.
I have always thought it important to have both dreams and goals. For much of my life, that was difficult to articulate: I am one for who most of those dreams have always been a little hazy and insubstantial…with a few exceptions:
I woke this morning before 5am, as is becoming normal for me. I went into the bathroom, starting to get ready to take a shower and I realized my iPhone was at 1% of battery life. Instantly panicked (as anyone as phone-dependent as I am quickly becomes at this status) I brought my phone over to the outlet in the bedroom and plugged it in. I started checking my email, etc. and the next thing I knew, ended up working on a blog post for www.mischiefofminions.com (my other blog, more kiddie-focused: feel free to check it out!).
My husband discovered me still there when he woke up 40 minutes later.
“Um – whatcha doing?” he asked.
I may have mentioned before that I am fat. It’s not much of a secret. I don’t like to use that term, hate it in fact, but it is a medical reality. And I am struggling once again in attempt to fight it.
My inspiration is simple: I don’t want to be this big. I hate it. I sometimes hate me because of it. And that is not a good example to be setting for my kids.
When I went to a doctor recently because I seem to struggle with losing weight – even when I eat the right things, I was put through a battery of tests that basically said there isn’t a darn thing wrong with me. The dietician looked at food logs I presented, then back at me, perplexed.
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