Eye Contact.

I think we are all aware of how important eye contact truly is.

In some cultures it is considered rude to not make direct eye contact.

It would seem untrustworthy in a job interview to not be able to make eye contact with your prospective employer/employee…

If I were on a date, I might find it odd and unnerving if my date couldn’t make eye contact…or even trying to talk with a loved one or friend about some topic I was concerned about…it could lead me to think they thought otherwise of what I was saying, or knew more about the topic than they let on.

Regardless of the circumstance, eye contact is important.

And it seems to bug me a lot lately.

It’s not my husband…he is a pro at eye contact…at holding one’s attention when speaking…albeit a little long-winded, but able to hold his audience’s attention.

Especially with my kids.

Not my older kids…I know when they don’t make eye contact with me, it’s because they are up to no good…and can call them out on it before they can blink.

I have such guilt about my lack of eye contact…with my little ones.

It’s me.

I know I spend 99% of my days with them. I wake them, feed them, help dress them, entertain them read to them…but rarely look them in the eye.

Just typing that hurts.

I am consumed with NOT making eye contact with them…with doing the necessities so I can go back to what I want to do- whether its daily chores, work, painting, reading an article, grocery shopping or just zoning out on social media (the worst of it all)…I feel as though if I make direct eye contact with these precious little faces, they will suck me in…I will never get anything done. I will have to play Barbie’s or a board game or matchbox cars, or color…God forbid I stoop to their level and interact with them in their world…yet I expect them to behave at all times in my adult world of rules, chores, grocery shopping, work and Twitter updates.

I am ashamed. But I am guilty of this.

I will occasionally succumb to the world of all things imaginary, but after doing it with the older kids, and faced with doing it for another five to ten years, I feel deflated…defeated. Like…”when the hell is it gonna be about me?” kind of feeling. Or I get that charming reminder from family or friends that we CHOSE to have more babies later in life…

Marley attempting to hold her almost 11 pound baby brother, Chance, five years ago.

Yes, we did ( what can I say…we like each other…a lot!).

And I will own that choice. But I am no good to my babies, old or young, if I am defeated and deflated.

I guess I can’t look them in the eye because of this…my guilty feeling that I feel like I deserve more time to myself because I already did this for twenty past twenty years…I am tired, beaten down and older…

But I promise those sweet little faces in my picture above, that they will have more of my attention. I selfishly want time to belong to me, but their time as little ones is so short…

I will promise them to look them in the eye each day, and tell them I adore them, and ask them what they want to do with me…that may open a can of worms, but it is the job I signed on for, and the guilt is too much to bare some days…so…

I promise I will be a better mother, mommy… a better me. I will look all of my loved ones in the eye and remember why we became a family in the first place.

 

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Potty Talk.

I feel like I lost my funny side.

So much heartache and sadness as of late seems to have made me not so funny.

Or maybe I never was funny…

I always thought I had a slightly humorous side to me, especially in a dark moment to bring some light.

But I am THAT girl…the one who always forgets the punch line…or the end of a knock knock joke.  Which seems to make my family and friends laugh more…I am the official spoiler of a good joke!

I may not be the next Ellen DeGeneres, but at least my kids are funny…and our son? Now HE is funny.

I won’t tell him this now, for fear he will be the class clown at a young age.

But he is also the only one that REALLY thinks I am funny, so he holds a special place in my heart for laughing at all things Mommy.

He is three and loves potty talk, so any word like fart/poop/butt make him roll on the floor with giggles…

My hubby, you would think some days, might be three as well…he also loves potty talk…he too will roll on the floor with laughter with fart jokes and poopy songs…

I, however, am not a huge fan of bathroom related humor.

I am the potty talk snob, I guess.

My three year old’s favorite word right now is “diarrhea”…which was probably learned from one of his father’s self-penned songs about bowel movements.

Our son literally will say the word diarrhea over…and over. AND over. To the point where yesterday, I pulled him aside and said this needs to stop. Mommy doesn’t like this word and potty talk is not nice…Your teacher next year will NOT be happy with potty talk…he laughed.

Am I surprised? Nope.

He has the unfortunate talent of twerking as well (his older sisters teaching him this as soon as he was able to walk) and now he has a growing audience of twelve cousins/siblings and all of their friends who laugh and post videos on social media at his antics. He breaks out the twerk dance moves and screams ” diarrhea-butthead-poopy face!!!” and makes them all start howling with laughter and pulling cell phones out to film for yet another snapchat story…he is breaking into the performing arts at a young age.

We are in trouble. BIG trouble.

I can hear my phone ringing in September…caller ID showing my son’s preschool number.

“He did WHAT?!! Noooo…not our little man. Are you sure?!!” Twerking on tabletops screaming DIARRHEA???!!!

Oh yes…that is my son (as my voice lowers to almost a whisper, full of embarrassment).

Did I say BIG trouble?

Nipping this one in the bud by the end of the summer…we will slowly fade out of potty talk and more into ABC’s and 123’s (or my hubby’s cell number will be first on the list for Emergency Contact Phone Numbers at preschool).

It feels good to write about something senseless…even though it may become a big problem for us as parents with a toddler who soaks up more trash talk than Spongebob.

Potty talk will probably always be hanging around this house since all of our kids have my husband’s sense of humor, thankfully. They are becoming pretty well-adjusted, well-mannered young people…and can still come home and left off some steam (or gas) with some good potty jokes with Dad…

There are bigger woes in life for us right now, and potty talk may not be appropriate, but if it makes them laugh right now…it can stay…

Until preschool starts.

Taking The Plunge.

I always thought I knew something about this. Diving deep into it, realizing I literally had no clue what I was trying to do.

It is very similar to dating. It needs to be a perfect fit. It needs to be submerged totally into the situation to be able to commit. To make it work. Otherwise, it will suck you dry or overflow with emotion.

That was me and my hot date tonight…

With a plunger.

I swear I knew how to use one.

After living on my own for a few years and my hubby traveling sometimes more than being home, I assumed I used one on occasion.

Not the case after scouring countless websites and DIY videos. After running to Lowe’s with my two little ones to buy a snake just in case my final attempt at plunging failed yet again.

On top of my fears of not being able to fix not one but TWO clogged toilets, I began my usual ranting and raving and discovered that my kids MAY have been throwing kitty litter in the one toilet from the litter boxes…

Well, well, well…

Needless to say when I googled that topic, it was not a good outcome. And the young kind fella  in Lowe’s who led me to the snakes,  looked bug-eyed and pursed his lips…then reiterated what I had already read online…

VERY bad.

Very expensive…and may need to pull the toilet out.

 

 Not this mama.

I scanned the internet some more on the how-to’s of using a snake, put my Supermom cape on and used my ten-dollar snake till I conquered both toilets.

Messy. Gross. Disgusting.

Don’t think we should ever compare dating to the act of plunging a toilet…maybe some marriages or relationships and friendships after they run their course…but not dating.  They may seem similar, but I may be a tad on the grumpy side tonight after the events of my day (while the hubby is on yet another trip…not just for Utah anymore-see blog regarding Utah), so don’t take dating advice from me.

But if you are on a date and you are thinking this person may just suck the life out of you,  then run. Or call a plumber…he could just be what you were always waiting for!

The Rush.

Good Lord. Can life be any crazier?

The rush. 

The rush to wake up early after very little sleep and get the day started.

The rush to make and eat and clean up breakfast.

Get everyone cleaned, dressed and ready to rush out the door.

Check the clock.

Not late yet, but pushing our luck.

God help us if we have a last-minute diaper change or run to the potty.

Rushing to finish task number one on our “day off”.

Rushing to prep yet another meal. Eat. Clean it up…again.

Are we having fun yet?

Rush to throw more laundry in after lunch and contemplate a quick dinner for later.

Find hubby’s suitcase for trip number three this month.

Have daughter’s car towed for the second time in week before hubby leaves.

Rush to squeeze in five minutes of googling  a new car for daughter.

Time to rush out the door again.

This will not stop till I rush to get little ones bathed and in pj’s and into bed, in hopes that my eyes will stay open long enough to read a few pages of my new book, or write another blog, or watch some mindless show on t.v.

I am pretty sure I may have written about a day just like this one, several times before. So if there is one thing you have learned about me, that there is a small bit of consistency in my life.

I am rushing now to finish this before the troops literally come marching in to find me huddled at the computer venting about my day so far…

Maybe I should start running… I am getting faster with all this rushing around and typing like a whiz…