Tag Archives: motherhood

Clean House.

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Clean House.

I DO appreciate a clean house.

My house is rarely ever spic and span clean, but occasionally it is for about an hour.  Today is my cleaning day…not a beach day or errand day…but a much needed cleaning day.

Yes we load/unload the dishwasher daily. And fold mountains of clothes daily…even scrub the bathroom multiple times per week with seven people in one tiny house…but clean clean weekly?

Nope.

Haven’t done this kind of cleaning in months.

Dust has moved in almost permanently as well as cat hair on literally every piece of furniture and somehow lampshade.

Organizing? Forget it…

Almost every drawer and closet is filled to capacity with misplaced items shoved in wherever they will fit.

Clean houses don’t seem to go hand in hand with busy lives…we shove things away to make the small living spaces look tidy, as we run out the door for the tenth time in a day. I may even occasionally use a dirty dish towel to dust off a few table surfaces as I walk the towels up to the laundry basket. If I am lucky, I will hit all three tables I pass by on my way up the stairs, if not too distracted with the twenty pairs of shoes/books/papers/bags piled on each step on my way up the stairs.

In my distraction up to the laundry, I may even notice the clumps of ever-growing cat hairs on the stairs, and blow them down with my breath to the landing (so then they are more consolidated) or use my now very dusty dish towel to shoo them down below.

Entering the hall bathroom where all the laundry hides in the closet, I come across wet towels and clothing strewn across the floor, then see the closet oozing with more wet towels and clothes as if it vomited dirty clothes all over the floor.

I remind myself daily that all these chores can be done quickly if all seven of us pitched in one day a week (along with the bickering of who-did-what-and-when and that they collected the trash already this week or did the dishes)instead of me giving up a whole day on the weekend…then I remind myself of these weekends…

My clean house weekends…just me, and some of my music, cleaning and schlepping up and down the stairs for hours…it sounds like torture, but for some reason, in my weird motherly way…its almost like a much needed Mommy Timeout.

I crave these days...for dusting to be an actual completed task, not just one or two tables at a time…the laundry done and put away…at least for one day.

To sit back when I am all finished, with a cocktail in hand (trust me…by the time I am done, it will be five o’clock here too) and actually seeing order in a very lived-in chaotic world.

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But in all honesty, I am starting to appreciate the messy days here as well, as two of the kids leave for college very soon…they will take some these messes with them, but also some of my heart.

My house will be a little less messy but also a lot more quiet.

I am excited for the future and watching our children grow into individuals, but I am already beginning to miss what I have today…

A very dusty/ messy/ loud home…

But also full of life and love.

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Tired.

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Tired.

I am whooped.

All the time.

I am pretty sure the only time I ever sit is to go to the bathroom or write a blog.

From 5:30-ish (depending on how many times I can hit snooze without causing a panic attack) in the morning, until I lay down with my little ones at 8:30 at night…I do not stop moving. I keep expecting to pass by a mirror and see a Cindy Crawford type body…

But it is still me…

Frazzled, droopy-eyed, flabby me.

That’s okay…I have slightly accepted middle age…minus my thinning hair, constant confusion, stress, and of course…exhaustion.

I do not ever remember being so tired before kids. I know I do not sleep well, but never have since I was little.

Even when I worked seven days a week at two jobs and then went out late to the bars with friends, I was not this tired.

I know I hear many people swear that a nice glass of wine or cocktail can help with a good night’s sleep…not working on this lady! Even two or three sometimes have zero effect on this mommy.

I pump myself full of vitamins and supplements daily, eat better than ever…

Except for my terrible addiction to pork roll.

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Maybe I should just accept that the ten minute cat nap occasionally as I get my toddler to nap, or the twenty minutes of dozing off as I try to read a book to the little ones at bedtime, is all I really need at this point in my life.

I read once that Martha Stewart only sleeps like four hours a night…I could handle that. 

I could get ALL the laundry done AND folded, make lunches, dust, answer emails, write a blog more than once a week, prep meals…just no vacuuming…that wouldn’t be fair to a house full of peacefully sleeping kids and hubby.

Maybe even slowly build an empire based on early morning crafts/baking/organizing…

Or maybe not.

I don’t want to be up at four in the morning anymore than any other mom reading this…

I would love peace and quiet occasionally, and less clutter, AND sleep…

But I will settle for maybe five or six hours tonight since I just got the laundry all done AND put away, vacuumed (half the house), and cleaned up dinner ALL before bedtime…

I deserve that extra half hour of slumber tonight.

And hitting snooze a few times.

Potty Talk.

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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!

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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.

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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.

Cartwheels.

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Cartwheels.

My eight year old daughter loves to do cartwheels.

I remember loving to do them as well when I was young. We spent countless hours outside riding bikes, making mud pies, doing cartwheels.

My little girl has finally mastered the cartwheel. After years of trying, and falling on her bottom, she can do it with ease…not always gracefully, but with confidence.

On Mother’s Day, I decided to show off to my little girl…and attempt a cartwheel…I have not stood in position to do this in probably thirty years…I was excited…adrenaline pumping!

I did it!

And then did it again!

With my new found healthy outlook, I thought it was something I could do again…or not.

I pulled something in the back of my leg and I am still feeling it today.

I posted something on Facebook about my silly attempt and found words of encouragement…”If a 40 something mom can still do a cartwheel- flip away!!”…  if a woman my age can still do a cartwheel, then that is an accomplishment!

Me being a pessimist, didn’t see it that way…

But things change. I was very wrong. If I can do a cartwheel with my own two legs…If I can be outside in the sunshine and running around with my kids on a beautiful Mother’s Day…If I can break bread with my loved ones and not worry about what I am eating…If I can take the time to sit down and write about trivial things…then I am blessed.

I am lucky to be a Mother…I am fortunate to have found good health again… I am blessed to be able to do a cartwheel.

Many little things and a few BIG things brought me to this moment of clarity…

I take too much for granted.

Even if for just a moment, I can stop and appreciate these little gifts, then it was worth the pulled muscle or indigestion or being frazzled at juggling all the day’s events…

I actually DID a cartwheel again.

Thank you, Marley.

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The End.

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The End.

It shows up at the end of a movie. Or even a book. It happens after enjoying a warm cup of coffee. Or delicious sweet treat.

It happens.

It comes in all shapes and forms.

And then there is the end…

The one people don’t like to talk about. It stirs up emotions stronger than most of us like to ever feel.

It is hard even when it is expected…after a long beautiful life of up’s and down’s, laughter, sadness, joy…

But sometimes I don’t finish that cup of coffee…it sits till it gets cold and I wind up dumping it out and regretting that I didn’t get to finish all of it…that I didn’t allow myself the time to embrace the moment of me and my cup of coffee.

Or even that book that I was so anxious to read…I get distracted and cannot follow all the stuff in between and jump to the end.

I shouldn’t do that.

The “stuff” in between is what creates the end. The building blocks that supports that story.

Or the cup of coffee that sometimes needs to be enjoyed quietly, reflecting on the day ahead and days passed.

Life brings the end too soon all too often. And sometimes unexpectedly.

We get caught up in the daily grind and forget about all those pages in between. I do it all the time.

My daughter’s teacher died yesterday very unexpectedly.

She as well as all of her other students and school are in absolute shock.

I didn’t know what to say to my child who lay on the floor sobbing. I knew this amazing woman, but own briefly.

She taught agriculture to my child and countless others over her many years as a teacher…

When our daughter came to us last year and said she wanted to take agriculture instead of what she had planned all along to take ( our kids attend a Technical high school where they take regular high school classes along with learning a vocation of their choice), we laughed.

No!…Why  are you changing at the last minute? You won’t even help weed our gardens or sit outside…is how the conversation kind of went.

She told us of this teacher and how much she enjoyed the way she taught and loved her students.

We caved.

And ever since the first day of school, my beautiful daughter could not bare to miss the beginning of school when she had this teacher…My daughter, as well as many of her students, were so close with her that they would call and text her…or the teacher would call them if they were sick or out to check in on them. So when the teacher didn’t show up to school yesterday and they all tried to call her and it went to voicemail, they knew something was wrong…so very wrong.

She called them all her “children” and nurtured their souls not only with teaching about how to create life through plants and how to grow beautiful flowers, but through laughter…

I believe everything happens for a reason…my daughter was meant to grow to love this teacher and learn from her. This will change our child forever, but she will learn from it and grow.

It is too soon to tell her this…I know that much to be true.

But this woman, it seems to us on the outside looking in, didn’t get a fair shot…didn’t get to finish reading that book or enjoy one more donut with her class, or even sit back and enjoy that last sip of coffee…

Maybe she did…maybe she was content with each day she was gifted with her “children” and how they made her laugh and how she got to watch their faces light up in amazement at the beauty of blossoming flowers in Spring can be…

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Two Faces.

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As I get ready to cast my first stone, many will say I shouldn’t dare say what I am about to say. That I too, have two faces.

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We all do.

We have a good face, and a bad face.

The good one is wrinkle free, blemish free and smooth and soft like a baby’s bottom.

The bad face is ugly…oozing zits, lines, scars,  dark circles…you name it, it is there.

I tend to like to think that I could look in a mirror and see the good face…underneath, there are flaws, insecurities,  self-doubt. But confident enough to say that what I am looking at is worth it enough to smile back in the mirror at myself.

I have bad face days too…but not to the extent I am speaking of. The dark circles and lines build up to the surface after too many moments like the one inspiring me right now to write this all down and clear my head.

My head is swirling with the images and emotions of people with these two faces. That are making me feel ugly right now thinking this way. That cause me to be angry, or sad or mad or even jealous.

Horrible childish feelings that make me want to scream or cry…in their faces and beg them to explain why they do the things they do.

To say something so hurtful or jaded and pass judgement on someone and then befriend them…why? Out of pity for them so you mock them behind their backs as well? To not speak or utter a word to someone for ages, and yet constantly creep into their world and stir up these ugly feelings? That is what it is doing and I do not know why I let it in…I just cringe at the thought of how mean some people can knowingly be…sometimes they are even so aware that they are this way, and just don’t care…maybe because they need to have the last laugh? Feel vengeful after feeling tormented their whole lives for not fitting in or knowing how to show their true good face?

It must be easier to reveal their bad face to overcome their own insecurities and darkness inside. Because now as I write this, I am reflecting on more and more moments of people with their bad faces staring at me.

Maybe its me.

I bring out the worst in people? I cause them to dig deep in the darkness and say or do these terrible things?

I think not.

I may be a lot of things, but the one thing I will never  own is someone else’s b.s.

I have enough of my own, thank you.

If someone feels the need to entertain me or build a “friendship” based on these ugly truths/lies/gossip, then they are no friend of mine.

At some point we should all have a comfort level to say how we really feel about someone or something. ..but only if we know that other person really well or “think about what you are going to say before you say it” mommy-ism in the back of our heads making sure we edit our thoughts and feelings before putting them out in the universe.

But sadly, many do not think before they speak…including me. But some things are better left unsaid. And the moments that are gnawing at me now are ones that should have stayed tucked away...forever.

I want to crawl under a rock or run far away from people like these, and cry for them.

I pity them…I know I am not perfect, but I have never recalled a moment where I could show such a wicked ugly face then turn and have my pretty happy face on, ready to put on a good show.

As I get older,  I am thinking maybe I just think too much…or care too much. Even about that person who was judged, who doesn’t want or need me anymore, and maybe even that dark ugly face of the person who always shows me their good face, to then turn their back and a split second later speaks ill of me.

I need to stop.

I have vented before about these trivial things because they truly do bug me. I don’t know why. My husband could care less about them. I don’t think that’s the right answer either though…

We should care how we treat each other and the example we set for our children…karma is a you-know-what so we need to remember our kids are watching and listening to every word we say…and checking our faces that we show them…the good one, or the bad.

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When I’m 57…

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My baby boy will eighteen.  My oldest will be going on thirty-three.

My oldest randomly text-ed me this unnerving question the other day, as she lay poolside in warm and sunny Florida on Spring Break…while I was here on  the home front, caring for the little ones and managing the house.

“Have you ever thought how old your gonna be when Chance JUST graduates high school?? Not even college yet!”198684_4766656609542_1856966002_n

I gasped when I first read it…

What on Earth was my beautiful, eighteen year old daughter thinking by asking me this question???

I shared the question on Facebook, only because it was so insane at that moment, I needed some motherly backup…reassuring me that yes indeed my kid was rude and inconsiderate.

How are we to send her off to college in a few months and let her live in the city on her own, when she doesn’t even know one of the basic skills of life...think before you speak…or text.

Later that night, I laughed about it.

Not because I thought it was funny, but because I overreacted.

My daughter was starting to ponder life…the big bad world that lies before her. She was genuinely concerned at how old I may be when my youngest is her current age…maybe because she thought I may be crippled or too fragile by then to help him through his senior prom and graduation.

And help pack up his things and ship him off to college fifteen years from now…

Or maybe even whether I may be alive…maybe she hasn’t yet grasped different stages in life and aging, not realizing that 57 is still pretty young in our world.

When she returns from her mini Spring Break in Florida with her Grandparents, I may have to pull her aside and ask her what provoked such a thought.

Until then, I will take this Forty-something old body that is a little sore at the moment, but healing and getting healthier everyday (all due to my new way of eating and lifestyle so I live to be a hundred), and continue folding mountains of laundry, sort through the explosion of summer clothes that my teenage girls dug through for their last-minute getaway, and wait for my husband to come home from yet another trip to give me a “mommy time-out”…

I am told I will miss these crazy days someday, when all the kiddos have moved on to college/jobs/starting their own lives…

I probably will after my 57 year old body locks the front door, takes my bra off through my sleeve, throws it on the ceiling fan, cracks open a chilled bottle of wine and blasts some Duran Duran like the free spirit I once was…

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a long, long time ago, in a galaxy far away…

Blogs.

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Blogs.

I was just checking in to see what is up on my stats (for the fiftieth time today) and what might be freshly pressed.

Which had me thinking what this blogging business is all about.

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Is it just merely editorials for writers that don’t get that big job at a newspaper or magazine they really wanted to write for,  a new type of career path for writers, or for moms like me who have a lot to say about something and sometimes nothing at all, or even those b.s.’ers that claim you can make thousands a month writing a blog? STILL waiting for that big fat check to arrive…

Are they open journals about feelings and life, or heartache and happiness?

As I scroll through, the titles catch my eye sometimes, as well as the featured image.

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But still cannot understand how this blogging business got so popular…

I remember back in the day of Myspace, they added a new section on profiles to add a blog…say what?

I had to ask my husband  what this “blogging” was all about… but he was also clueless, and so I just wound up ignoring it. I’m sure I had plenty to say back then, and would blog like a mad woman if I had known what to do with a blog.

So as I see blogs about blogging or religion…or life as we moms or humans see it, I am reminded that it is a current modern trend that I must simply embrace as an outlet for venting of my life’s mundane and not-so mundane moments.

I would like to think that I am a blogger now (one of millions)…whatever that may mean in the big scheme of things…I love it.

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Chance.

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We have three beautiful, smart, amazing girls…

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And now a son.

He will be turning three tomorrow.

And I am not sure I like that.

Yes he drives me mad, and is the ultimate mess maker. He screams and yells. And even hits sometimes.

But he is my son.

I am wildly astounded that I have a son now.

We had just the three girls for so long and thought we were done.

The factory was closed.

But he is here now, completing our family circle. He, like our daughters, commands attention from all those around him when he is in a room.

He is funny and and tough and loud…and yet can be so sweet and lovable.

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I will never forget the moment I met him. His almost eleven pound body was so warm and the nurse leaned him in for a kiss…his sweet soft baby skin was so warm. 

I have never felt such an instant bond…and fear all at once.

I have bonds with my girls, don’t get me wrong.

But he is my last. He is my boy.

The moment we met will live with me forever as I watch him grow from chubby little fingers, into a young man with strong hands, who will honor and protect and provide for his family someday as his father does now for us.

I may cry in my pillow tonight as I relive that day three years ago when I delivered my last child.

Admittedly, I am not that mom that soaks up every minute of being the best mommy ever and relishing all the little moments I share with my children.

I try. But that is not real life.

My almost three-year-old is napping peacefully right now, so I am stealing this moment to soak it up…

I have three beautiful daughters…and a son.

Happy birthday, Chance.

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He Would Be Proud.

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He Would Be Proud.

Yesterday was a big day for me.  Like a REALLY big deal.  Not as a big as delivering a baby or getting married “big”…more like important. More like accomplishment.

I told my story in one of my first blogs a few months back, of my journey to find good health for myself…I needed it badly for peace of mind that I wasn’t going crazy…wasting days, months, and even years of dieting and being frustrated with myself.  I was beginning to believe it wasn’t my thyroid, or age…it was the dreaded depression that was a symptom of all of those possible illnesses that I suffered from.  I was sad…I wanted to give up on myself. I couldn’t stand to look at myself anymore…who was this person that I have become?

I am not that mommy that runs five miles every morning or gets to work out in some fancy gym for an hour uninterrupted. The extent of my workouts was walking with one or two or all four of my kids to any random destination to maybe, just maybe, take a pound off…or firm up a few of those cottage cheese curds on my thighs…but no such luck.

So I took things into my own hands last year…first on my own, then with the help of a naturopathic nutritionist. I was skeptical at first. And this was my last shot. But I knew I had to believe in this.

I knew HE would believe in this.

My Grandfather…gosh, what can I say about this man? Nothing bad for starters. He was perfect…I know that isn’t possible. I am sure he had flaws that my Grandmother or his children would admit to, but growing up I never heard them say anything bad about him…nothing.

His eyes twinkled with happiness. With pride. With optimism. He was just simply amazing…and I adored him.

I titled this blog for him because he would have been 95  this Sunday. And I know he would be proud.

I miss him terribly.

He was a huge advocate of eating healthy and taking vitamins.  He taught me so much. And now I am truly embracing something that I surely know would fascinate him.  I can see me telling him about what my doctor does, and what she believes…he would ask plenty of questions. And listen to all of what I told him. I never met someone who absolutely absorbed everything that someone said, like he did.

He would be proud of me yesterday.

And this is why…

I was diagnosed with Hashimoto’s (finally) and Rheumatoid Arthritis a few months back. I have suffered in silence and out loud for years…joints aching , fingers not bending. Bloating, high blood pressure, endless back pain…the list was endless…

I started seeing a Rheumatologist when my General doctor said “I give up” too many possible Autoimmune disorders for her to handle.

I went for a follow up with my Rheumatologist yesterday after countless blood tests and x-rays months ago.

I had been dreading this day.

I saw the results…not all bad, but not great either. I went in with my “dukes” up.

I was going to refuse his prescriptions. I was not going to poison this cleaned out vessel with pills that had more warning labels on them than  a pack of cigarettes.

Oh so sweet to have a doctor lean back in his chair and look at all the symptoms I came in with months ago, and to then ask me how I am doing today…

and I  state that I am wonderful.

Occasional stiffness or pain, but the weight melted off…my blood pressure yesterday was its lowest in years.  He looked at me with a smirk and said-

 Hhmm… How did you do this?

After I explained, he said that he had no reason to put me on any toxic medicines that more than likely would counteract all my efforts and that it sounds as if the Rheumatoid Arthritis is not a problem for my body anymore.

re·mis·sion

(rĭ-mĭsh′ən)

n.

1. Abatement or subsiding of the symptoms of a disease.
2. The period during which the symptoms of a disease abate or subside

And to think of all those years I suffered. Of all those years in tears and being frustrated. And within a few months I literally changed my life.

he would be oh so proud of me. I know this to be true.