Things Really Aren't That Bad

I spend a lot of time, though not as much as I should, writing this blog. Much of it is dedicated to all of the crazy ups and downs that come with being a parent. I am blessed to have three times the craziness to write about. My life is a complete mess sometimes. My house is a zoo most days. I have vomit and snot stains on more of my clothes than I care to admit. All my underwear have holes in them. I haven't had a decent haircut in 3 years. Sometimes I am so distracted that I wonder if my posts even make any sense. And, as you may have seen in some of my previous posts, I have been known to not so shamelessly leave the house in various stages of disarray.

And I freely admit all of these things to you on any given day. And you read about it. And you respond to it. You post comments, and send emails, and you tell me that you understand, that you commiserate, and that you care. I can't tell you what that means to me. I am so grateful to all of you.It is not easy to put your own shortcomings out for the world to see. To make a joke about the chaos of your life. But I can not tell you how freeing the experience of writing this blog has been for me. Nor can I express how grateful I am to everyone who has taken the time from their own chaos to read about mine.

With the holidays coming up, and the very likely possibility of me moving over then next month, I may not have as much time to post as I normally do. However, I hope that you will continue to read here, while in typical mommy fashion, I continue to do dumb things everyday and prepare my children for a lifetime of therapy visits.

Saying Goodbye

So, after four years of living in the great state of Texas, we are finally moving home to Canada. It looks like the song "I'll be home for Christmas" really rings true for us this year. And while I have been longing to go home for a while, it's a little bittersweet really.

The boys have made some really great friends here, and it seems so cruel to pull them out of school half way through the year. And then moving during the holidays is going to mean that this is a VERY modest Christmas for them. Plus, this is truly the only home Ryker knows.

But then I remember the great things: the boys will be close to their cousins, aunts and uncles and grandparents. I will too, be near my mom, siblings, nephews -- something I've been sorely missing.

Not really sure where I'm going with this post, and I know that is so not typical of this blog. But I'm really at a loss for what to say. There's a lot I will miss, but I'm so happy to be going home.

Thanksgiving Thursday Thirteen

In honor of today being Thanksgiving here in the USA, I am going to list 13 things that I am thankful for.

1. God (and by extension Freedom of Religion) Because with out Him nothing is possible, but with Him nothing is impossible.

2. My children. Three of the absolute most wonderful boys a mother could ask for.

3. My husband, who is my best friend, my confidante, my sounding board and my protector.

4. My parents without whose love, guidance and patience, I wouldn't be the person I am today.

5. My friends -- girls who I swear are more like sisters to me than friends. People I know I can share, laugh and cry with about anything under the sun

6. Music -- it is such a huge part and a great influence in my life. How truly dreary this world would be without music.

7. My relatively good health and my recent desire to keep myself that way

8. My talents.....which I thank God every day for giving me and allowing me to share

9. My grandmother -- who although she passed away 9 years ago, is still a very strong influence in my life. She was an amazing, wonderful, strong woman. I only hope I can live to be half the woman she was.

10. My freedom -- to live, love, worship, think and BE any way I chose.

11. The power of forgiveness, repentance and the plan of salvation.

12. Technology, which allows me to keep in touch and reaquaint myself with family and friends who are not nearby.

13. Hope -- for without it there is no drive to achieve my dreams

The (In)Humanity of Motherhood

Most of you know that my boys are no longer babies. These days, those tentative baby steps toward independance have become giant clumsy strides and the comfort of "someday" has turned into the realization of "all too soon". But despite that, I'm really, for the most part, enjoying the freedom of having semi-independant children.

I don't feel anything except relief when I see a young mother pushing a 400lb. stroller and carrying a diaper bag the size of a small frigidaire. I don't miss planning my life around naptimes. I do not remember those late night feedings with fondess.But I do miss certain things.

There was a time when my boys thought I was the cat's meow. They thought I had all the answers. And not just any answers...the right ones. They thought I could save the world. They thought I was invincible, immortal, omnipotent. I liked being adored. I did not like slipping back into the ill-fitting skin of ordinary. And now, I find, that my children can humble me without the slightest bit of effort or even, sometimes, awareness.

The other day, Drew and I were in the car running an errand. He was fiddling with my iPod to find a song by Chris Daughtry, for whom he has developed quite an affinity. Out of nowhere he asked, "You think he's hot, don't you?"

Why lie? I thought.

"Yep." I said.

He snorted.

"What???" I demanded

"Mom. He is SO out of your league."

I made a strangled sound of outrage. "Dude. That hurts."

"You're a MOM" he said emphatically, "You're not supposed to be hot."

"Hey. I? Am hot. I can get guys."

He snorted again and added an eyeroll to emphasize his point. "Yeah. Guys like DAD".

Gee, that's all right. I didn't need my self-esteem anyway. No really, I was done with it, seeing as how I was apparently rendered asexual by your birth.

Moms of toddlers...cherish their admiration. Because one day, your sweet, adoring child will look at you with embarassment, pity and chagrin. They will push you away, and then return; remorseful, hungering, confused. They will need you, and they will need you to let go. And you will never know at any given moment, which is the right thing to do. Inevitably, you will choose wrong, and find yourself hitting a glowering wall of resentment.

And sometimes, they will say horribly insensitive things without knowing how it twists like a knife in your guts, making you gasp with regret and longing for the person you thought you were; the person who can't exist in the same time and space as mother-you.

Do I really want to go back to the desperate, consuming symbiosis of infancy and toddlerhood? No. I really don't. I just want autonomy to hurt a little less. But I know that it can't and so I arm myself against the emotional arrows so carelessly slung by my children.

Someday, when my sons whisper their secrets to another woman, and walk through life with their hearts clutched tightly in the fist of their own child, perhaps they will see me for the woman I was underneath the motherhood. Mabye they will find a small measure of understanding for the joys and the heartaches of raising them and surrendering myself.

Until then, I exist in a weird sort of sexual limbo. Neither lover nor woman, but only mother. But that's okay. I'd rather be stripped of my sexuality than suffer my children to witness my nakedness, literal and figurative. I'd hate for them to see my funbags and my undercheeks on the cover of every gossip rag when we go to the grocery store. Can you imagine what Pamela Anderson's kids live with?

Then again, I don't suppose they dispute her ability to bag Chris Daughtry.

Oh, the humanity.

The Wisdom of Floyd

The boys and I are huge YouTube fans. We love to browse for funny or interesting videos. Like any new internet venue, it's quickly becoming overrun with spammers and teenyboppers, er..I mean...tweenagers...but you can still find just about anything you could possibly think of...Schweatty balls, men in knee breeches, and nostalgia galore.

Last night after dinner, we were gathered around my computer watching our latest "can't stop singing that song" music videos. Mine was "1234", a choice that was not looked upon with favor by my boys. Andrew chose "Thanks for the Memories", a tune to which we all knew the words, and bobbed our heads in unison. When it was Randall's turn to choose, he asked to see the video for a song he had heard on the radio, but he didn't know the name, only the artist. Pink Floyd.

"How does it go?" I asked. "We don't need no education. We don't need no sound control" he sang. Then he quoted what was inarguably his favorite line in the whole song loudly, and with great gusto. "HEY TEACHERS! LEAVE THEM KIDS ALONE!!"

I couldn't help but smile. If ever there was an anthem written for Randall, that would be it. I pulled it up and played it for them. And then the questions started. "Why are their faces like that?" "Why are they going to school in a factory?""Why are they jumping into a meatgrinder?""Why is he hitting that kid? Teachers can't do that!""Why are they breaking their desks?"

Pffftttttt. I tried to formulate a response that would satisfy their curiosity without overwhelming them with a lot of details they couldn't process or understand. I paused the video and launched into what I hoped was an accurate and straightforward explanation. "Well...you see...this whole video is just one big social commentary." I lost Randall right there, but Andrew looked intrigued."Really? About what?" he asked.

"Well, different people have different interpretations. Some people think the it's a metaphor for a tryannical government that wants to deny the people free will and the right to voice dissent.""Hmmmmm." he said. He still looked interested, so I gathered he was following me."Other people think it's about a society that values conformity rather than individuality, and how it encourages people to follow blindly rather than thinking for themselves. How it's completing squelching any inclination or desire to be different."

Randall piped in to ask once again why their faces were like that. "The masks hide their identity so that nothing about them is distinguishable from the others. It obliterates their humanity. They become, just "another brick in the wall". Randall didn't get it. At 8, he's still very literal minded. "Are their faces all burnt or something?" Andrew rolled his eyes. "Their faces aren't burnt, duh. Mom just told you why they're wearing masks.""I don't get it." he said, clearly nonplussed about it. "Honey...if you look at the bricks in a wall...are they different from one another? If you took the bricks out of the wall, and mixed them all up in a pile, would you know which one was which? I saw the realization hit his eyes. "OOOOHHHHHHHH! The KIDS are the BRICKS. They're mad because they don't want to be all the same. They have ideas and stuff." "YES!!" I exclaimed, startling him a little. "But it could be just about kids who don't like school, couldn't it?""

Sure. It could. Sometimes, a songwriter wants the the listener to interpret the lyrics in their own way." "I think it's about that." "Then it is."He looked extraordinarily pleased with himself. And so, in a manner that I'm sure Pink Floyd never really intended, (unless the pop culture academics are wrong and it really is about a kid who hates school) "Another Brick in the Wall" became Randall's ode to academic disillusionment and malcontent. For Andrewthough...it became something different. It became a really salient example of the undeniable power of such a medium. It appealed to him and impressed him.

"Damn" he said quietly. I gave him my best displeased mother look. "Sorry Mom. But geez....that's just.....brilliant."I assure you, he was in reference to the song lyrics and their metaphorical prowess, not my philosophical grandstanding. He got it. That's really cool. But it's also kind of bittersweet, because it seems like just yesterday that I had to explain to him why we don't eat boogers.

And I know that it won't always be so easy to answer his questions or impress him with my insight. Pink Floyd = Cake Walk. God help me when he wants to discuss Nietsche or Proust.

Disclaimer: The above conversation with Randall has been abridged in order to preserve the sanity of the reader. Let's just say, the kid knows how to pummel a dead horse with remarkable efficacy.

Thursday Thirteen

Today I am going to share 13 tips with you. You will probably wonder how you ever lived without knowing about these before.

1. Peel a banana from the bottom and you won’t have to pick the little “stringy things” off of it. That’s how the primates do it.

2. Take your bananas apart when you get home from the store. If you leave them connected at the stem, they ripen faster.

3. Peppers with 3 bumps on the bottom are sweeter and better for eating. Peppers with 4 bumps on the bottom are firmer and better for cooking.

4. Add a teaspoon of water when frying ground beef. It will help pull the grease away from the meat while cooking.

5. For a cool brownie treat, make brownies as directed. Melt Andes mints in double broiler and pour over warm brownies. Let set for a wonderful minty frosting.

6. Add garlic immediately to a recipe if you want a light taste of garlic and at the end of the recipe if your want a stronger taste of garlic.

7. To really make scrambled eggs or omelets rich add a couple of spoonfuls of sour cream, cream cheese, or heavy cream in and then beat them up.

8. Store your opened chunks of cheese in aluminum foil. It will stay fresh much longer and not mold.

9. Heat up leftover pizza in a nonstick skillet on top of the stove, set heat to med-low and heat till warm. This keeps the crust crispy. No soggy microwaved pizza.

10. When you buy a container of cake frosting from the store, whip it with your mixer for a few minutes. You can double it in size. You get to frost more cake/cupcakes with the same amount. You also eat less sugar and calories per serving.

11. To warm biscuits, pancakes, or muffins that were refrigerated, place them in a microwave with a cup of water. The increased moisture will keep the food moist and help it reheat faster.

12. Place a dryer sheet in your pocket. It will keep the mosquitoes away.

13. To keep squirrels from eating your plants, sprinkle your plants with cayenne pepper. The cayenne pepper doesn’t hurt the plant and the squirrels won’t come near it.

Our Own Worst Critic

So, lately I've noticed the scale dwindling in numbers after climbing back up in the early part of the fall. This summer while I was up in Canada I lost almost 15 pounds. It was awesome.....until I came home and gained it all back. Well lately, the stress of our life, and not hving the money to eat out everyday, I'm back down another 9 pounds again. I should be happy right?

Sigh, I guess I really am a woman. After this latest "victory" on the scale, I stripped and stood in front of the bathroom mirror with a tape measure, trying not to notice that the phalanx of glaring lights illuminated every blemish, ripple and roll. I stared down at my toes to avoid looking at my midsection, and sighed in resignation as the dialogue of scathing self-criticism commenced.

Me: Holy Crap, we have some wide-ass feet.

Myself: Hm. I don't believe we have ever seen anybody else with perfectly square feet.

I: Somebody should call Guiness.

Me: We probably shouldn't paint our toes that particular shade of coral, then.

Myself: It does sort of draw the eye downward, doesn't it?

I: Well at least that takes the focus off of our knee bulges.

Me: Those are hereditary!

Myself: Nods

I: Hereditarily FAT.
Me: I'm really more concerned about our saddlebags.

Myself: We were just born curvy.

I (incredulously): Those aren't saddlebags, those are freaking foot lockers. You could store rations for an entire platoon in those things.

Me: Well...at least our stomach doesn't look too bad...considering.

Myself: Noooooo, but it could use a little toning.

I: Ladies...navels are not supposed to be FLUTED.

Me: It's not FLUTED! It's just a little...tired.

Myself: Girls, girls, it looks fine. At least it's still an innie, that's something, right?

I: Sure, if you think that makes up for the fact that it's three inches lower than it used to be.

Me: Well, it doesn't matter, nobody sees it anyway. And hey...the girls still look pretty good for our age.

Myself: Yes, they really do.

I: You two do realize that headlights are supposed to point straight ahead, don't you?

Me: Well they do...mostly.

Myself: Except when we sit down.

I: Or stand up. Or bend over. When the headlights on the car point different directions like that Husband takes it in for an adjustment.

Me: You think we need an adjustment?

Myself: Like surgery?

I: No, certainly not. We're perfectly okay with wall-eyed nips, right?

Me: Well, we do prefer to age gracefully.

Myself: Right. We believe in women looking like real women.

I: Real women with fluted navels and wall-eyed nips. I'm sure it will be all the rage soon. Hef oughta be calling any minute now.

Me: Why do you always have to be so negati....HOLY FREAKING COW what is that?!?

Myself: It appears to be a whisker.

I: Why are you freaking out? We've been dealing with chin hairs since we turned 30.

Me: Yes, but that one is like FOUR inches long! How could you let us walk around like that??

Myself: It's not really four inches long. Maybe two.

I: Relax...one chin hair does not a beard make.

Me: Where is that damn TWEEZERS?? I swear if Ryker used it to fish legos out of the toilet again I'm going to wring his neck.

Myself: Here it is. Remember? We were plucking our eyebrows in the bathtub.

I: While we're at it, maybe we should do some maintenance on those nose hairs.

Me: Oh geez...not nose hair. Anything but nose hair.

Myself: Well, it's really only one nose hair. That shows.

I: It only shows when someone is looking straight up our nose. Get a grip.

Me: Well....I think we're being entirely too hard on ourself. Husband loves us unconditionally and he still thinks we are beautiful.

Myself: Yes, he does. We are very lucky.

I: Husband is blinded by love.

Me: He is not. He likes real women.

Myself: That's right. He doesn't like skinny plasticized women.

I: Riiiiiiight, he prefers fat kneed women with fluted navels and nipples askew. He's found his ideal woman, then hasn't he?

Me: Well, I guess the only thing left to check out is the caboose.

Myself, I (in unison): NO!

Myself: weeps gently

I: Really, haven't we had enough indignity for one day?

Me: Yes, I suppose so. It's not going anywhere.

I: Ain't that the truth.

Me: See...there you go again being negative.

I: I'm not being negative. I'm being realistic.

Me: Negative.

I: Realistic.

Me: Negative.

I: Rea-

Myself (still weeping): ENOUGH!! For the love of GOD enough! Don't you know what you're doing to us!!

Me: I think we need a drink.

Myself: I think we need chocolate.

I: I think we need to get laid.

Me: Veto. That requires getting naked.

Myself: I have to agree. We're demoralized enough right now.

I: Alright, alright. How about a pint of Rocky Road?

Me, Myself: Now you're talking.

I stepped away from the mirror wondering why I see nothing but imperfection when confronted by my reflection. I am confident in my worth as a thinker, a writer, a problem solver, a manager and a mother (for the most part). Why then do I judge my physical self so harshly? Why do I hold myself to an impossible standard? Why do I care so much? And then I thought...I am really in no mood for all this introspective bullshit. I'm going to go have some of that ice cream.

And I did.