This IS the Life

It seems my feet have gone numb again. I'm faintly aware of having them, as I scoot my body into bed once again. As nimbly as I can, I push not only my weight, but the twenty pounds of baby who has only recently fallen asleep on my chest, back on my pillow. I lay there for awhile, assessing the situation of my tingling toes, amused at the irony of them falling asleep while doing hard labor. I spent the last twenty minutes rocking, pacing, toe-standing, half-squating, poorly singing, figuring out how to get this baby to sleep while also squeezing in what might amount to some actual exercise.
Success. He sleeps. So, I scoot onto my pillow and into bed. I make three pathetic semi-bends at the waist to reach my blanket, but realize the futility and so, pull them up contortion style, with my toes.
All of this effort, and these antics, have led to one moment of bliss. A sleeping baby on my chest. A moment that deserves to be treasured. I mentally calculate the weight distribution of his twenty pounds, to my full-grown mother size. Not much; certainly not the crushing, claustrophobic presence of a full grown body. And yet, he is not my body, and so he will lay at my side as he does every night.
The transition. I roll over, slowly, and, ever slowly, I begin the act of placing him beside me. He is immediately alarmed at the change of temperature and perhaps notices the certain amount of softness from my mattress that does not exist in my tangle of neck and collar bone.
He's awake. And so, I'll nurse him till he falls into a bear like slumber, for the night, not hibernation. More like a peaceful two or three hours until the cycle starts again. This is bliss, this is parenthood, this is the life. Good night!

Thinking About Where I've Been

I went out today. Without kids. ***. To some, that means nothing. A day in their life, the usual, a norm. For others, for us, this is groundbreaking, earth-shaking, hypothetical kush I'm talking about.

Only, it wasn't as good as all that. I mean, I got out of the house,  which speaks volumes for itself, but I wasn't skydiving. I was 5 minutes down the road, feeling guilty for drinking a 10 ounce cup of coffee (come on, nursing mamas!) and trying to focus on doing something "meaningful" with my solo 45 minutes.  That time, that golden, precious time is something stay at home parents value while others have so much of it, they waste it. Hence, the pressure I feel to make something of my time. Read the Bible, go to the gym,  FINALLY write thank you cards from my baby shower (almost 3 months ago now...). So yeah, basically impossible to narrow it down or to feel productive since in 45 minutes I'm not realistically crossing much off my list...

But, I tried. I know how important my alone time is. And, to be out in the world as an adult, without babies to distract me, that time is priceless. To remember who I am and what it feels like to be me? I have to take those opportunities when I can get them. So, what did I do? Nothing really. I sat in the parking lot of Starbucks for about 20 minutes while it rained, because I could. I read a few pages of  a book on the Best Seller list, because I could. Then, I went in. Because I could. The ease with which I can do all of these things both astounds me and boggles my mind.  I forgot nothing,  I had no extra baggage or little people to deal with. I was perfectly alone and just a little more awkward/uncomfortable than I wanted to be. But hey, no one is perfect and no one probably even noticed that my purse was my diaper bag and that I needed my sweater zipped up to hide the breast milk stains on my under shirt... hey, I'm just being honest here!

When my husband told me he wanted to play basketball again this week, I was resentful. "What's that," I fumed slightly peeved, "Another 3 hours to go play, get out your aggression?" Meanwhile, I'll be with the kids, of course. It's this complex situation, right? On one side, time alone with my babies is not a chore. I soak those hours up because time with them is special and unique, plus, I get ish done. Like, finish taking ornaments off the tree, put up the last few letters of the alphabet hanging in their room, and wait for it, I even get laundry put away! Every mom's fantasy. No really, it is... but, there's this human side to me that asks, what about my time!? I need to do this, or do that, and I KNOW I'm not getting 3 hours of uninterrupted time to do any of that. So, I take my 45 minutes,  because hey, it's a start.

So, anyway, I find myself having to explain all of this because of my recent encounter with those without children, who were also, gasp, not related to my children. Like, are you kidding me, what the heck am I supposed to talk about!?! I got through it though, relying on my old social skills I drudged up from only God knows where.

Today was a good day. A grown-up day. A day in which my kids napped long enough for me to type all  this up. Until next time, ya'll.

A Time of Reflection

Maybe it's the New Year coming up,  or maybe it's the Facebook memories that pop up, but this morning I find myself reflecting on the past as well as on the here and now.

I am SO thankful that I am not where I was 6 years ago. And, to be fair, 6 years is quite a long time. I mean, 6 years before these last 6 years, I was a mere 17 years old. I am DEFINITELY not where I was at 17, so maybe it is obvious that I wouldn't be in the same spot as my 23 year old self.

However, some people are the same as they were 6 years ago. When we age, change doesn't happen as frequently, some things are meant to be permanent. Usually, jobs become careers, renting turns into buying, and friends are more like family. Unfortunately, that can also mean that habits seem more like engraved personality traits  (or disorders). Whatever it is, I'm glad that at 23 I was still capable of making necessary changes to my life.

If I had had my head on straight and was on the fast track to the career of my dreams, I might feel differently. But, I didn't. 6 years ago was probably the darkest period of my adult life. Granted, some things are still the same. I'm still reserved (mostly) until I get to know someone, I'd still rather do most things by myself, I still do way too much contemplation throughout the day, and I still have an unhealthy appreciation for sweets.

There are also somethings I lost, that I wouldn't mind getting back in the New Year. My love of knowledge, for example. Over time I've let me desire to learn and to scan books for hours go, I don't dance embarrassingly half as much as I used to, or should, and I haven't had a good "girl-talk" in I don't know how long.

A Mother's Love, continued

The last post I made under the heading, "A  Mother's Love," was just a week after finding out I was pregnant with my second son (of course, I didn't know he was a he yet). It was interesting to read my thoughts on how I'd feel loving a second child. Our first little one really does become our whole world, don't they?
But now, Oliver is here and, in fact, I've already had my third son. So, all my musings about what it would be like to have either two boys or a boy and a girl are out the window. I'm sitting here now, trying to imagine a life with three, knuckle-head boys, who love to wrestle but still make time to clear the table and obviously love to read.
This is my life now, and it's taken me some time to come to terms with it, or at least, to fully grasp it.
I wasn't expecting this pregnancy, but I'm so glad it happened. It's been such a whirl wind, I can still hardly wrap my mind around it.
Three Boys.
In all this time, four years of marriage. I've had three sons, three little people that look up to me, depend on me, rely on me, sometimes* listen to me, and mostly love me.
I have graduated with my degree, even though I still have credentialing to do.
I'm eager to start, to find out, what the next chapter in my book looks like.
I hope it has a family vacation penciled in!

A little political; A little bit of this and a lot about THAT!

I recently finished reading The Invention of Wings  by Sue Monk Kidd. Sue Monk Kidd, also the author of The Secret Life of Bees, attempts to discuss racial tensions and slavery during the eighteenth century, as well as, female rights. Both topics, in light of our current presidential election and the #BLM movement, are relevant and I couldn't help but be in awe at my fortune for finding yet another avenue of thought regarding these subjects. It seems that nowadays we, Americans, are entrenched in controversy. It is not foreign terrorists threatening our safety, even though the incident linked to ISIS in Florida where many Americans were shot to death happened less than a year ago; No, it is division within that is shredding our faith and debilitating our peace on a daily basis. 

Cops are afraid to go to work and give any perpetrator the benefit of the doubt because cops throughout our nation are being shot to death and sought out as enemies.

We have two candidates for presidency that are mired in controversy upon controversy. Conveniently, or ironically, Donald faces charges for misbehavior against women while Hillary relishes in her position as the first potential female president. Meanwhile, Hillary's "strength" is that she has experience. Unfortunately, all that experience has taught her is that she should have a same-sex intern to protect her marriage, "C" means confidential, she will not be excused for accidentally deleting anymore emails, and very few men and women in the military believe she has their best interest in mind.

Finally, even though racial equality has supposedly been established in our country, there are those who still believe overt racism exists. I cannot say they are wrong. My experience is yes, racism exists. The same way that sexism exists. We could never account for why this is. ask almost any man and I am sure in his heart of hearts, he loves a woman. Whether it is his mom, a sister, an aunt, a cousin, his wife, etc, that relationship would lead him to conclude that sexism does not exist, NOT IN AMERICA! However, those who feel as I do might smirk knowingly, we would judge him to be a good man, but misguided, Let's be clear, there was a black president before there has been a female. Black males were given the vote, before women. If we look at our nation's history, the color of one's skin was not all that led to discrimination and the effects of that subjugation go deep. Little girls still know the inequality that exists, but the climate for change, for improvement has never been better.

It is the interweaving of the final two issues, female rights and Black Lives Matter, that the Grimke sisters battle in The Invention of Wings and it is what captures my imagination, as well as my heart.
Some may believe that the argument for black people being mistreated is separate from that of women, but I cannot abide that opinion. The representation of both groups has been unfortunate in the American media. We watch "Desperate Housewives" and the PlayBoy Bunnies in their mansion, picking orders of wives and selecting future "models." It is despicable and misrepresentative of what I want females to be known as. I can only believe that those who want unity for our country find the same negative representation of black people as irritating as I do. I believe it is that unjust representation that links us even more than before, not as blacks or whites, or even males and females, but as one misunderstood citizen to another, living in a country where anything CAN happen. We just need to come together and figure out the best way together. I hope we can all put our grievances behind us and press on, acknowledging that some changes have been made, and that not all representations of us or them are true. I'd say it is well past time to make those changes, and to make America great again.*

*That is not an endorsement for Trump.

That Moment When...

That moment when everything changes, but everything else has stayed the same.
When your world has stopped spinning, but you are the only one who has noticed.
That moment when dinner was left on, but you got called away and nobody else bothered to put it away.
That moment when reality faces the harshness of lies and deceit and evilness all bottled into one small person's attempt to make their own pain and indecentness go away.
It is the moment we all come subject to, at one time or another, in the realities of our lives.
I have never thrown a glass against a wall to watch it shatter, to see the ice melt in a puddle of regret and drained fury. But, I have seen a wilted flower once the sun stops shining on it and the water dries up and the mold begins to fester on the once green stem.
It is more than just forgetfulness, it is about not moving on and about being stuck in that one moment of isolation, of drama-like stillness when everything else becomes unavoidably obvious.
It is in that one moment when clarity might strike.
It hits you all of a sudden, when for no other reason, everything else becomes clear.
All the choices you could have made leading up to that one moment. All the decisions you have processed, and now must deal with correcting.
It is like that for all of us, the process of undoing.
We need to learn how to start over again, once the moment is over and out of us.
No one is above it, or too far from learning, but it is what you do with that moment that defines you, for you, forever.
I have never thrown a glass against the wall to watch it shatter just to see what it would do. But I have seen the ice melt in a puddle of regret and drained fury, and thought of how much nicer it would've been to be drinking my cold, refreshing drink.
In moments of regret, we might make a decision we wish we could change, but it is what you do with those moments in time, the ones we will never get returned to us, it is what you do with the aftermath of the mourning, that defines you.
What will you do with the morning's moment that is calling you out of hibernation? Calling you out of the colossal mistake that you have made? You already gave that grave error control for one moment, isn't that one moment all you want it to take? Reclaim who you are, and give yourself some grace to change from moment to moment. The next moment does not have to be the same as your last.

5 Disgusting Things I Do Every Day (As A Mom)

1. I may take every precaution to wash my hands before I eat, after I use the restroom, sneeze, etc. but when my kid has something sticky on his face/hands and a sink is unrealistic, I can guarantee one thing. I'm. About. To. Lick. My fingers and get that mess off. Even if it means repeatedly licking my fingers and involuntarily getting that icky, gooey substance in my mouth.

2. I smell, smell-check, look, feel--- for poop. Typically, this applies to diapers, but it has been known to happen under beds, in the bath, and anywhere else I get the mom-sense tingles going off. It happens.
That's not all. When a search turns out successful(?), I get to wipe that poop up! Now, this is usually completed while attempting to use as few wipies as possible. Yes, occasionally fingers become victims to cross-firing. Thank  God for soap and water. And oh, the joy of potty training. Sometimes those poopies get stuck in the pint-sized toilet, so I get to not only shake it in the toilet, but then rinse and wipe that seat out for next time! Yay!

3. I eat left over food. Yes, I realize many people eat left-overs. Hello! The doggy bag!? (I also know no one calls them doggy bags anymore). But, I'm not talking about run of the mill left-overs. I'm talking, my toddler wanted a bagel but wouldn't eat the edge so I'm eating the edges of half-bitten pieces that are already cold from sitting on his tray while he ate and I fed his brother. Or, I just made you a whole bowl of oatmeal, and although I put a piece of ice in yours and you took one or two bites with a slobbery spoon, you now claim to be full. And I am in a hurry. So, give me your bowl. Those types of left-overs. Sometimes a little better, and sometimes worse...

4. I smell things to see what my next step should be. Example One: My sons were home with Daddy yesterday while mommy worked, so he did bath time. Now, I am home today and again, bath time. My sons wash their hair every other day. By the third day, their hair smells like a mixture of drool from the night before, whatever we had for breakfast that morning, and whatever was for dinner the night before. Since my son is unreliable in this department (his answer is almost invariably Yes! Dad washed his hair. Why? Because he prefers if it never gets washed), I must do the smell test.. It is a rare treat when I do not pull my nose away repelled. It is most often my turn to wash their hair.

Example Two: Smelling the milk to see if it has gone sour. Who doesn't do this risky game? The chances are 50-50 you won't be able to eat the rest of the day...

5. I brush my son's teeth. That's average, you may be thinking. Except, I haven't quite got this one figured out. See, he usually "brushes" his own teeth, but when it comes to the tongue, the germ hub for the entire population, I have to do the scrapping myself. I obviously cannot see his tongue if he points away from me. So? So, you guessed it. I look him square in the face as I brush his tongue for stinky, icky germs. That inevitably spray me in the face. Great.

In the spirit of Mother's Day, enjoy all those yucky habits. Mothering isn't for the weak (stomachs). ♡♡♡