Don't speak to me like that!

By Sunday morning I had slept about 45 minutes in a three day span. Please don’t panic. This has been a normal occurrence in my life since high school. My husband was fresh off a 24 hour shift without sleep. I think added together the two of us had the brain power of a three year old. We were saying nonsensical things, laughing at farts, looking through the cabinet for cookies for breakfast, and I had a major meltdown when my favorite shoes went missing. What better place to visit in this mental state then church.

As usual The Siren began to wail as soon as we walked in the building. The nursery workers are very kind and reassure me this is all very normal and some day she will stop crying (perhaps I should tell them her nickname). At any rate, they tell me to keep bringing her back. And I do. The Kraken had to be bribed to enter his class not because he is scared but because he knows that mommy and daddy enjoy this hour of childfree time together and will offer almost anything for a smooth transition in front of the other moms and dads. The bribing probably speaks volumes about my parenting skills or perhaps the power of curly hair and a dimple, but frankly I am doing the best I can.

The sermon, which, I’m not going to lie, my mind wandered into and out of, was about identifying and resisting the devil’s attempts to sneak into our lives. As for the resisting part it was suggested we simply tell the devil to SHUTUP! That seems simple enough. When he pops into my head and tells me I am a bad mother or fat or incompetent, I yell SHUTUP! to the liar and move on. I can handle that.

The pastor, who really isn’t as looney as perhaps I am making him sound, made the point that when the devil infiltrates areas of our lives it can be very subtle. For example, worrying about the mundane everyday tasks of what we will eat or what we will wear or where we will go can, for some, take over the whole day, leaving no room to see what Christ is showing us each day. As a mother, I can attest that sometimes I am too overwhelmed by keeping to our schedule and moving from one activity to another, that I forget to look around and enjoy the day He has made for me and my children to explore together.

By this point in the sermon however, I was getting really antsy. Exhaustion had finally taken over and I just couldn’t process anything more. And being told not to worry about what I will eat got me, well, worrying about what I will eat. Every Sunday after church we go out to lunch as a family. It is one of the favorite parts of my week. (I don’t have to come up with it, cook it or clean up after it.) I leaned over to my wonderful husband and asked what he would like for lunch today.

To which he replied, “I think I am supposed to tell you to SHUTUP!”

Someone, somewhere is missing their books.

When it comes to the internet, I am a big fan. I can stalk, I mean, keep in touch with old friends, shop without my two amazing children displaying their lung power in a public arena and perhaps best of all I can unleash the inner-workings of my quirky brain onto my unsuspecting blog reading public. But let’s be honest, the internet isn’t all rainbows and kittens.

My mother loves books. And she loves to share her favorite books with those she loves. It’s pretty handy really as I don’t have much free time to read. She screens them and sends the helpful ones my way. I am currently reading about how to draw boundaries in my life, which has been very eye opening even if I am as of now, still incapable of saying no. When she stumbled upon a great internet deal involving a discount and a credit card, she did some research, signed up and ordered her books. This morning they arrived in two boxes!

The first box contained a few devotionals and various assundry writings about how to save the world by showing Christ’s love to one person at a time (my mother is a saint in the making). The second box, well, it housed something quite different. She picked up the first sealed book and just assumed from the title that it was about cats. The second selection had a picture on the cover with the title, Cats Cats Cats Galore. (Okay so that’s my own edited title because frankly the idea of a purple bra makes me blush. I cannot type that word!) Needless to say, the picture on the cover was not that of a cat.

Tomorrow my mom will be making a whole bunch of calls to her credit card company hoping to get an actual living breathing human being on the line to make sure she wasn’t charged for the pornographic material. Then she will be burning a couple books.

It isn't an air tight container

I was displaying all the classic signs. My hair had a subtle frizzy look that only an electric shock or a child plowing through the terrible twos can produce. My eyes were red and puffy from a recent cry. I was pale as a ghost and not making eye contact with any of the other parents. It had obviously been an extremely rough day. But The Kraken had swim lessons, and I am a momma not a quitter. So I picked myself up from our horrible day, dusted off and didn’t even bother covering up the bags under my eyes before leaving the house.

Ladies, ladies, ladies, will we ever learn to be supportive of other mothers around us or will we always be critical meanie heads? Can you cut a mom a break now and then, especially one in the fragile state I was in? Can you just take a step back and realize that just because you aren’t excited about certain activities (like jumping on the bed or eating fair food or smiling) doesn’t mean I am a bad parent for disagreeing. Now if you see me allowing my children to wrap plastic bags around their heads by all means, step in. If there is an empty refrigerator that I feel my children are safe to play in, please kindly remind me the oxygen is limited and the door difficult to open from within. If however you witness our weekly rec center ritual, just back off.

After swim lessons were over, I took my son to the locker room to change where he promptly clambered into a locker and asked me to shut the door. And I did. I let the kids hang out in the lockers while they dry off and I get their clothing out of the bag. I’ve never really thought much about it. They enjoy being in their “caves”, and I enjoy thirty seconds of peace to get organized. No sooner had I closed the door than a mother behind me turned to her daughter and shouted, “Don’t even ask me to do that. So dangerous. You will run out of air and you will die. So dangerous.” I did what I do best and avoided a confrontation by pretending not to hear her. I told The Kraken to come out so I could dress him. He popped out, clearly oxygen deprived and asked, “May I go in locker again after I dressed?”

To which I replied, with perhaps a tad too much gusto, “Absolutely!”

In Need of a Hobby

During a recent car ride The Kraken began his normal barrage of questioning. As usual his curiosity focused on “fast fast” cars. My son, way too observant for his own good, wanted to know the difference between wheels and tires. That’s a tough one to explain to a three year old, and frankly it had been a very long week. Mommy was exhausted and to tell the honest truth, I just don’t give a good gosh darn about wheels or tires or race cars.

So I did what any devoted and loving mother would do, I deferred to daddy. Why does daddy know the answers and mommy does not? Well, my son, daddy loves fast cars just as much as you do. Mommy doesn’t love cars and therefore hasn’t spent any time learning about the inner workings of the automobile. The Kraken pondered for a moment in silence and then wanted to know what mommy loves if not cars.

Hmmm. I love my children . . . and . . .

(Four short years ago I would have listed a million things: playing volleyball, reading the classic novels, scrapbooking, hiking, camping, keeping up on current events, blah, blah and blah. My greatest passion these days is a nap lasting longer than 30 minutes. I think I am in need of a hobby.)

The silence must have been deafening because my son suddenly stepped in with “and ambulances and fire trucks and police cars and firemen?” Yes! Eureka, you have found it! Mommy certainly loves men in uniform!

For the record, I HATE running

My clothes are too tight. It is a simple problem really. I am fulfilling my daily caloric intake with coke and candy which doesn’t leave much room for breakfast, lunch and dinner. As I see it, I have two options: buy bigger pants or cut some crap out of my diet and get moving. As for the first choice, I have been to every clothing store I can think of and tried on every make, model and fit of anything remotely resembling a pair of jeans. It seems this lumpier version of myself isn’t compatible with denim. And so I have no choice but to eat healthier and find a workout regime I can stick to.

So yesterday I got off my couch and ran a 5K.

My sister and her coworker recruited a rag tag group of seven women to take their best shot at 3.2 miles on Fright Nite, two nights before Halloween. We all had slightly different goals for entering this race: some wanted to run the whole time, others wanted simply to finish, I prayed I wouldn’t pee my pants if someone were to jump out of the shadows to scare me. All in all we just wanted to survive it. The men in our lives also had expectations. Advice to the most fit and most trained member of the group was to make sure she stretched or she would certainly fail. My sister’s husband very sweetly gave her his lucky turtle necklace in the hopes that she wouldn’t be slow. My extremely competitive husband looked me in the eyes as I was walking out the door and said, “Win it. Win. It.” No pressure there.

I didn’t win it. I finished somewhere in the middle just doubling the winning time. But I am still alive, and I very nearly ran the entire time, walking just long enough to relieve a cramp. I am pretty proud. Who cares that I was passed by two eight year olds dressed in Halloween costumes? What does it matter that I can’t quite seem to control the bottom half of my body today due to soreness? I did it.

In celebration I had two doughnuts and a coke for breakfast. I suppose the healthier eating portion of my plan will begin tomorrow . . .



(My brother-in-law was waiting at the finish line with a dozen roses for my sister. This act awards him the gold star for awesome husband and makes her the big winner. Thanks for running with me sis!)

Life of the Party

If we are home, The Kraken is naked. Well, mostly naked. (There may only be a couple things cuter than my son in his superhero tighty whiteys. Thankfully he inherited his father’s “it’s there somewhere” bum and not the larger “shelf” butt that is so common on my side of the family.) Why he feels he needs to strip the second he steps into the house, I don’t know. He’s been doing it for years. This is not a battle I chose to fight. We have an understanding that “Nakey Time” is appropriate in the house but not so suitable in public. We don’t fight about it or even have to talk much about our rule. He is on my train. Or at least I thought he was.

Last night we were invited over by our neighbors for a get together. Hopefully we were invited because they like us and not simply to avoid that awkward “So I saw you had all the neighbors over last night . . .” conversation, though I certainly wouldn’t blame anyone for not inviting us over. We are a loud, ornery, bratty, tantrum-throwing bunch. The Kraken immediately teamed up with the big kids and headed to the basement to play. We didn’t hear any screaming nor did we smell any smoke and thus assumed all was well. For the first time ever, he was basically unsupervised and the world did not implode. I believe we are making progress.

The Kraken’s choice for BFF, (a term I promised myself I would never use), decided to don his Halloween costume so, naturally The Kraken also wanted to play dress up. He asked me if I would go get his Captain America costume, but I was too lazy to walk three houses down to get it. He smiled and said he had a better idea anyway. That should have tipped me off, but as my social anxiety was having my brain come up with all the horrible things that would happen to me if I said something stupid, I missed that little clue.

A few minutes later, The Kraken came bounding up the stairs enthusiastically wearing his better idea . . . His Mickey Mouse underware and soccer shin guards. That’s it. He laughed, placed his hands on his hips and did his best impersonation of a superhero. He was adorable. I was oddly proud of him and his imagination. Daddy was a little embarrassed.

We may be throwing the next neighborhood bash, just to ensure an invite.

I don't think it is going to fit in there.

The mommy-mobile comes in many shapes and some particularly large sizes. Let’s face it, kids come with a whole bunch of crap that needs to be hauled around. My super uncool vehicle of choice is the soccer mommy minivan. Its interior is completely crusted over with cheerios residue that I swear will one day be scraped off, but it allows me to carry two mythological creatures, all their crap, groceries and a can of coke. We are happy. Sometimes I will look at another mother’s choice in transportation and cringe at the thought of parking, going in reverse or negotiating that twisty thing in the parking garage of the airport, but I will not chastise someone for possessing more bravery than I, to each her own.

I would say my mom van handles fairly well. I haven’t gotten myself into a situation that I couldn’t appropriately maneuver out of. Heck, I can park that thing in my oddly configured garage-driveway combination, which coincidently, my husband told me couldn’t be done. (And I have only hit the house once!) I am not however about to enter the van into some sort of obstacle course competition. There are limits to what I can do.

Some have yet to understand the limits of their ever so slightly oversized vehicles. Or perhaps, more people than just myself slept through two semesters of physics. At any rate, I have a new favorite form of entertainment. I call it “pick up your kid at preschool” time. The Kraken attends preschool at a fantastic little school that has any even smaller, less fantastic parking lot. Knowing that space was limited the parking spot painter person made the spaces as small as possible to accommodate the most Mini-Coopers as he could. Since he still had half a can of paint remaining when he was finished, he continued to paint around a curve and up a small hill. Woe to the SUV that ventures up that hill.

I made the mistake of being on time to release The Kraken from his first day of preschool and had to park way too far down the street for the muscles in my left arm responsible for carrying The Siren to handle. So now I get to school way too early, find a prime parking space and watch the mayhem. There are no rules! It really makes me much happier than it probably should. I literally laugh out loud and what frazzled mothers attempt under the influence of baby brain. (For the record, I am not laughing at these woman. These are my people.) So today, I was allowed to watch as a Honda Element attempted to back into a spot, (good idea, poor execution, tiny margin for error), no less than 8 times. She finally gave up and drove up the hill. I never saw her again . . .