When Motherhood Comes Full Circle.

“Oh Dear Lord, just take me now”.

This is what I remember my father uttering as he was dying laying on the couch sick with the flu.  I was 7 years old.   I was home sick as well, and was sitting in a chair, in my nightgown, playing with my keyboard as my father, apparently, lay on his deathbed.

Being home with dad when I was sick was, well, it was different from when I was home sick with my mom.  He did a good job taking care of me, focusing mostly on the necessities and letting me watch The Price Is right, but it was a different story when mom walked through the door.  I just felt…..better.

When mom came home, I knew everything would be alright.

As I’m sure anyone who had a good mom can attest, there is just something about having your mom around when you’re sick.  It was having someone there who knew what you needed even before you did.   It was having the one person there who knew exactly how you liked your toast.  Having someone there who said, “no, you cannot have any milk because milk makes your tummy upset”.

Dad didn’t brushed the hair back from my face over and over until I drifted off to sleep;  he didn’t gently rub my back, or give me ice chips to chew when I had an upset stomach;  he didn’t have that soft, melodic voice.  Oh, he had myriad other strengths and abilities that mom didn’t, for which I am grateful, but when it came to being sick, I just wanted my mom.

For the past 6 days, I think I’ve realized where this comes from for so many of us.

Both of my boys got a very nasty flu bug that has lasted a minimum of 4-5 days.  My eldest, Si, got it first, and then Doe got it two days later.  My husband was off doing some early camping with Doe when he got sick and, he told me about Doe whining for me and wanting to go home to be with me.

“When we’re having fun, he tells me he loves me more than you, but as soon as he wasn’t feeling well, it was ‘Mommy’, ‘Mommy’, ‘Mommy’!”.

I have caught puke in my hands countless times this week.  I have pressed my lips to their foreheads so often, I can tell what their temperature is without having to use a thermometer.  I have held their hands while they have had diarrhea and cried.  I have carried them everywhere because they were so weak.  I rubbed their backs until they fell asleep.  I have cleaned their bums and rocked them in my arms and lay with them when they asked.   I have slept with them both, one on each side, for 5 nights straight getting no sleep, checking fevers, catching their vomit, changing sheets, and snuggling their feverish bodies.  I have kissed them even though they’re contagious.  I showered far less than I’d like to admit.

It’s always so incredible to watch ourselves come full circle in life.  Now I’m the one who gives my kids a feeling of safety and relief when they’re sick.  I love that I have been a good enough mother to do this.  I love that my own mother taught me how to give that feeling to my own kids.   After all of the times I was impatient, or short with them, or shrugged them off because I was too busy doing something else, or told them to “hurry up” or “quiet down”, I hope they also remember the times I sat up with them when they were sick at 2:00 in the morning , or gave them only a teaspoon of Pedialyte every 15 minutes in an effort to keep them hydrated as best I could. Or, the fact that I forgot to brush my teeth one day.

We’re leaving  for a long weekend of family camping tomorrow.  Daddy will most likely be the preferred parent again, as he should be.  He’s slightly better at having fun than I am.  But that’s okay.  We each have our strengths.  I’m exhausted after this past week, as I’m sure my boys are too, so I think we are all ready for some Fun In The Sun.

Besides, I am in need of a very long, hot shower.

Sick Boys.

I had a really fun post lined up for today, but both of my boys have contracted some nasty flu bug going around and the three of us have been up all night long and I’m just too tired to try and finish it I guess.

I lay in between both boys all night, alternating between changing the cold cloth on one’s head, holding the puke bucket for the other, then taking temperatures to keep an eye on the fevers, measuring out doses, giving them sips of water, but only a little to see if they keep it down and so on and so on.  My eldest actually had to go to the ER to get an IV he was so dehydrated.

I’ve watched Hocus-Pocus (which is actually hilarious), The Wizard Of Oz, countless Scooby-Doo episodes and now we’re on to Toy Story 3.

I did get to watch an adult movie yesterday when everyone was napping.  He’s Just Not That Into You.    And ya know what’s pathetic?  I cried at this movie.  BOTH times it was on the E! Channel!?  I don’t know if it was lack of sleep, or the fact that I’m now a mother and just more emotional, or if it was hormones, but when Alex holds Gi Gi’s face in his hands and tells her “You’re my exception” I just lose it.  Does anyone know what I’m talking about?

So that was my day yesterday.  Quick trip to the ER (not having showered or changed into decent clothes mind you), getting home and getting everyone down for a nap, sitting in the recliner bawling my eyes out at yet another Rom-Com with Jennifer Aniston.

Truth be told, when my boys are sick, I don’t want to be anywhere else on the planet except right next to them.

We’re supposed to go away on a long weekend in a few days, so that combined with them being so stick right now…..who knows when I’ll have time to blog again?  Til next time!!

 

Is It A Stigmatism, Or Astigmatism? Whatever It Is, My Right Eye Has It.

I don’t know about you guys, but after my rant yesterday about the new DSM-V diagnoses and the effect it is having on our children, I need some comic relief, don’t you?

So, let me tell you about my eye appointment I had shortly after my I-hate-the-field-I-work-in rant.

Now, as many of you are becoming more and more aware of, I’m somewhat neurotic/anxious, or, “wound-up-tighter-than-a-drum” as my husband so gently phrases it.   So needless to say, whenever I have an appointment of any kind concerning anything about my physical being, my Hypochondriasis kicks in front and center.  And my eye appointment is no exception.  And unfortunately, when I get anxious, I usually come across as being kind of, er, ya know…..mean.

First of all, my Dr.’s front desk lady HATES her job to no end, apparently.  Every single time the phone rings, she rolls her eyes and gives this big sigh before answering, and then after she hangs up, she always shakes her head in disbelief at the caller.  Then she proceeds to ask me if all of my information is the same and now I’m annoyed with her because I just talked to her last week to order contacts and everything was the same 6 days ago.

Anyway, let’s just fast-forward to the actual exam.

So there I am sitting in the chair, in the dark room with my eye doctor who has the personality of a mole.  He talks like a robot, albeit, a verbose robot, it’s mind-numbing all the same.  It makes me even more anxious.  All I can do while he is talking is stare at his teeth, which are extremely crooked and look to be coated with a slime-type substance.  He’s asking me all of the standard questions like, any problems lately?, on any medications?, where are you from?, do you live around here?, did you grow up here?.

I don’t want to chit-chat doctor, hurry up and get me out of here.

Then, it’s time for the confusing and unreliable eye exam.  Now, if any of you wear glasses and/or contacts, you have to go through this once a year as well.  And if you’re anything like me, you find the actual exam to be more like one big long Trick Question:

Dr.:  “Okay, now just look straight ahead at the three lines you see there.  Now, can you read that bottom line for me please?”.

Me:  “Um…..A……Z…….T…….U…….K????  (I think?  I can’t tell if it’s a K or an R???)

Dr.:  “Okay, now I’m going to change the lenses here.  Can you please read me the middle line?”

Me:   “Um……H……G……E…….F……U????   Is that an F or a T crap, I think it was actually a T.   Wait no, there was a T in the previous line and I’m sure they wouldn’t put two T’s in lines so close together, so I should stick with F.

Dr.:  “Okay now tell me which one is better, lens 1, or lens 2.   Here’s lens 1 (click)………and here’s lens 2 (click)………lens 1 (click)…..and lens 2 (click)”.

Me:  (Crap, which one is clearer??  I think lens 1.  No, wait, they’re both kind of the same.  But, I have to pick one!?!?  What if I pick the wrong one?  What if I think that lens 1 is clearer, but it’s actually not???)….”lens 1″.

Dr.:  “Okay, now which one is clearer, lens 1 or lens 3…….here’s lens 1 (click)……and here’s lens 3 (click)……..lens 1 (click)…….lens 3 (click)”.

Me:  (Okay so if lens 2 was worse than lens 1, then how can lens 3 be clearer than lens 1?  This doesn’t make sense!  What kind of order is he going in here?  Is he trying to throw me off?  What if I’m supposed to say lens 1 again, but lens 3 looks clearer?)  “Lens 3″.

Then it’s time for the little puff of air that they shoot right at your eye.  And no matter how much I may grab on to the edge of the table and steady my head, it always makes me jump.  You never know when it’s coming.

Dr.:  “Okay, now you’re going to see a set of vertical lines and horizontal lines.  Do any of them look sharper/darker/more clear?”.

Me:  (Oh, thank god, for once something easy).  “The vertical lines look darker”.

Dr.:  “Okay, I’m going to just switch something here…(click)….okay, now do you see any difference?”

Me:  (Oh great, the lines look like they’re changing shades.  Maybe I just need to blink a few times.  Um…..crap, I guess they both look the same!?!?!?  God, what if I answer some of these incorrectly and he changes my prescription and then I can’t see anything????)

“they both kind of look the same”.

Dr.:  Okay, now if you could please cover your right eye and look straight ahead and read me the bottom line please.

Me:  “G……A……S…….V…….L”.

Dr.:  Okay, now cover your left eye and read me the bottom line again okay?  Same lens, different letters.”

Me: ( Okay, what is happening?  Am I answering these right or what?  He’s giving me no indication as to whether my eyesight has gotten better or worse!?!?  Oh great, now these look totally blurry and I can’t ready any of them!?!?!)   “Um, I can’t read any of them”.

Dr:  Okay…..let me just—

Me:  “Listen, I don’t mean to interrupt, but are my answers making any sense to you whatsoever?  This all feels like one big guessing game!  Am I all over the board here or am I making sense???”

Dr.:  “Uh, no you’re being very consistent.

Me:  “Consistent meaning what???”

Dr.:  “Consistent meaning your answers are perfect and are making sense taking into account your eyesight”.

Phew.  Was that so hard for him to tell me?

And then he tells me my right eye has an astigmatism.  Or, a stigmatism, which is it?  I guess I should Google it….okay it’s astigmatism.  One word.   I guess it’s just a fancy word for “Blurry”.  No, I don’t want special contacts for it, not I don’t want special eye drops, yes, I’m happy with my glasses.  Can I go now???

And I walk out the door into the beautiful sunshine like it was the last day of school before summer vacation.  364 more days until I have  to do that again!!

 

Forget “Helicopter Mom”, We Are A “Helicopter Nation”.

My eldest child is terrified of loud noises.  We can’t go to parades because of the fire engine horns, and we had to remove all of our smoke alarms in our home.  He is extremely sensitive during transition times, makes odd noises throughout the day as a way of releasing his energy, and is clumsy as all get-out.   He is extremely shy and doesn’t like to make too much eye contact with people he doesn’t know very well.

My younger son can’t sit still for more than a few minutes.  He wakes up at 5:30 am and doesn’t stop until he passes out at 8:30 or so.  Minutes before he falls asleep, he is still moving and talking.   He doesn’t walk anywhere, he sprints.  Even at 5:30 in the morning on the way to the bathroom.  He is also never satisfied.  He wants this and this and this and this and is always after his next “thing”.

If a Psychiatrist ever came across my boys they’d have them diagnosed within minutes.   My eldest would probably be diagnosed as having Sensory Integration D/O or would be placed on the Autism Spectrum.  Sam would definitely be diagnosed with ADD or ADHD (those being so prevalent, that no one need spell them out anymore).

To me, they’re just my boys who each have their own little quirks and who are managing themselves in this life the way they have to.

It seems in America’s opinion these days, that we are doing our children an injustice if we don’t detect “abnormalities” early and work feverishly to “correct” them;  to get them “up to par”.

A child isn’t talking enough by the age of three?  Another child flaps his hands and makes whizzing sounds?  A third child trips over his own feet and is quite uncoordinated?  Something must be wrong.  Let’s figure it out, label it, surround the child with Services and get him up to speed.

There is now a diagnosis for temper tantrums.  It is called Disruptive Mood Dysregulation Disorder.  thank you DSM-V.   Now we can diagnose every single child that was ever born.

My question is, are we actually doing our children an injustice by interfering with something that is nothing?  Are we actually doing them a disservice by picking out “flaws” or “abnormalities” or a “lag in development” when there is none?

Forget being a Helicopter Mom.  We have become a Helicopter Nation.

Have we taken diagnoses that were meant for severe cases and applied them to an any and all mild symptom that might even remotely look abnormal, under the guise of being “good” health care practitioners, or “good” parents?  It seems over the last several decades, we have come up with such rigid ideas about what is “normal” that if any one child doesn’t fit neatly into that box they are deemed abnormal.

Why are we so concerned with finding something amiss or “off” in our children and focusing all of our energy on making it “right”?

Does our own anxiety about our children cause us to find things that aren’t there?  Does our anxiety about being “good” parents cause us to get fixated on fixing our kids when they aren’t broken?  Does getting a label for our children and taking steps to “treat” them help assuage our own anxiety?

In my opinion, our American culture is drowning in Anxiety on so many levels, which is making parenting even harder.

We’re bombarded with media coverage of every imaginable tragedy that occurs within minutes of its happening.  It infuses us all with unbelievable terror and fear for our kids.

In addition, the idea of Mental Health and Mental Disorders is so terribly misconstrued that an ungodly number of our children are given serious psychological disorders and then put on heavy medications for decades.

I work in the Mental Health field, and I can honestly say, I worry if we are doing more harm than good at times.  It is disheartening that the only way our children can receive any kind of support/help/guidance is to be given a label, which conveys that something is “amiss”, and often times, be placed on medications to “help” with it.

What has happened to the idea of honoring who our children are and allowing them to navigate their worlds they way they need?  What ever happened to letting them be individuals?  For a nation that claims to be so interested in living “organically”, we couldn’t be doing a worse job letting our own kids naturally develop.

Our own anxiety about how our kids are doing is most likely making things much, much worse than it needs to be.  But, when you live in an America like our America today, it’s hard not to get sucked in to that.   Anxiety is everywhere.  It’s in our faces day in and day out and the message is always that we need to “do something” about it.

My eldest son is the youngest kid in his class.  He only turned 5 two weeks before school started.   I wondered how he would fare entering Kindergarten being so incredibly shy, being very afraid of loud noises, being the youngest.  But nonetheless, I saw him off as he boarded the school bus, refusing to let him think he can’t handle going to school and handle all of the new and scary things he’ll encounter.

And a year later, I see that he has thrived, enjoyed himself and can’t wait to be a first-grader.

Do we need to have more faith in our kids and their strength and resiliency as opposed to perceiving them as in need of “help” at every turn?

As you can see, there are more questions than answers in this post.  I’d love to hear what others think.

 

I’m Messing Around With My Blog Settings, You’re Not Lost.

Hey all.  I’m sitting here on my lunch break from work and messing around with my blog page.  I got bored with how it looked, ya know?

So, this isn’t really a post as much as it is a reassurance that you haven’t gotten lost in the World Wide Web…..I just haven’t decided yet what I want it to look like.

Here…I’ll post an adorable picture of Doe since this post has no content whatsoever…..

Play hard. Sleep hard.

I Was Nominated For An Award, So I Guess I Better Tell You My Real Name.

So Alicia Benton, the hilarious blogger who was photographed doing some serious dancing, (which you can see on her About Me page), nominated me for the ABC-Award.

Thank you Alicia!!

But, before I proceed with the nominee duties, I feel I must clear something up:  My name is not Mia.  When I started this blog almost two years ago, I was oh, so afraid of using my real name.  So, I made up the name Mia.  I actually love that name and if I could re-name myself, I would use Mia, or Thea…so I figured it was “close enough” to the real thing.

Any-hoo, now that I realize that my little blog is merely an infinitesimal drop of water in the huge Ocean Of Blogging, and that relatively speaking, no one really reads it………..I’m not so afraid anymore!!

My real name is Michelle.  I’m not giving you my last name, but Michelle is my REAL name.  Should I change my About Page????

So, here are the ABC’s of me (Michelle):

A–Animated.  I should have been an actress really.

B–Bossy.  I try to be really nice about it, but I know what to do and how to do it right and so I’d appreciate it if you’d just do what I say.

Delicious.

C–Christoph Waltz.  The Actor.  He’s not only handsome, he’s an amazing actor, which makes him even more handsome.

D–Daydreamer.  I spend way too much time in my head daydreaming.  Sometimes about Christoph Waltz.

E–Energetic.  I can do 1,000 things by 11:00am.

F–Folding laundry.  You can always find me folding laundry.  With a vacant look in my eyes.

G–Golden Girls.  I love that ridiculous show.  I have no idea why.  I guess because it’s not Reality t.v. and it’s not Intervention.

 

 

 

 

H–Hot-Headed.  Someone took the one open parking spot right in front of the bakery yesterday morning just as I was about to grab it.  I think I actually made up a new swear word from that.

I–Impolite sometimes.  I swear too much.  Some people don’t like that.  I try, but it’s hard for me not to cuss.  I know, it’s unattractive.

J–Jealous.  I’m a Scorpio.  I can’t help it.

K–Killer Slap Jack player.  I cream my boys every single time.

L–Laugh.  I love to laugh.  My husband makes me laugh every single day.

M–Michelle is my real name.  Not Mia.

N–Not a good gardener.  I suck at it really.  I’ve tried.

O–Obsessive.  Christoph Waltz, currently.

P–Pajamas.  I’m in my pajamas right now, in bed, watching The Golden Girls and blogging.

Q–Quick.

R–Realistic.  Boring, right?

S–Scrappy.  My husband gave me this nickname in college.  All of our friends STILL call me Scrappy.  Or, Scrap, for short.

T–Tori Amos fan.  I’m a little obsessed.  Have been for 20 years.  

U–Unbelievably in love with my two boys.  And Christoph Waltz.    Oh….and my husband.

V–Vegan.       No, I’m not.  Just kidding.

W–Worrier.

X–eXtractor of boogers.

Y–I can’t think of a damn thing for this one!?!?!?

Z–Zzzzzz.  Um…I only really need like 5-6 hours of sleep to function.  Thankfully, since I haven’t slept a full night since the day my eldest son was born.

Check out these girls blogs before you leave!!  I nominate…….

Faking Picture Perfect.  Meredith is a wife and mother of 3 children.  She’s open and honest and I always make sure I read her posts first thing when they pop into my e-mail–she’s like my long-lost twin who lives across the country.

Normal Is The New Boring.  Amber would be one of my best friends if she lived near me.  She’s blatant and hilarious and I wish I knew her in person, but being blogging buddies will have to do for now.

Momsasauras.  She’s got a brilliant plant to help us all smell better after we’ve dyed our hair.  With that kind of mind, you know her writing is funny and unique:)

Thanks for reading everyone!

 

 

Motherhood Morsels

A Day In The Life Of A Mom At Home With Her Two Boys:

Me:  Doe, where is your brother?

Doe:  Um, he’s outback digging up dinosaur bones.

Me: Oh.  Ok.

________________________________________________________________________________________________

Doe:  (Yelling to me across the upstairs hall from their bathroom)  Mom!  We’re in the tub washing ourselves all by ourselves!

Me:  That’s Awesome guys!!

Si:  Hey mom, where are our toothbrushes?!?!?

Me: (Entering their bathroom)  Um, they’re here in this drawer, but that’s not toothpaste, that’s Cortizone Cream honey.

_________________________________________________________________________________________________

Me:  Ok boys, time to get outta the tub.

Boys:  (In unison) NNOOOOOOO!!!!

Me:  Yes, you’ve been in there long enough, the water is filthy.

Boys:  ( In unison)  NNNOOOOOOOO!!!!

Me:  Okay, who wants to play a game???

Boys:   ME!!!

Me:  Okay, I’m thinking of a number from 1 to 10 and whoever guesses it wins!!  Go!!

Si:  11!!!!    Doe:  11!!!

Me:  No guys, 1 to 10.  Pick a number between them.

Si:  12!!!  Doe:  12!!!

Me:  No!!  1 to 10!!   1,2,3,4,5,6,7,8,9,10.  Pick one of those numbers.

Si:  24!!!!  Doe:  13!!!

Me:  Guys, listen, pick a number between the number 1 and the number 10.  10 is the highest you can go.

Si:  15!!!  Doe:   16!!!!

Me:  Ok Doe, you win.  It was 16.  That means the Winner gets to get out first.

Doe:  Yay!!!!

______________________________________________________________________________________________

Doe:  Mom!!!  I need help wiping!!!

Me:  Ok, coming!!!

Doe:  Check out my log, it’s huge!!!

Me:  Wow!!!  That IS a huge log!!  Good work!!!

_______________________________________________________________________________________________

Doe:  Okay, we’ll go play in the other room.

Me:  Thank you, you guys are too loud and I’m trying to read.

Doe:  Okay, let me kiss your hand mama.      Mhua!!!   See, that’s why we’re in love.

 

It’s loud, it’s chaotic, it sometimes involves scrutinizing and praising bowel movements……but every morsel is full of Love.

Happy Mother’s Day, Mom. Thanks For Not Killing Me.

As Mother’s Day approaches, I find myself reflecting on my own mother now that I myself am a mother, and for some reason, I keep thinking about a few moments in time when I sensed that she wanted to kill me, but didn’t.

I’m so grateful for that.  And yet, so sorry to have brought her to the brink of insanity on so many occasions.  These stories will undoubtedly shine a light on my questionable intelligence, but will hopefully more so highlight my mother’s miraculous patience and love.

 

1988:  I was 11 or 12 and we had just purchased a brand new car.  A Blue Oldsmobile Cutlass Supreme with blue interior.  Whoa!  It has Cruise Control!!!  The family’s newest vehicle.  Sweet!  My dad let my mom drive it most of the time, but in this memory, we were cruisin’ in the Blue Oldsmobile makin’ our way to grandma’s house in style!  My mom was in the front seat reading the newspaper to my dad, who was driving.  My younger sister and I were in the back.

Halfway through, we stopped at McDonald’s to grab some snacks.  I got a chocolate milkshake.  How sweet life was, slurping down my milkshake, automatic windows down with the breeze blowing in my hair.  I think We Built This City might have been playing on the radio.  We built this city on Rock and Roll.  Oh yeah!

But then crap, my new Hot Pink Jordache purse zipper got stuck!  Ggggrrrrr.  I can’t get it open.  I can’t remember what I wanted in there, but it was urgent and with one hand holding my chocolate milkshake, I couldn’t maneuver the zipper.  Where can I put this thing???  Despite Cruise Control and Automatic Windows, apparently Oldsmobile hadn’t yet invented Cup Holders.

So, in my 11-year-old mind, I thought, “Oh wait, here….I’ll just set my Chocolate Milkshake on this back window shelf thing and get my zipper unstuck.  No problem.  There.

But it seems dad took some kind of turn and before I know it, I watched my Chocolate Milkshake, in slow-motion, teeter and totter and finally fall to its side.  It’s lid busts off and my chocolate milkshake proceeds to pour down the entire back seat of our new Oldsmobile Cutlass Supreme.  All the way down to the seats and into the seams of the seats.

I recall The Look Of Death coming from my father’s eyes in the rear view mirror.  I also recall my mother un-buckling her seat belt, reaching in back of the car with some napkins trying desperately to clean up even a fraction of the mess I’d made, before she finally resigned to the fact that it was useless and said “F*#% it!!!!” and got back in her seat.  I don’t remember anything after that.

I’m so, so sorry mom.  I know.  It was so stupid.  I wasn’t thinking.  Thank you for not killing me.

1990:  A mere two years later.  I’m around 13.  Like any Junior High girl, I’m knee-deep in crooked teeth and pimples.  In this memory, I’m wearing what they called a Lip Bumper.  Who the hell knows what it was for.  I still don’t know.  But it was a small wire wrapped in hard plastic that fit in my braces and did….something.  It was expensive and important for me to wear.

Mom and I are at the mall.  Having girl time.  She needed to make a few stops at a few stores and brought me along for the ride.  And, like always, we have lunch at the food court.  I always chose to eat at the the ever classy “Fortune Cookie”.  What is there to worry about with a Chinese joint in a mall food court???

As mom and I sat down to eat, I embarrassingly removed my Lip Bumper, hoping no one from school was around to see me, and placed it on a napkin on my tray.  Mom and I had a nice time just sitting and eating and talking, until she checked her watch and announced that she had one more stop to make at the mall on the other side of the city.  A mere 20 minute drive.  “Let’s Go”!!  She says.

As I’m standing next to my mom at the last stop we had to make, it suddenly hits me.

I’m not wearing my Lip Bumper.  Where on earth is it????

Holy.   Mother.   Of.  God.

I meekly tug at my mom’s arm and utter the words, “I left my Lip Bumper at the other mall.  On my tray.

Which I threw into the garbage.

Have you ever seen the movie Fast and Furious?  The city flew by my window in a blur as my mother drove us back to the first mall.  We made a bee line for the garbage can I had used, approached one of the janitors and asked if we could pick through the garbage.  After a dubious look through his grimy glasses, he brought us around back and stood by while my mother and I emptied the garbage can and literally picked through the trash looking for my teeny-tiny Lip Bumper.

I distinctly remember a number of male janitors standing around watching us.  No one made a move to help.

But lo and behold, we found it!  Thank God.  And Thank YOU mom, for not killing me that day too.

Who doesn’t remember this awesome movie???

1994:  I was 16.  Getting ready to get my Driver’s License!  Woo-Hoo!!  What a glorious age!!!  I had already gotten my permit, I’d studied, and now I was  ready to take my Driver’s Test and be Free!!!!   Free to come and go as I please and pretend I was an adult!!!

At this time, my mom and dad had separated and my mom was the one bringing me to my test.  I had to use her car.  We only had the one car, so this was not an easy feat.  It entailed her having to leave work early (which was NOT easy as she was the office manager at a thriving doctor’s office), sit around for a while so I could use her car for the test, and then drive me back to her office so she could finish her day.

Needless to say, at this point, her life was stressful.  But, she made the sacrifice and did what she had to do to help me.

So, we’re on our way to the DMV.  All I needed was the money to take the test, my permit and a car.

Money.  Check!  (Thanks mom).

Car.  Check!  (thanks again mom).

Permit.   Ch…..

Oh.  F#%$.

I start to panic.  I look over at my mother, already seething at Life, and the blood rushes to my head.  We park out by the curb in front of the DMV and I terrifyingly tell her, “Mom, I forgot my permit”.

I honestly don’t remember exactly what happened at this point.  If memory serves, I believe my mother swore a blue streak as she stomped her way into the DMV to re-schedule with me, proudly announcing to the DMV clerk that her daughter forgot her permit and therefore, won’t be able to take her test today.  I simply stood by ashamed, embarrassed and guilt-ridden.

I obviously was not mature enough to be driving anyway.  So, my mom spent money on me that went to waste, she left work early for no reason whatsoever and will have to do it all over again in three weeks when I am supposed to take it again.

My mom is actually a very patient woman.  So, to see her in these rare, but terrifying moments of pure rage, I know I REALLY messed up.   I don’t know if she herself remembers these moments.  I can’t believe she would have forgotten, but I haven’t.

Mom, thanks so much for putting up with my complete idiocy growing up.  I was about as sharp as a basketball at times, I know.  Life was very difficult at times for you and I know having two teenage daughters didn’t always help matters.   As always, one never knows what a mother goes through until she herself goes through it.  And each year as I am a mother longer, I see more and more clearly how much you sacrificed for us, how much you tolerated and how much money you had to waste spend on us too.

And she still calls and checks up on me when I’m not feeling well.  Every.  Single.  Time.  Happy Mother’s Day Mom.  I love you!!!

 

To Blog Or Not To Blog. That Is The Question That Is Driving Me Nuts.

Just yesterday I ran across this blog post by Poop On My Hands and it was just one of those posts that really resonated with me in a lot of ways, hence my decision to share it with my readers as well.

I’m sure all of us, at one time or another can relate to when blogging feels like a chore.  Or, for me, it also makes me pretty anxious at times.

“I’ve got to post something!!  It’s been 4 days!!!”

“OMG, I can’t think of anything worthwhile to write about!!!”

“Ugh, no.  Delete.  That sucked.  Here, let’s try again.  Nope.  Lousy”.

I’m having that kind of moment right now.  But I’ve got a small twist:  I’m a professional in a small town and my job requires there to be some solid Boundaries between me and my “clients”.  How can I blog about my life as a mom and not overstep any boundaries in the event that someone I work with stumbles upon my blog and reads up on my family life?  How can I not Overshare, but share enough that I get a sense of gratification from it?

I love writing, I love telling stories about my life and it’s a great release for me as well.  When you’re in my line of work, you don’t always have a lot of time for your own release, you’re always helping others with theirs.

Lately, I’ve been second-guessing my choice to blog, which has produced some Writer’s Block.  And it really sucks.

Along with the fact that when you own your own business, have a household to run, volunteer in your kids’ classes and have kids and a husband to care for, finding time to blog often is very hard.

Should I stop blogging and find another outlet?  Should I make my blog completely Anonymous in every way?  If I do, will my readers feel as connected?

Or, am I making too big a deal out of this and in actuality, no one I work with would even give a crap about this little blog I have going?  I’d like to think that’s the answer, but who knows?????

I’m going back and forth with this.  Can’t decide.  I KNOW some of you others moms know what that feels like!!!  Hopefully I’ll come to some kind of decision soon!!!   I wonder if there is anyone else in the same boat as me?

 

Things I Hear When My Boys Bust In On Me Taking A Shower:

* Moooom!!!  I put my Pop-Tart in, but now it’s down too low and now I can’t get it!!!!

Don’t you dare touch that Pop-tart until I get downstairs, do you hear me???  You’re going to electrocute yourself!!!!

 

* Moooooom!!!  I need a wipe, see????

Did you walk all the way up here with a poopy bum???   Hold on a minute……

 

*  Mom, which button do I push on the remote to fast-forward the commercials…..here see, which one????

That one right there.  The yellow one.

 

*  Mom, I have to pee!!

Ok. Hurry up.

 

*  Mom, Si is playing with the ceiling fan!!!

SI!?  LEAVE THE FAN ALONE!!!!

 

*  Wwwwaaaaahhhhhhh!!!  Moooooom Si punched me in the stomaaaaaaach.  No I didn’t!!!!  Yes he did!!!!!

BOTH OF YOU OUT OF HERE!!!!

 

*  Mom, I can hop on one foot, watch!

That’s awesome.

 

*  Mom, what are these????

Those are called tampons, now get out from under the sink!!

But, what are they for?  Are these diapers??

I SAID GET OUT!!!

 

*  Mom, Doe isn’t letting me watch Dora!!!

Good.

 

*  Where’s your penis?