I am such the pessimist at Christmas time. I don't mean to be, I just am. The buying of all the stuff really stresses me out. It's just so much. It's TOO much.
As a family we don't have religious reasons to celebrate. We celebrate more as the end of one year becomes another. We celebrate the good things that have happened in this year and look forward to what will happen after December 31. We celebrate family, friends and giving.
I think that one reason we, the Fitzsimmons, continue to celebrate this time of year is that it is special and fun to be a part of something when SO many other people are celebrating. The lights. The traditions. The carols. The luminaries. The anticipation. The unity.
The amount of money we spend on our kids this time of year makes me want to puke, but other than their birthdays, we are pretty strict about not buying toys and crap throughout the year. The kids know this and so they prepare for Christmas months in advance.
They are excited beyond belief and I can't bear to disappoint them.
Sometimes I wish we had never given into all the consumer hoopla but now, there's no going back, now we just have to move forward.
Next year, a few things will change.
For Andy and I, it really is about giving. We don't really buy gifts for each other but rather give what we can to the kids and relatives, whether it is a gift or time given.
Yesterday we made a day trip to visit with family. The look on my grandmother's face when we surprised her through her den window was worth every bit of exhaustion it took to make it there.
With the kids, we talk about giving, and we do give throughout the year to whatever comes up at school to raise money or canned goods for those in need. Jack's class, through a poinsettia sale, raised enough money to make a good Christmas for two families.
Starting in 2011, I want to do what Jack's class did. I want to help support a family in need. Our family to another family. Make it real. Make it count and help my kids see how fortunate we are and truly how lucky we are to not need for anything.
I think that whether you celebrate for religious reasons or any other reason, many of us could do more at Holiday time, at Christmastime, in the spirit of giving.
From this point forward, that aims to be one of my my goals for us as a family.
Holiday giving.
Monday, December 27, 2010
Wednesday, December 22, 2010
Slow Hike
Took the boys on a hike today at the new Enterprise South Nature Park after ensuring Rowan didn't have strep or the flu. We had a fast lunch in the parking lot before starting.
Things didn't begin so smoothly. Jack insisted that he shouldn't have to carry our backpack with water because his back was not totally healed. He sulked until I finally (wrongly) lost my temper and said it was fine to let his 7 months pregnant mother carry it.
He immediately felt guilty and begged for me to give it back, which I refused. His attitude completely turned around.
They played in a mostly dry creek bed and all found walking sticks. Poor Rowan's kept snapping in half, because of his strength I told him.
They crossed this cool tree over the creek bed.
They found sticks to turn into daggers and went repeatedly through these disgusting drainage ditches which Finn said had sewer in them because the water had bubbles in it. Bec called them "Time Tunnels" from his favorite show Dinosaur Train.
After we got home, the three older boys got their pocket knives (this was Andy's doing) and sat in the front yard carving their sticks into daggers.
We turned around after half a mile because Bec was tired.
Other than losing my tongue a little with Jack at the beginning, I was actually pretty proud of myself. I found myself not hurrying them or trying to get the to stay on the trail. I was relaxed. They had fun.
Not hurrying through things is a biggie for me to work on. We go-go-go all the time and I swear, when we don't, everybody is happier.
This is a picture of my pee in the parking lot before we started hiking. I was beside the driver's side door. Bec found me. Told me that the pee was on my foot (which it was) and that it "wooked like a Trismis Tree" (which, honestly, if you use your imagination like a three year old would, quite resembles a Trismis Tree).
Things didn't begin so smoothly. Jack insisted that he shouldn't have to carry our backpack with water because his back was not totally healed. He sulked until I finally (wrongly) lost my temper and said it was fine to let his 7 months pregnant mother carry it.
He immediately felt guilty and begged for me to give it back, which I refused. His attitude completely turned around.
They played in a mostly dry creek bed and all found walking sticks. Poor Rowan's kept snapping in half, because of his strength I told him.
They crossed this cool tree over the creek bed.
They found sticks to turn into daggers and went repeatedly through these disgusting drainage ditches which Finn said had sewer in them because the water had bubbles in it. Bec called them "Time Tunnels" from his favorite show Dinosaur Train.
After we got home, the three older boys got their pocket knives (this was Andy's doing) and sat in the front yard carving their sticks into daggers.
We turned around after half a mile because Bec was tired.
Other than losing my tongue a little with Jack at the beginning, I was actually pretty proud of myself. I found myself not hurrying them or trying to get the to stay on the trail. I was relaxed. They had fun.
Not hurrying through things is a biggie for me to work on. We go-go-go all the time and I swear, when we don't, everybody is happier.
Monday, December 20, 2010
Things that mean Nothing
I read the obituary of Jack's friend's cousin who died Thursday night in his sleep. Falsely, it seems now, we are taught that after the first 12 months, sleep is a safe place to leave your babies.
I have to admit, I still check on mine some nights when I wander the house, who-knows-what keeping me awake, baby kicking or money. I don't know why I check still, because I'm not worried, not really.
I worry about the "C" word.
I worry with car rides and field trips.
I have the worry that some kid will bring a gun to school.
But I don't worry about sleep. I'm sure that sweet kid's mother didn't either.
It's things like this that I need to recall more often, not to be grisly or mean hearted, but so that I can remember that when I start to loose my temper or roll my eyes or complain, that I remember how badly, I'm certain, that Duncan's aunt and uncle would love to lose their tempers or roll their eyes at some obnoxiousness caused by their 13 year old again.
Things like this happen and I make note of them at the time and make extra effort to try and relax myself in how I treat my kids. Somehow, I always forget.
As terrible as it sounds, maybe it would help to keep a list of these families who will never again be the same, will never be whole again, and look them over often enough to keep from forgetting just how lucky we have been so far and just how ridiculous some of my rants are.
Really, you squashed grapes and didn't clean them up?
Really, you dropped yogurt on the new couch?
This stuff, means NOTHING.
We aren't guaranteed squat in life. It doesn't matter how much money you have or the amount of degrees hanging on your wall (or shoved in the attic). It doesn't matter how much you love someone.
There's no way to hide from sorrow. Not forever.
I am not one of those "God never gives you more than you can handle" people, but I do believe that we can handle much more than we think we can and that we truly do shape our own lives and situations by our actions, by our words and by our attitudes.
Basically the same idea.
I am not always the best example of this, but my dad was an expert. Even when he knew he was dying, he made the most of every day-going to the Masters and talking somebody into letting him in a car around Bristol Motor speedway. He never lost his spirit, never lost his humor and he never lost his love for life.
My dad and I had issues, big issues, but I think those are the qualities I admire most about him. Not that he was a judge, not that he was smart. Even though he had faults, I'm convinced his outlook helped him live longer.
I am learning to appreciate him more after his death than I ever did when he was alive.
I hope that this family can eventually take on his attitude, and perhaps they already have. I don't know them, other than from what the utter sadness in Duncan's mom voice could give away, that their child was important and loved.
Even though their lives will forever be imbalanced, I hope they can find the strength to be happy again.
And I hope that they won't mind that I use them as an example to keep my memory fresh and tongue in check.
I have to admit, I still check on mine some nights when I wander the house, who-knows-what keeping me awake, baby kicking or money. I don't know why I check still, because I'm not worried, not really.
I worry about the "C" word.
I worry with car rides and field trips.
I have the worry that some kid will bring a gun to school.
But I don't worry about sleep. I'm sure that sweet kid's mother didn't either.
It's things like this that I need to recall more often, not to be grisly or mean hearted, but so that I can remember that when I start to loose my temper or roll my eyes or complain, that I remember how badly, I'm certain, that Duncan's aunt and uncle would love to lose their tempers or roll their eyes at some obnoxiousness caused by their 13 year old again.
Things like this happen and I make note of them at the time and make extra effort to try and relax myself in how I treat my kids. Somehow, I always forget.
As terrible as it sounds, maybe it would help to keep a list of these families who will never again be the same, will never be whole again, and look them over often enough to keep from forgetting just how lucky we have been so far and just how ridiculous some of my rants are.
Really, you squashed grapes and didn't clean them up?
Really, you dropped yogurt on the new couch?
This stuff, means NOTHING.
We aren't guaranteed squat in life. It doesn't matter how much money you have or the amount of degrees hanging on your wall (or shoved in the attic). It doesn't matter how much you love someone.
There's no way to hide from sorrow. Not forever.
I am not one of those "God never gives you more than you can handle" people, but I do believe that we can handle much more than we think we can and that we truly do shape our own lives and situations by our actions, by our words and by our attitudes.
Basically the same idea.
I am not always the best example of this, but my dad was an expert. Even when he knew he was dying, he made the most of every day-going to the Masters and talking somebody into letting him in a car around Bristol Motor speedway. He never lost his spirit, never lost his humor and he never lost his love for life.
My dad and I had issues, big issues, but I think those are the qualities I admire most about him. Not that he was a judge, not that he was smart. Even though he had faults, I'm convinced his outlook helped him live longer.
I am learning to appreciate him more after his death than I ever did when he was alive.
I hope that this family can eventually take on his attitude, and perhaps they already have. I don't know them, other than from what the utter sadness in Duncan's mom voice could give away, that their child was important and loved.
Even though their lives will forever be imbalanced, I hope they can find the strength to be happy again.
And I hope that they won't mind that I use them as an example to keep my memory fresh and tongue in check.
Saturday, December 18, 2010
The Few and Far Between
Because of Jack's back and all of our vomiting, diarrhea and sharting (oh, yes, on the couch), we've been confined to this house WAY more than usual. It's hard to battle the TV and Wii, but several times over the last few weeks there have been some happy times sans electronics.
Reading the first Harry Potter to Finn, who begs me not to stop. Many Sorry games and BeyBlade Battles (if you don't know BeyBlades, be glad).
It's these few and far-between moments that really show the goodness that each of my kids has that so often goes unrecognized by me.
About two weeks ago when we began the rearranging to fit Baby Maeve into the House of Testosterone, we gathered all of our Thomas the Tank Engine stuff, an entire decade of painted wooden overpriced trains and track and bridges and tunnels, and moved it all into the living room.
For almost 2 hours today all four boys, ages 3 to 10, played WITHOUT FIGHTING, with the trains. There were laughs and train noises and little people working together to build one elaborate track.
It's so cliche to say, but : PRICELESS.
The best quote was: "Hey, look how big my balls are!" Ahhh, how will a girl fit into this household? I feel for parents of all-girl households, for ye will never know the joys of "balls".
Sidenote: In the middle of writing this post I had a phone call from a mother of one of Jack's best friends who told me that her 13 year old nephew died yesterday. He went to sleep Thursday night and never woke up.
Every parent's worst nighmare.
I don't know this family. Nor can I come close to imagining their pain. Selfishly, I hope I never do. My thoughts are with them.
Reading the first Harry Potter to Finn, who begs me not to stop. Many Sorry games and BeyBlade Battles (if you don't know BeyBlades, be glad).
It's these few and far-between moments that really show the goodness that each of my kids has that so often goes unrecognized by me.
About two weeks ago when we began the rearranging to fit Baby Maeve into the House of Testosterone, we gathered all of our Thomas the Tank Engine stuff, an entire decade of painted wooden overpriced trains and track and bridges and tunnels, and moved it all into the living room.
For almost 2 hours today all four boys, ages 3 to 10, played WITHOUT FIGHTING, with the trains. There were laughs and train noises and little people working together to build one elaborate track.
It's so cliche to say, but : PRICELESS.
The best quote was: "Hey, look how big my balls are!" Ahhh, how will a girl fit into this household? I feel for parents of all-girl households, for ye will never know the joys of "balls".
Sidenote: In the middle of writing this post I had a phone call from a mother of one of Jack's best friends who told me that her 13 year old nephew died yesterday. He went to sleep Thursday night and never woke up.
Every parent's worst nighmare.
I don't know this family. Nor can I come close to imagining their pain. Selfishly, I hope I never do. My thoughts are with them.
Thursday, December 16, 2010
The Flip Side
Is it better to get angry about something, thereby causing conflict, or do everything you can to avoid conflict?
I have been known to cause too much conflict, something I have actively been working on. I don't think that I have it in me to always turn the other cheek, to walk away, to pretend that my needs, my wants are not as important as someone else's needs or wants. I should not be afraid to insist on this every once in a while.
There are also certain causes that I believe in very strongly where I will always voice my opinion in necessary (key word) circumstances.
I think my dilemma, no I KNOW my dilemma lies in how I handle myself when these situations arise. I know this, yet in the heat of the moment that is the hardest thing to remember.
Yelling. Calling names. Shouting accusations.
These are things I need to work on.
On the flip side, in my somewhat defense, ignoring things, not standing up for things, not having someone's back for the simple reason of avoiding conflict, doesn't fly either.
Not in my book.
Some things I am learning to let go.
But I am not capable, nor do I want to be capable, of running from every conflict or controversy that comes at me directly in daily life.
In light of what I am trying to accomplish in my life, I have to find ways to better address these things, by not losing my temper or my tongue.
I have been known to cause too much conflict, something I have actively been working on. I don't think that I have it in me to always turn the other cheek, to walk away, to pretend that my needs, my wants are not as important as someone else's needs or wants. I should not be afraid to insist on this every once in a while.
There are also certain causes that I believe in very strongly where I will always voice my opinion in necessary (key word) circumstances.
I think my dilemma, no I KNOW my dilemma lies in how I handle myself when these situations arise. I know this, yet in the heat of the moment that is the hardest thing to remember.
Yelling. Calling names. Shouting accusations.
These are things I need to work on.
On the flip side, in my somewhat defense, ignoring things, not standing up for things, not having someone's back for the simple reason of avoiding conflict, doesn't fly either.
Not in my book.
Some things I am learning to let go.
But I am not capable, nor do I want to be capable, of running from every conflict or controversy that comes at me directly in daily life.
In light of what I am trying to accomplish in my life, I have to find ways to better address these things, by not losing my temper or my tongue.
Monday, December 13, 2010
Vomit
Note to Self:
Practice social skills.
When things don't go the way I think they should, in the way that makes the most sense to me, why do I get so upset?
Because I see it as losing?
I don't like losing.
That's the only possible explanation. It's not the inconvenience, really. It's the fact that it wasn't done exactly how I wanted it done (something that just yesterday, we scolded Jack for).
I know that I lack communication skills when it comes to things that are controversial. I assume that people will automatically know what I'm thinking, when in fact that's not always(hardly ever)the case. Rather than suggest whatever it is that I assume people should automatically know or do, I get angry, frustrated, hang up the phone, not understanding why people don't just know or do what it is I want.
Why is it that every so often, I expect my needs come first, which other than with Poor Andy, rarely happens. This is the pregnancy that wasn't. I haven't been able to slow down even a smidgen. That's right, smidgen.
How Pollyanna of me.
I'm not tooting my own horn here, but I don't just sit around eating bonbons, people, so come on, is it too much to ask to have someone bend over backwards for me once in a while?
All of this being said about this situation, I am not totally in the wrong regarding my behavior. I know that I'm not. BUT I could have better handled the situation. That I will admit. Not necessarily apologize for, but will admit.
Enlightenment wasn't attained in the span of a few blog posts, but at least I don't feel that I'm starting back at square one anymore.
THE END
Practice social skills.
When things don't go the way I think they should, in the way that makes the most sense to me, why do I get so upset?
Because I see it as losing?
I don't like losing.
That's the only possible explanation. It's not the inconvenience, really. It's the fact that it wasn't done exactly how I wanted it done (something that just yesterday, we scolded Jack for).
I know that I lack communication skills when it comes to things that are controversial. I assume that people will automatically know what I'm thinking, when in fact that's not always(hardly ever)the case. Rather than suggest whatever it is that I assume people should automatically know or do, I get angry, frustrated, hang up the phone, not understanding why people don't just know or do what it is I want.
Why is it that every so often, I expect my needs come first, which other than with Poor Andy, rarely happens. This is the pregnancy that wasn't. I haven't been able to slow down even a smidgen. That's right, smidgen.
How Pollyanna of me.
I'm not tooting my own horn here, but I don't just sit around eating bonbons, people, so come on, is it too much to ask to have someone bend over backwards for me once in a while?
All of this being said about this situation, I am not totally in the wrong regarding my behavior. I know that I'm not. BUT I could have better handled the situation. That I will admit. Not necessarily apologize for, but will admit.
Enlightenment wasn't attained in the span of a few blog posts, but at least I don't feel that I'm starting back at square one anymore.
THE END
Friday, December 10, 2010
Adaptation
If I had to choose words that best describe parenting they would be:
(1) fulfilling (duh, if you don't at least act like it is, then people think you're a bad parent) J/K.
(2) exhausting
(3) oh my god embarrassing (like one of my kids telling someone at school that the reason Rowan has blond hair is because he peed in his own mouth as a baby).
(4)and the one I'm learning now as the parent of an older kid, adaptive. Parenting a fit-throwing three year old requires different skills than parenting a fit-throwing 10 year old.
Jack is almost 11. He is smart, funny, gross (as boys tend to be), moody and reminds me a lot of myself as a kid. I was the oldest, like Jack and I'm not sure how or why it is that both Jack and I thrived on making people unhappy.
I was never smiling in pictures. Did my best to get other people in trouble (my poor cousins, I taught them to cuss). And I basically sulked and stomped a lot.
And this is not a pity party for me, but when I hear stories about myself as a child it's always in reference to how mean I was or regarding something terrible I did. I don't know one thing I ever did that someone bothered enough to compliment me on.
And really, this is not about me but about how I can keep Jack from looking back at the age of 35 and thinking these same things about his own childhood. Most of this is probably all in my head but really, I don't remember hugs and good things about adults in my childhood. I remember people always being mad at me for either something I did or said.
I'm sure that's not the case but it's how I remember.
I don't want that to be how Jack remembers.
Andy and I are both struggling with how to handle an older kid. What I think is most important for us to remember is that we should treat him with the same respect that we expect for ourselves.
So obvious, yet so hard to practice.
He deserves a say not just a punishment. It's just so hard to not loose it when he stomps around and slams his door when I haven't done anything at all to warrant him being angry with me. He's mad at someone else.
As his mother, I promise to:
(1) not loose my temper at him for actions not directed at me. I will note to him that he has no reason to treat me badly for something I haven't caused.
(2) address when he has done something that goes against what I have asked him to do or not do.
(3) allow him to have his say in something that is upsetting him.
(4) really attempt to treat him with the same respect I expect for myself.
(5) criticize less, compliment more.
(5) hug him every day because I think more hugs for me would have made me remember a happier childhood.
Parenting is so many things.
It is all-consuming for sure and a learning process no doubt, but I think more than anything, parenting can teach us to be the people that we need to be. If we can't be kind to our children and humble in front of them, then what good are we?
(1) fulfilling (duh, if you don't at least act like it is, then people think you're a bad parent) J/K.
(2) exhausting
(3) oh my god embarrassing (like one of my kids telling someone at school that the reason Rowan has blond hair is because he peed in his own mouth as a baby).
(4)and the one I'm learning now as the parent of an older kid, adaptive. Parenting a fit-throwing three year old requires different skills than parenting a fit-throwing 10 year old.
Jack is almost 11. He is smart, funny, gross (as boys tend to be), moody and reminds me a lot of myself as a kid. I was the oldest, like Jack and I'm not sure how or why it is that both Jack and I thrived on making people unhappy.
I was never smiling in pictures. Did my best to get other people in trouble (my poor cousins, I taught them to cuss). And I basically sulked and stomped a lot.
And this is not a pity party for me, but when I hear stories about myself as a child it's always in reference to how mean I was or regarding something terrible I did. I don't know one thing I ever did that someone bothered enough to compliment me on.
And really, this is not about me but about how I can keep Jack from looking back at the age of 35 and thinking these same things about his own childhood. Most of this is probably all in my head but really, I don't remember hugs and good things about adults in my childhood. I remember people always being mad at me for either something I did or said.
I'm sure that's not the case but it's how I remember.
I don't want that to be how Jack remembers.
Andy and I are both struggling with how to handle an older kid. What I think is most important for us to remember is that we should treat him with the same respect that we expect for ourselves.
So obvious, yet so hard to practice.
He deserves a say not just a punishment. It's just so hard to not loose it when he stomps around and slams his door when I haven't done anything at all to warrant him being angry with me. He's mad at someone else.
As his mother, I promise to:
(1) not loose my temper at him for actions not directed at me. I will note to him that he has no reason to treat me badly for something I haven't caused.
(2) address when he has done something that goes against what I have asked him to do or not do.
(3) allow him to have his say in something that is upsetting him.
(4) really attempt to treat him with the same respect I expect for myself.
(5) criticize less, compliment more.
(5) hug him every day because I think more hugs for me would have made me remember a happier childhood.
Parenting is so many things.
It is all-consuming for sure and a learning process no doubt, but I think more than anything, parenting can teach us to be the people that we need to be. If we can't be kind to our children and humble in front of them, then what good are we?
Thursday, December 9, 2010
Early Resolution
I, Ann-Marie Jerman Fitzsimmons, do hereby swear that I will not utter the "f" work again in 2010.
Tuesday, December 7, 2010
One of those moments
I started trying to slow things down so my brain could better keep the memories intact. Since having Bec I've found that I don't go and do as much with him as I did the others. Part of the problem is that now we have this big, roomy house and I don't feel cramped so we come home more.
Being a home-body isn't bad but it also doesn't teach me how to handle Bec in a fun, unrushed setting. Most of our outings revolve around me trying to run or bike. Selfish?
A little, I suppose.
Today I took him to the aquarium, something I'd never done with just him. The whole experience was just a reminder of (1) what a unique, quirky, funny, smart kid he is and (2) my master plan is working.
He was well-behaved (for Bec-standards), meaning he didn't run away and managed not to hit me or tip anything over.
But the cute thing was, that the darker the aquarium got, the closer he stayed. Most of his time with me out in public is spent trying to elude me, but the darkness kept him close.
We just sat and watched the fish, for long moments, waiting for the three big sharks to circle back to us. We crawled into the crab tunnel where he said, "This freaks me out, Mom. I want to go back to the van." And I don't blame him.
Those big, creepy spider-creatures freak me out, too.
So slowly, we made our way to the exit hand in hand through the cave at the bottom of the "new" part. Water on all sides and on top of us. And Bec compliant, only because the crabs and darkness scare him.
Being a home-body isn't bad but it also doesn't teach me how to handle Bec in a fun, unrushed setting. Most of our outings revolve around me trying to run or bike. Selfish?
A little, I suppose.
Today I took him to the aquarium, something I'd never done with just him. The whole experience was just a reminder of (1) what a unique, quirky, funny, smart kid he is and (2) my master plan is working.
He was well-behaved (for Bec-standards), meaning he didn't run away and managed not to hit me or tip anything over.
But the cute thing was, that the darker the aquarium got, the closer he stayed. Most of his time with me out in public is spent trying to elude me, but the darkness kept him close.
We just sat and watched the fish, for long moments, waiting for the three big sharks to circle back to us. We crawled into the crab tunnel where he said, "This freaks me out, Mom. I want to go back to the van." And I don't blame him.
Those big, creepy spider-creatures freak me out, too.
So slowly, we made our way to the exit hand in hand through the cave at the bottom of the "new" part. Water on all sides and on top of us. And Bec compliant, only because the crabs and darkness scare him.
Monday, December 6, 2010
Null and Void
The mean lady that lives behind us has returned. She and her husband have a condo in Florida where they have been for most of the last year. In an effort to be fair to her, she doen't have the greatest situation. She has MS and has breast cancer AND she is mean. Yes, the cards are stacked against her somewhat BUT that doesn't mean (1) she has to be mean (2) I have to bend over backwards for her.
My dad was living proof that even if you are dying, you don't have to drag everyone around you down.
We had four pups when we first moved in here. And of course the dogs barked...some. They were in all night and never let out until around 7:30 a.m. To make a very long, very ugly story shorter, here's what happened. She got a device that sent out horrible noises only dogs can hear.
Didn't bother 3, scared the beejezus out of one, Frank. So, she would turn it on whenever they barked and poor Frank would try to claw his way back into the house. I made her aware of the pain she was causing Frank. In the midst of an altercation I told her that it didn't even phase the other three, and she said and I quote, "Well, it gets your attention."
Meaning, when I turn it on and torment your poor dog, you do what I want.
After much fighting we came to an agreement where I would do X, Y and Z to keep them from bothering her if she wouldn't turn on her little torture device. If they still bothered her, I asked that she would call and I would take care of it.
I stuck by this agreement to the letter. The Barker, Red, wore a bark collar. I brought them in EVERY flipping time I left the house. This meant we had no access to the garage which is not fun in the rain with all the kids and a 70 foot long house. When we went out of town, the dogs stayed in the garage except for when the pet sitter came to let them out and feed them.
So the neighbors stay away most of the time and I don't lock them up and I don't make Red wear a bark collar. Yet every time they show back up I have gone right back into the routine, doing just as I said I would.
They, on the other hand, never call when they come back into town to let us know the dogs are bothering them. They just turn their little torture device on. I didn't really let it get to me because their stays were always short-lived (not short enough, but short enough that I never had to go all crazy on them).
Our Sweet Dee Dee had to be put to sleep about 2 months ago, then Frank, who has cancer, and ancient Jane have moved inside. Poor Red, who's time will come inside, is outside alone the majority of the time.
It's funny to me that now she calls and asks me to bring in the dogs because her little bark device has zilch effect on Red. And she sounds FRUSTRATED.
I refuse to dwell on this. Caller ID is wonderous. I know that if I intentionally allow Red to bark (or if I, myself, bark at her as I did that one time) I will feel bad on the inside. I know this now.
I can't take her calls right now because I don't trust myself...yet, to deal with her appropriately. She can leave a message but I don't have to have the last word.
Is it okay to leave Red's bark collar off?
Is it okay for me to bring him in when it's convient for me?
Is it okay for me to call to him to quiet him when I can get there?
I think it is because I kept my end of our deal where she has not. In trying to happify my life, I think this okay.
My dad was living proof that even if you are dying, you don't have to drag everyone around you down.
We had four pups when we first moved in here. And of course the dogs barked...some. They were in all night and never let out until around 7:30 a.m. To make a very long, very ugly story shorter, here's what happened. She got a device that sent out horrible noises only dogs can hear.
Didn't bother 3, scared the beejezus out of one, Frank. So, she would turn it on whenever they barked and poor Frank would try to claw his way back into the house. I made her aware of the pain she was causing Frank. In the midst of an altercation I told her that it didn't even phase the other three, and she said and I quote, "Well, it gets your attention."
Meaning, when I turn it on and torment your poor dog, you do what I want.
After much fighting we came to an agreement where I would do X, Y and Z to keep them from bothering her if she wouldn't turn on her little torture device. If they still bothered her, I asked that she would call and I would take care of it.
I stuck by this agreement to the letter. The Barker, Red, wore a bark collar. I brought them in EVERY flipping time I left the house. This meant we had no access to the garage which is not fun in the rain with all the kids and a 70 foot long house. When we went out of town, the dogs stayed in the garage except for when the pet sitter came to let them out and feed them.
So the neighbors stay away most of the time and I don't lock them up and I don't make Red wear a bark collar. Yet every time they show back up I have gone right back into the routine, doing just as I said I would.
They, on the other hand, never call when they come back into town to let us know the dogs are bothering them. They just turn their little torture device on. I didn't really let it get to me because their stays were always short-lived (not short enough, but short enough that I never had to go all crazy on them).
Our Sweet Dee Dee had to be put to sleep about 2 months ago, then Frank, who has cancer, and ancient Jane have moved inside. Poor Red, who's time will come inside, is outside alone the majority of the time.
It's funny to me that now she calls and asks me to bring in the dogs because her little bark device has zilch effect on Red. And she sounds FRUSTRATED.
I refuse to dwell on this. Caller ID is wonderous. I know that if I intentionally allow Red to bark (or if I, myself, bark at her as I did that one time) I will feel bad on the inside. I know this now.
I can't take her calls right now because I don't trust myself...yet, to deal with her appropriately. She can leave a message but I don't have to have the last word.
Is it okay to leave Red's bark collar off?
Is it okay for me to bring him in when it's convient for me?
Is it okay for me to call to him to quiet him when I can get there?
I think it is because I kept my end of our deal where she has not. In trying to happify my life, I think this okay.
Friday, December 3, 2010
Growing Up
Since I started writing things down, I've noticed alot of things about myself. Not all bad, not all good. One thing that I need to work on is judging other people.
One thing I like about myself (other than the fact I'm hysterical) is that I have very strong convictions. I don't always, and by that I mean, rarely, voice them appropriately. I can't help that I feel very strongly about certain things. I CAN help the way I respond to certain things, though.
One of the best things someone has said about me in a long time came from my friend, M. She knows that we don't have the same religious beliefs. This topic came up not long ago in a conversation she and I were having with another person and she told the other person that I was one of the most moral people she knows. That's a huge compliment coming from someone like M who has very strong religious beliefs, and one that I took to heart.
Another thing M has helped me realize about myself is that I need to tone it down a bit.
She is totally right.
Someone who thought "knew" me, gathered from one of my posts on FB that I am not nearly the person she thought I was. I was a little offended but I recognize that I am often the same way whether I judge someone based on previous encounters with them OR worse, I judge them from just knowing they vote one way or pray before each meal.
That's not fair of me to do.
It appears that this blog which started out with me just trying to enjoy every day has somehow morphed into a blog where I identify my faults and work on them. But I also think that in the long run, acknowledging my faults both to myself and putting them out there for other people to see, will make me better, stronger, happier for me and a much better role model for my kids.
One thing I like about myself (other than the fact I'm hysterical) is that I have very strong convictions. I don't always, and by that I mean, rarely, voice them appropriately. I can't help that I feel very strongly about certain things. I CAN help the way I respond to certain things, though.
One of the best things someone has said about me in a long time came from my friend, M. She knows that we don't have the same religious beliefs. This topic came up not long ago in a conversation she and I were having with another person and she told the other person that I was one of the most moral people she knows. That's a huge compliment coming from someone like M who has very strong religious beliefs, and one that I took to heart.
Another thing M has helped me realize about myself is that I need to tone it down a bit.
She is totally right.
Someone who thought "knew" me, gathered from one of my posts on FB that I am not nearly the person she thought I was. I was a little offended but I recognize that I am often the same way whether I judge someone based on previous encounters with them OR worse, I judge them from just knowing they vote one way or pray before each meal.
That's not fair of me to do.
It appears that this blog which started out with me just trying to enjoy every day has somehow morphed into a blog where I identify my faults and work on them. But I also think that in the long run, acknowledging my faults both to myself and putting them out there for other people to see, will make me better, stronger, happier for me and a much better role model for my kids.
Wednesday, December 1, 2010
Get My Goat
If somebody pisses me off I will not, no I correct, CAN not rest until I've had my say.
Period.
I have always been this way. I don't know why. But I cannot let someone get the last dig in.
Ever.
Until now.
If I died in my sleep tonight, would I really want to die with anger intruding my last night's rest?
In the whole scheme of things, does letting someone else have the last word in an argument weaken me somehow?
Or do I just think it does?
Maybe, NOT answering, not letting my goat get got, will make me stronger. Or perhaps I'll find a better way to respond, like Patrick Dempsey did in Can't Buy Me Love when he nailed that kid's front door with a steaming bag of dog crap.
NO!
I want to leave one last smartass, gotcha comment on my FB page, but I have made myself a promise not to respond to things that REALLY anger me until enough time has passed for the initial dammit-anger has a chance to settle.
Anger is unhealthy.
I know it is, like smoking. Like 3 bottles of red wine in 2 hours. Bad unhealthy. But I think maybe anger is addictive, too, just like smoking, just like alcohol. That sometimes, I crave anger beacause of the rush I get when I have a good comeback. If that's true, it's kinda twisted.
And I finally get karma, I think. I've always said it to the kids when they do something and get hurt, "Haha, Finn, karma." But that's not what karma is. The more you do something, the more likely you are to do it again. Like getting crazy, out-of-control mad. The more times you give into that kind of maddness, the more likely it is that you will do it again.
So, it is up to me to change my "last word" karma by breaking the "last word" cycle.
I'm not saying I won't continue to post some real zingers on specific issues because if that happened, let's face it, I wouldn't be me.
BUT I vow to not go back and forth until I have the last, bitter word.
Period.
I have always been this way. I don't know why. But I cannot let someone get the last dig in.
Ever.
Until now.
If I died in my sleep tonight, would I really want to die with anger intruding my last night's rest?
In the whole scheme of things, does letting someone else have the last word in an argument weaken me somehow?
Or do I just think it does?
Maybe, NOT answering, not letting my goat get got, will make me stronger. Or perhaps I'll find a better way to respond, like Patrick Dempsey did in Can't Buy Me Love when he nailed that kid's front door with a steaming bag of dog crap.
NO!
I want to leave one last smartass, gotcha comment on my FB page, but I have made myself a promise not to respond to things that REALLY anger me until enough time has passed for the initial dammit-anger has a chance to settle.
Anger is unhealthy.
I know it is, like smoking. Like 3 bottles of red wine in 2 hours. Bad unhealthy. But I think maybe anger is addictive, too, just like smoking, just like alcohol. That sometimes, I crave anger beacause of the rush I get when I have a good comeback. If that's true, it's kinda twisted.
And I finally get karma, I think. I've always said it to the kids when they do something and get hurt, "Haha, Finn, karma." But that's not what karma is. The more you do something, the more likely you are to do it again. Like getting crazy, out-of-control mad. The more times you give into that kind of maddness, the more likely it is that you will do it again.
So, it is up to me to change my "last word" karma by breaking the "last word" cycle.
I'm not saying I won't continue to post some real zingers on specific issues because if that happened, let's face it, I wouldn't be me.
BUT I vow to not go back and forth until I have the last, bitter word.
Tuesday, November 30, 2010
Obsession:Baby Names
What's in a name?
Some people haven't named their kids days after they enter the world. Some people (like me) have them named 4 months into the pregnancy. Some people like trendy names. Some people (like me) want there to be no other child on Planet Earth with the same name.
This is ridiculous, I realize.
I still go back and see how popular the Boys' names have become since they were born.
Jack=VERY much so.
Finn=getting there.
Rowan=getting there.
Bec=nowhere close.
Maeve=not sure which way it'll go.
So, really, does a name matter that much? Is it worth the attention I give it?
Or do people truly grow into their names?
Here's what the Boys' names mean or what they mean to us as family names:
Jack Richard was named for my uncle Jack who died of Lou Gherig's disease. Uncle Jack was one of the strongest, kindest people I've ever known. I believe my Jack will live up to that name. Richard was my dad's middle name. My dad was crazy funny, smart and damn stubborn. Jack Richard is all of these.
Finnegan (Finn) James Finnegan means "fair" and doesn't appear to relate to our Finn. To me, though, Finnegan sounds like the name of an Irish rogue and THIS is spot on with Finn. He does love the ladies. James is Andy's dad's name and my maternal grandfather's middle name. Good, solid man's name.
Rowan Andrew Rowan means "little red one". There is also a Rowan Tree which is a very beautiful and hardy tree. "Little red one" is not fitting for Rowan but the description of the Rowan Tree could very well describe him. I loved this name from an Anne Rice novel, The Witching Hour, where the main character's name was Rowan Mayfair. Andrew, of course, is for the baby daddy.
Beccan (Bec) Joseph Beccan means "little one" and in fact he was the smallest when he was born. He is also the "little one" of 4 brothers and is determined to remain the baby, forcing us to still let him sleep with us. Joseph is Andy's first name.
So what does the name Maeve Lotus hold for poor baby Maeve, baby sister of Jack, Finn, Rowan and Bec?
Maeve Lotus Maeve means "she who intoxicates" and is the name of a legendary Irish warrior queen. Lotis was my maternal grandmother's name. Andy says Lotis has "Otis" in it like "Otis the town drunk" from Andy Griffith and that combined with "she who intoxicates" might not bode well for her college days (Maeve Otis could well have been my name). So we decided to change Lotis to Lotus which means "flower". For someone like me, who is such a tomboy, I wanted a feminine name if we ever had a girl.
I think, no I know, that I have in the past felt like I "did better" (I don't know if that's how to put it) than people who name their kids very popular or common names. I don't know why I've felt like that. It's ridiculous because popular names are popular for a reason, you know. They are beautiful or strong.
Maybe because my name is so...I don't want to say "Blah" but a combo of two very common names. I guess I wanted my kids not to have that? I don't know but this is my general apology for ever feeling that way.
What's in a name?
A name is whatever you make of it, I guess.
A neurobiologist named Starla?
A hooker named Eunice?
Some people haven't named their kids days after they enter the world. Some people (like me) have them named 4 months into the pregnancy. Some people like trendy names. Some people (like me) want there to be no other child on Planet Earth with the same name.
This is ridiculous, I realize.
I still go back and see how popular the Boys' names have become since they were born.
Jack=VERY much so.
Finn=getting there.
Rowan=getting there.
Bec=nowhere close.
Maeve=not sure which way it'll go.
So, really, does a name matter that much? Is it worth the attention I give it?
Or do people truly grow into their names?
Here's what the Boys' names mean or what they mean to us as family names:
Jack Richard was named for my uncle Jack who died of Lou Gherig's disease. Uncle Jack was one of the strongest, kindest people I've ever known. I believe my Jack will live up to that name. Richard was my dad's middle name. My dad was crazy funny, smart and damn stubborn. Jack Richard is all of these.
Finnegan (Finn) James Finnegan means "fair" and doesn't appear to relate to our Finn. To me, though, Finnegan sounds like the name of an Irish rogue and THIS is spot on with Finn. He does love the ladies. James is Andy's dad's name and my maternal grandfather's middle name. Good, solid man's name.
Rowan Andrew Rowan means "little red one". There is also a Rowan Tree which is a very beautiful and hardy tree. "Little red one" is not fitting for Rowan but the description of the Rowan Tree could very well describe him. I loved this name from an Anne Rice novel, The Witching Hour, where the main character's name was Rowan Mayfair. Andrew, of course, is for the baby daddy.
Beccan (Bec) Joseph Beccan means "little one" and in fact he was the smallest when he was born. He is also the "little one" of 4 brothers and is determined to remain the baby, forcing us to still let him sleep with us. Joseph is Andy's first name.
So what does the name Maeve Lotus hold for poor baby Maeve, baby sister of Jack, Finn, Rowan and Bec?
Maeve Lotus Maeve means "she who intoxicates" and is the name of a legendary Irish warrior queen. Lotis was my maternal grandmother's name. Andy says Lotis has "Otis" in it like "Otis the town drunk" from Andy Griffith and that combined with "she who intoxicates" might not bode well for her college days (Maeve Otis could well have been my name). So we decided to change Lotis to Lotus which means "flower". For someone like me, who is such a tomboy, I wanted a feminine name if we ever had a girl.
I think, no I know, that I have in the past felt like I "did better" (I don't know if that's how to put it) than people who name their kids very popular or common names. I don't know why I've felt like that. It's ridiculous because popular names are popular for a reason, you know. They are beautiful or strong.
Maybe because my name is so...I don't want to say "Blah" but a combo of two very common names. I guess I wanted my kids not to have that? I don't know but this is my general apology for ever feeling that way.
What's in a name?
A name is whatever you make of it, I guess.
A neurobiologist named Starla?
A hooker named Eunice?
Sunday, November 28, 2010
Post Thanksgiving
Despite all of the pre-Thanksgiving hype.
Despite our sick, aging pets.
Despite the anger I had toward my grandmother.
Despite the fact our ten-year old broke his friggin' back.
I deem this the best Thanksgiving ever.
We ate like Kings (and me, the Queen).
We walked our old dogs many, many times, like we should have all along.
My grandmother acted like it was our strep-ridden children that kept us home, not the fact that we hold mere dogs in almost as high regard as we do our relatives.
And Jack is neither dead nor paralyzed.
We watched The Girl With the Dragon Tatoo and the same Girl Who Played with Fire.
We watched too much football (Auburn/Alabama, holy hell, what a game! And Coach Dooley, Lane Kiffin was just a speedbump.)
Read two chapters in The Invention of Hugo Cabret to the boys and many other books to Bec.
I am almost done with The Girl who Kicked the Hornet's Nest.
I worked ALOT on my project for class.
We decorated the tree.
We registered for "girl stuff" and for anyone who checks out our Target registry, prepare for a guffaw.
And we slept.
I learned today that since we registered for baby stuff in 1999, they now make test strips that test for alcohol in breastmilk.
Wow.
How novel.
I mean, who drinks and nurses?
How crass.
Despite our sick, aging pets.
Despite the anger I had toward my grandmother.
Despite the fact our ten-year old broke his friggin' back.
I deem this the best Thanksgiving ever.
We ate like Kings (and me, the Queen).
We walked our old dogs many, many times, like we should have all along.
My grandmother acted like it was our strep-ridden children that kept us home, not the fact that we hold mere dogs in almost as high regard as we do our relatives.
And Jack is neither dead nor paralyzed.
We watched The Girl With the Dragon Tatoo and the same Girl Who Played with Fire.
We watched too much football (Auburn/Alabama, holy hell, what a game! And Coach Dooley, Lane Kiffin was just a speedbump.)
Read two chapters in The Invention of Hugo Cabret to the boys and many other books to Bec.
I am almost done with The Girl who Kicked the Hornet's Nest.
I worked ALOT on my project for class.
We decorated the tree.
We registered for "girl stuff" and for anyone who checks out our Target registry, prepare for a guffaw.
And we slept.
I learned today that since we registered for baby stuff in 1999, they now make test strips that test for alcohol in breastmilk.
Wow.
How novel.
I mean, who drinks and nurses?
How crass.
Wednesday, November 24, 2010
it was the day before Thanksgiving....
Since the hell broke loose with my grandmother yesterday, I've realized 2 things.
1. You really can never make everyone happy.
And that being said,
2. I'm sick of trying.
The holidays for kids with divorced parents are probably the hardest time of the year outside of birthdays maybe. The year my dad left, he left on Halloween. I knew he had gone but my mother hadn't yet told us. I intentionally asked to use one of his t-shirts for a costume knowing there were none left in the house. Later that night, at the Halloween festivities at the National Guard Armory, I was jumping in the bounce house when I saw my dad walk up.
I don't remember tons of things from my childhood, but I do remember that image, my daddy sauntering up at the back entrance to the Armory on Halloween Night. Sadly I can remember the incredibly awkward Thanksgiving that followed.
My parents divorced shortly after that (I think) and my mother moved us to Germantown, figuratively so far away from the small town where I had been raised for a decade. In our case, there was always fighting between my parents or ugly comments not meant to be discussed in front of children.
And the Holidays were the pinnacle of stress and unhappiness for me. Pulled between 2 families who hated each other. Always feeling out of place and out of sorts.
As a parent with children of my own, I have tried to balance our Holidays between our house, my in-laws, my mother, and my grandmother's (since my dad passed away). I always feel the pressure to make sure we do exactly what we are supposed to, be where we're supposed to and try like hell to make sure no one (mom's side/dad's side) feels like they've been shafted in any way, shape or form.
I don't believe that I have truly enjoyed a Holiday season since I was probably 9 and I've always wondered why. I doubt I've ever given my own kids the kind of jolly Christmas experience that they deserve. I dread it. Every year.
But maybe this will be the year I change.
Forget about making myself miserable for the sake of someone else's happiness (or selfishness).
I want this Holiday season to be about making MY family happy, my bah humbug self included.
And I aim to do just that. I've cleared the place for the tree while "Buddy" our Elf on the Shelf circles the outskirts of the living room in anticipation.
I'm glad for today for:
(1) recognizing where my Holiday Blues stem from
(2) believing I have the "balls" to change my Holiday karma and
(3) "Buddy" the Elf, because Will Ferrell IS the new Chevy Chase.
1. You really can never make everyone happy.
And that being said,
2. I'm sick of trying.
The holidays for kids with divorced parents are probably the hardest time of the year outside of birthdays maybe. The year my dad left, he left on Halloween. I knew he had gone but my mother hadn't yet told us. I intentionally asked to use one of his t-shirts for a costume knowing there were none left in the house. Later that night, at the Halloween festivities at the National Guard Armory, I was jumping in the bounce house when I saw my dad walk up.
I don't remember tons of things from my childhood, but I do remember that image, my daddy sauntering up at the back entrance to the Armory on Halloween Night. Sadly I can remember the incredibly awkward Thanksgiving that followed.
My parents divorced shortly after that (I think) and my mother moved us to Germantown, figuratively so far away from the small town where I had been raised for a decade. In our case, there was always fighting between my parents or ugly comments not meant to be discussed in front of children.
And the Holidays were the pinnacle of stress and unhappiness for me. Pulled between 2 families who hated each other. Always feeling out of place and out of sorts.
As a parent with children of my own, I have tried to balance our Holidays between our house, my in-laws, my mother, and my grandmother's (since my dad passed away). I always feel the pressure to make sure we do exactly what we are supposed to, be where we're supposed to and try like hell to make sure no one (mom's side/dad's side) feels like they've been shafted in any way, shape or form.
I don't believe that I have truly enjoyed a Holiday season since I was probably 9 and I've always wondered why. I doubt I've ever given my own kids the kind of jolly Christmas experience that they deserve. I dread it. Every year.
But maybe this will be the year I change.
Forget about making myself miserable for the sake of someone else's happiness (or selfishness).
I want this Holiday season to be about making MY family happy, my bah humbug self included.
And I aim to do just that. I've cleared the place for the tree while "Buddy" our Elf on the Shelf circles the outskirts of the living room in anticipation.
I'm glad for today for:
(1) recognizing where my Holiday Blues stem from
(2) believing I have the "balls" to change my Holiday karma and
(3) "Buddy" the Elf, because Will Ferrell IS the new Chevy Chase.
Tuesday, November 23, 2010
Tuesday
Our family, plus Frank, our sick and dying dog, were to make the trip to West Tennessee for Thanksgiving with my family.
Traveling with all of the kids, plus arranging all of the pet stuff, always makes for a stressful situation. Much more so this time with Frank being so sick. He's not so sick that I think it's "time", so I thought I had made arrangements for him to stay at my grandmother's one night with us. Apparently not.
She calls, tells me that it's going to be super cold and her garage door doesn't close.
Well I'd never had any intention of letting Frank stay in the garage at her house. It truly astounds me that people don't get the love some of us have for our animals.
We have loved and cared for Frank for almost 11 years. I have spent much more time with him than I have my family in the last 11 years, and for this I am truly grateful. I do love my family, but Frank has loved me without condition for over a decade.
The same can not be said of my family.
Back to the story.
So when I say that he can just stay in the bathroom. He won't make a mess. She says that won't work. And I say, "Then we're not coming."
Period.
And she says, "Well, we still have a few days."
Nice. Sit there and hope my dog dies between now and Thursday morning so your mac and cheese don't go to waste.
You can bet your sweet patootie I wouldn't come now if you paid me.
So, how does this relate to my quest to enjoy my life?
Relief that I won't have to make a dying dog spend 10 hours in the car, in a cold garage to appease someone who has never known the love an animal.
Traveling with all of the kids, plus arranging all of the pet stuff, always makes for a stressful situation. Much more so this time with Frank being so sick. He's not so sick that I think it's "time", so I thought I had made arrangements for him to stay at my grandmother's one night with us. Apparently not.
She calls, tells me that it's going to be super cold and her garage door doesn't close.
Well I'd never had any intention of letting Frank stay in the garage at her house. It truly astounds me that people don't get the love some of us have for our animals.
We have loved and cared for Frank for almost 11 years. I have spent much more time with him than I have my family in the last 11 years, and for this I am truly grateful. I do love my family, but Frank has loved me without condition for over a decade.
The same can not be said of my family.
Back to the story.
So when I say that he can just stay in the bathroom. He won't make a mess. She says that won't work. And I say, "Then we're not coming."
Period.
And she says, "Well, we still have a few days."
Nice. Sit there and hope my dog dies between now and Thursday morning so your mac and cheese don't go to waste.
You can bet your sweet patootie I wouldn't come now if you paid me.
So, how does this relate to my quest to enjoy my life?
Relief that I won't have to make a dying dog spend 10 hours in the car, in a cold garage to appease someone who has never known the love an animal.
Sunday, November 21, 2010
Why I'm glad I've had today
Andy and I had a night off from the boys. We watched the UT game but I found two things odd. (1) No interruptions & (2) UT won. Both greatly appreciated.
Today we picked the kids up, after almost flooding the in-laws house with simultaneous poop flushings from Rowan and Bec. As we were leaving their house, Bec escaped from his car seat twice. Car seat behavior is one reason I want to commit myself.
We stopped by the store to buy chicken for Frank. Andy went in. The boys and I waited in the van. In the distance we could hear sirens gettings closer. I joked with RoRo that the cops were coming for him.
He didn't buy it.
But Bec did.
I told him they were coming for him because he wouldn't stay in his car seat. Quivering lips and overflowing tears, the whole nine yards. Just before the true wailing could begin, a firetruck passed and I told him I was kidding. But come on. Making your kids cry because he thinks he's going to jail?
Reason numero uno why I'm glad I woke up today.
I'm trying so hard to not focus so much on the future. To concentrate much more on the here and the now. The problem I'm having right now, today, in being happy, is that I can't quit thinking about Frank and that he'll be gone soon. Another void left in our once Puppy Four Pack.
I can say that I wished I didn't care so much but that would be a lie.
Reason two that I'm glad I have today is that today we still have Frankie. We may not tomorrow. But we do for one more day.
Today we picked the kids up, after almost flooding the in-laws house with simultaneous poop flushings from Rowan and Bec. As we were leaving their house, Bec escaped from his car seat twice. Car seat behavior is one reason I want to commit myself.
We stopped by the store to buy chicken for Frank. Andy went in. The boys and I waited in the van. In the distance we could hear sirens gettings closer. I joked with RoRo that the cops were coming for him.
He didn't buy it.
But Bec did.
I told him they were coming for him because he wouldn't stay in his car seat. Quivering lips and overflowing tears, the whole nine yards. Just before the true wailing could begin, a firetruck passed and I told him I was kidding. But come on. Making your kids cry because he thinks he's going to jail?
Reason numero uno why I'm glad I woke up today.
I'm trying so hard to not focus so much on the future. To concentrate much more on the here and the now. The problem I'm having right now, today, in being happy, is that I can't quit thinking about Frank and that he'll be gone soon. Another void left in our once Puppy Four Pack.
I can say that I wished I didn't care so much but that would be a lie.
Reason two that I'm glad I have today is that today we still have Frankie. We may not tomorrow. But we do for one more day.
Friday, November 19, 2010
The First Day cont'd
So how do I avoid getting frustrated with a three year old who never, ever does what I ask? And I'm not joking. He is really the kid who does the EXACT OPPOSITE of what I ask him to do.
He's gotten into the ice cream and the Klondike bars.
He won't leave the pets alone.
We have one dog, Frank, who has cancer and is dying and I am trying as best I can to care for him. Sweet Frank.
But I'm fried. I want to cry all the time, I get so frustrated with Bec. I am angry with him almost all day long. Rarely, do I have a true break.
He doesn't nap.
He doesn't sleep in his own bed.
He won't let me talk to other people.
He hits me.
He yells at me.
I can't exercise.
I can't go out in public because he acts so awful that it's just not worth it.
So, how do I turn it around right now, in this moment?
I wish I had it in me to just let it slide but somehow I think I feel like he's getting the best of me. That he's "beat me" in some way, and I don't like to lose, ever.
I've sent him to his room because he won't leave Frank alone and won't stay out of the damn ice cream. But then he just called out, "Hey, Mom, I'm reading books" (except he can't say "k's" and it "booots" instead).
Toad on the Road and Duck in the Truck.
UPDATE:
After pulling the van into the garage (not too "off" myself), I closed the garage door. Put Bec in his car seat. Clicked him in.
As I'm walking away, he says, "Tanks, Mom. I like sweeping in here."
And there he soundly sweeps.
And now, I think back, what did really matter?
It was sort of funny that as I approached him, Klondike bar in his fat little hand, that he took a giant, hurried bite. It was also funny when I grabbed the Klondike bar from his fat little hand that he freakin' fought me for it. He literally pulled half of it away from me, shoved part in his mouth, dropped part on the floor and when he bent over to snatch it back, THAT's when I almost lost it.
But I did say "almost", and right now, almost is pretty sweet.
He's gotten into the ice cream and the Klondike bars.
He won't leave the pets alone.
We have one dog, Frank, who has cancer and is dying and I am trying as best I can to care for him. Sweet Frank.
But I'm fried. I want to cry all the time, I get so frustrated with Bec. I am angry with him almost all day long. Rarely, do I have a true break.
He doesn't nap.
He doesn't sleep in his own bed.
He won't let me talk to other people.
He hits me.
He yells at me.
I can't exercise.
I can't go out in public because he acts so awful that it's just not worth it.
So, how do I turn it around right now, in this moment?
I wish I had it in me to just let it slide but somehow I think I feel like he's getting the best of me. That he's "beat me" in some way, and I don't like to lose, ever.
I've sent him to his room because he won't leave Frank alone and won't stay out of the damn ice cream. But then he just called out, "Hey, Mom, I'm reading books" (except he can't say "k's" and it "booots" instead).
Toad on the Road and Duck in the Truck.
UPDATE:
After pulling the van into the garage (not too "off" myself), I closed the garage door. Put Bec in his car seat. Clicked him in.
As I'm walking away, he says, "Tanks, Mom. I like sweeping in here."
And there he soundly sweeps.
And now, I think back, what did really matter?
It was sort of funny that as I approached him, Klondike bar in his fat little hand, that he took a giant, hurried bite. It was also funny when I grabbed the Klondike bar from his fat little hand that he freakin' fought me for it. He literally pulled half of it away from me, shoved part in his mouth, dropped part on the floor and when he bent over to snatch it back, THAT's when I almost lost it.
But I did say "almost", and right now, almost is pretty sweet.
The First Day
So at this moment in my life I have:
1. A more than understanding husband.
2. Four boys who are better than either of us deserve.
3. Multiple pets most that we have cared for and loved for well over a decade.
4. A great house and neighborhood.
5. A great school that is educating our children.
6. Good, loyal, true friends.
7. A baby girl set to arrive the end of February.
8. Somehow managed to put myself in school to be a librarian.
9. Managed to stay in decent shape for a pregnant 35 year old.
10.Very strong opinions, and in order to become more bipartisan, know that I should rip my stickers off my van, but I just can't bring myself to do it!
11.Started thinking I may be a little depressed.
I have come to a point in my life where I realize that I am too busy. I am missing out on so many important things. I don't take pictures anymore. I don't fully listen to my children. I don't remember all of the funny things that they say, and I should. I know that I don't pay enough attention to my marriage.
When I tell my grandmother something, she always has something that she remembers, some little something. A story my grandfather told. A hotel where they stayed in Savannah.
I have so many things to do, most of them I signed up for, feel responsible for, and want to find a balance to keep doing what I'm doing, but do everything I can, all at a slower pace.
I don't want to look back on the day of my last birthday and not be able to remember a damn thing.
This is the first day of my journey to remember my life and the abundance of goodness it has to offer.
1. A more than understanding husband.
2. Four boys who are better than either of us deserve.
3. Multiple pets most that we have cared for and loved for well over a decade.
4. A great house and neighborhood.
5. A great school that is educating our children.
6. Good, loyal, true friends.
7. A baby girl set to arrive the end of February.
8. Somehow managed to put myself in school to be a librarian.
9. Managed to stay in decent shape for a pregnant 35 year old.
10.Very strong opinions, and in order to become more bipartisan, know that I should rip my stickers off my van, but I just can't bring myself to do it!
11.Started thinking I may be a little depressed.
I have come to a point in my life where I realize that I am too busy. I am missing out on so many important things. I don't take pictures anymore. I don't fully listen to my children. I don't remember all of the funny things that they say, and I should. I know that I don't pay enough attention to my marriage.
When I tell my grandmother something, she always has something that she remembers, some little something. A story my grandfather told. A hotel where they stayed in Savannah.
I have so many things to do, most of them I signed up for, feel responsible for, and want to find a balance to keep doing what I'm doing, but do everything I can, all at a slower pace.
I don't want to look back on the day of my last birthday and not be able to remember a damn thing.
This is the first day of my journey to remember my life and the abundance of goodness it has to offer.
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