A Mother's Life

I wish I understood what makes me happy. I SHOULD be very happy.

Sometimes I am, but somehow I've lost my ability to handle noise. And the fighting. The fighting. And I shouldn't but I have told my children that now I know why neither of my parents seemed very happy when we were kids, because of the fighting. I know it was more than that but I want them to know how much the fighting gets to me.

I tell them perhaps they'll appreciate me when I'm committed to a mental hospital because I finally couldn't take the fighting and the not listening and the blatant disrespect they have for me.

I wake up every day with the intention to make this. a. good. day. Yet as soon as they wake up, one by one, my intention fades away. The entire day looms ahead of me. Work. Cleaning. Fighting. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat. That's it.

I don't go to work. I don't make any money myself. Is this why they have no respect for me?

Is it because I am a woman?

I believe if I could gather up the patience I used to have, the patience that has fallen piece by piece, wrapped up in furballs, and jumbles of clothes in closets, and the mildew which rears it's ugly head in between the pink tiles of the shower, maybe I could be the mother I used to be. The one that read books to her kids, played games of SORRY, spoke kindly to them rather than in orders and frowns and sighs.

I have lost my patience, my competitive spirit, my I-AM-WOMAN-HEAR-ME-ROAR, parts of my mind.

The only ones who get this are mothers. I love Andy. We have had our struggles this year but my marriage is solid. But he doesn't understand. He honestly tries. He "gets" to go to a job he enjoys where he has a paycheck and a yearly raise and the satisfaction of a job well-done.

I don't. I have a messy house, disrespectful kids, dirty litter, and a headache.

Soon, I'll have coaching, my classes, their classes, on top of all the rest.

Only mothers who have given their wombs, their modesty, their saggy boobies, their minds. We are the only ones who can truly feel this way.
I love the turds, each of them. But damn, they exhaust me, body and mind. Mostly mind.

I am fine. I will always be fine. I am stronger than what this sounds like. As soon as I post this, I will try harder. That's the power of a post. It's out there. I know it's out there. I know YOU know it's out there.

Five Kids, Moron

I wish I understood why it is SO much more difficult to be calm, rational and non-yelling when dealing with the kids.

It's not like it takes any extra time, but holy hell, it does take more than a smidgen of extra effort.

When summer blazes into town and the BBall team is all up in my grill ALL the time, every second of every day and somehow, I haven't figured out yet how they coordinate it, they ALL need something different at the same time, in different parts of the house.

How the Crawford, Texas do they do it?

And if they don't need something, they want to torture one another to the point of screaming or even worse, the dreaded RoRo dying animal screech.

But I am, AM I tell you, getting better about my reaction.

When I can't take any more of them, I am taking time for me. Yesterday I was close to explosion and I made me some lunch; pulled up a DVR'd HHI (that's House Hunters International, ya'll); and lo and behold, I no longer wanted to throttle them.

Maybe that's one of the keys, really. Finding a few minutes A-L-O-N-E. Take time for yourself and it does help.

I know it's my fault, all you two kid people out there going, "Then why did you have five kids, moron?"

And you know why?

Drinking and misplaced condoms.

That's why.

Gander

For someone who has for over 30 years thrived on conflict, I have found in the last few years that when I feel angry or sad or scared, that reading just a few pages in a Buddhist book makes me automatically see things in a better light. I have no idea why, but it does, every time. I instantly become nicer to everybody around me, if even just for the rest of the day.

I smile at somebody random on the street corner.
I let 4 cars go in front of me leaving the pick up line at school.I see the humor in the ketchup/salsa stained shirt Bec has on that looks like he just ate a kitten.

I don't know why, but just reading kind words works for me. Something else works for you. Somebody else was born being nice to everybody and never says a bad word about anybody.

I have yet to meet that person.

She may not exist.

I am not Buddhist, but I try to follow a Buddhist philosophy. I am thankful that I have discovered an outlook on life that makes sense to me and helps me be a better person.

I used to be defensive when people questioned me on religion. Recently though, it has failed to really get my gander up. You do whatever you need to do to live your life as a decent human and I'll do the same.

Wonderful Imperfection

I truly wish I found it easier to look at each new day as an adventure rather than a chore. Who really wants to look back at their life and realize that it all just seemed like work? I don't want to feel like this but I do.

I know I will regret the day when all my kids are grown and gone (which will still be forever, I know). When I look at Jack now with his pride over his three armpit hairs and think to myself that in a just a few years he'll be graduating from high school, I want to hug him and hold his hand and tell him that when he was a baby, we babied him just as we are doing Maeve.

No one but me and my good friend, Marzi, will ever take notice if my floors are unswept. Who gives a you-know-what that my neighbors can see the Lookout Mountain sized laundry pile growing on the couch?

I want to make a better effort to make eye contact with my kids regardless of my exhaustion level, so they will be sure I am actually listening to them. If they grow up feeling that they got shafted because I selfishly wanted five kids, I think my heart my break.

I realize I am harder on myself than anyone else could ever be. I can't be the "perfect" mother. No mother is. Everbody's baby shoots a mustard cannon up the back at some point.

I'm thinking that maybe being a perfect mother means striving to be imperfect.

Tie One On McClendon

I realized this weekend that I am Ole. That's what my Uncle June used to call Old. I was a little kid but I believe he meant that Ole was older than Old. And Ole is what I feel like. I went to a bar with Heather "tie one on" McClendon on Saturday night to drink for disaster relief. She is from Ringgold and a downtown pub pledged to give part of it's proceeds to benefit Ringgold tornado victims. I love to drink for a good cause, you know.

So, Heather was hell-bent to tie one on and she took me down with her. But let me tell you, I now hate bars. I cannot believe I am saying that, but this ole party-girl is just that, Ole. The smoke. The friggin'-A loud music. I have enough loudness in my life with the kids to want to go have my eardrums blow up.

So, I think the next day-Mother's Day-that I am ole, and a tad hungover, that I am okay being ole. I am GLAD to be Ole. I would much rather sit in the yard drinking a Newcastle (which is less than $6 bucks a pop) and be able to watch the offspring and hear my friends rather than wake up with smoky-black boogers the next day.

Patience

Ahhh, Patience, my nemesis, I must embrace thee.

Roll With It

There are many reasons being back in school is good for me:


1. it helps my brain feel less rotten
2. bragging rights (I have to be honest)
3. lifelong learning, truly.


Lifelong Learning, whether this came first from old Mortimer Adler (you CSASers) or the ALA (American Library Association) or someone else, I don't know or care. Because of a school reading, today I was reminded of something I shouldn't have needed reminding about.


My reading dealt with ethics, traditions, morals, values..and judgement. A good friend of mine said once that I was one of the most moral people she knew, knowing I was totally irreligious. That has meant alot to me, yet I have let her down in the worst way and for that I apologize.


How I raise my family, the decisions I make for them will be different from the decisions other parents make for their families. And that's okay. I needed a good reminding that we are not all the same. We all do things a little differently and need different things. That's what makes life interesting, fun and challenging.


I don't have to understand why people do things cause I am certain people wonder why the hell I do many of the things I do. I just need to roll with it and not dwell on it cause it's a waste of time.

Taking Care of Me

You would think after four kids, I would recognize the power of rest, but after Shifty (Maeve's nickname due to shifty-from-the-corner of her eyes look) arrived, the Fitzsimmons have slowed down, not at all.

And I know, as most other mom's know, that if Mommy is tired (and thus bitchy) the whole fam damnily suffers.

As a kid and young(er) mother I could not understand how on earth my grandfather, Grancha, could fall asleep sitting straight up in his recliner. Now, four weeks postpartum, it's an every night occurence if I dare plop down on the couch to even try to catch a DVRed Daily Show.

I could be asleep by nine most nights if I tried, but like Bec at naptime, I'm afraid I'll miss something. I feel like I've earned a few hours of relaxation, and I have, to do whatever, but what I need to to do, honestly is to sleep.

Rachel Maddow will still be spewing beautiful liberal bias tomorrow night.

I would have a much better attitude in the a.m. and would enjoy my day more if I tried to get an extra hour of sleep a night. I could spend time conscious with Poor Andy over coffee rather than him just looking at me, asleep on the couch with drool creeping down my face.

Cancellations

I am trying hard not to be upset that my mother cancelled coming this weekend for a second time. It's not surprising for 2 reasons.

(1.) They had some snow and the roads are slick.
(2.) We rarely have anyone from my family come visit us.

To lay it all out, here goes.

I very rarely had anyone come to any events when I was in school. I was smart and athletic and alone.  

I'm only pity-partying a little here.

My mother took me to college, dropped me off and left. Didn't even spend the night. That very first night in Knoxville I ended up in the ER with a 104 fever. Luckily I had relatives in town who could help me.

In the 4 years I was in Knoxville, my mother came only one other time to visit which was for the sole purpose of not really visiting me but to see if I was living with Andy.

I'll leave that one hanging since my step dad is on FB.

No I won't.

Of course I was living with Andy. I moved in with him a week after I met him. Big deal. It was the best decision I ever made.

I also called home every day to my mother and every few days to my father. Why? To keep them from checking up on me?

No, because I cared. And that's not me trying to seem good, that's honestly it. I cared about my family. And just until recently I called my mom several times a week. I am so busy and tired that I don't call as often but oddly, even before the 21st century, phone calls were able to be made in both directions, not just one.

Shocker.

She is very uninvolved in my kids' lives. She has been here once in the last 6 months. She didn't make it to a single baseball game, swim meet or cross country race.

I have had THE hardest pregnancy. Among other things, I had vertigo and thought I had a brain tumor, for goddsake, and did she once ever even offer to come help me, with the kids or anything else?

Ummm..that would be a negative.

I try to understand and have made excuses for years.

My dad treated her like crap.
She was a single mother.
She has depression.
Etc.

But I can't any more.

I am a mother almost 5 times over and regardless of the differences in our upbringing, our marriages, whatever, being a mother means being a mother. It doesn't mean constantly making excuses to make your life easier.

Sorry.

I cannot IMAGINE not going to the boys' games. Not helping with their homework. Not reading books to them.

Some days it takes a little more (or a lot more) effort than others to make yourself get on your hands and knees to build a train track. But you do it despite the fear that the terrible sciatica that has kept me from doing most anything for 10 days doesn't render me unable to get back into a standing position.

Just like you visit your kid in college for reasons other than to make sure that your kid is living the way you think (and God thinks) is the right way. You do it because you love them. And hope they are safe.

Is that why she doesn't come visit any more often than she does?

That she doesn't approve that we aren't raising our kids the way she would? Just disregard the fact that my kids are well-behaved, well-adjusted and nicer than so many of the kids who "go to church".

I am very interested in Buddhism.

Don't even attempt to bring the Buddha up in front of her. That's the same thing as saying we are devil worshippers because, obviously, that's what atheists are. Devil worshippers.

The problem there lies in the fact that atheists don't believe in the devil either. I believe in me and I know that with effort and time, I can be an even better, stronger person. And that can come only from within myself.

So now I've ranted.

What I should do is just call her and say, "You know what. I know I shouldn't be upset that you are cancelling because I know the roads are slippery. What I am upset about is that I feel like I have never been important enough to you to warrant any extra effort to make me feel special and loved."

But then, by doing that, how will I affect her depression? Or a start a fight?

All I know is that my kids will never feel the way I feel. I will be exhausted from making it to every game, every practice that I can. I never, ever want them to feel like I didn't do enough. Even with 5 of them.

Nothing is ever easy. Especially raising kids. 

Bird Crap

Why is it so hard for me to not say mean things about people?

Is it better to hold it inside, all the negativity?

Or better to put it out there? Ahh, mean spirit, go free.

I know why, honestly.

(1) If I wanted to truly get rid of negative thoughts, what I should do is to just realize I feel a certain way and then, just let it be. But for some reason, I fixate on things, refuse to let go and I must share. And not the good kinda share.

It's harder to forget about it than it is to just say something, mean and loud.

(2) I can come up with some pretty damn mean funny things on the fly to say about people.

(3) I want (need) people to agree with my point-of-view.

Why do I need others to agree with me?

To show that I'm right? Smart? Funny? Intuitive?

All of the above, most likely.

Can't I be funny without being hurtful? Of course. But that's not "who" I have been. Is it "who" I want to be?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Our neighbors behind us, the ones who hate us and our dogs, had 2 gorgeous trees in their front yard. 80-100 year old trees, most likely. And I'm a self-avowed tree hugger.

Love me some trees. Do them no necessary harm and damn you if you do.

She had them both cut down, from what I am told, because they block her view. Really? They live in Florida most of the time.

The saddest part of the whole thing was when the magnolia was mostly gone, just a third of the bare trunk left, on top of a pile of magnolia logs where the tree used to stand, sat one confused looking bird.

And truthfully, I hope that bird craps on her van.

Multiple times, and causes rusty crap spots all over it.

I was at a meeting last night and couldn't help bringing up the tree situation in front of friends, and I said some very mean things about her. I shouldn't have. I knew it before I said a single word but I steam rolled ahead, expletives and all.

I still feel guilty because deep down, I don't think I want to be that person any more. But years and years of biting remarks rarely reigned in are hard to stop.

Losing Bits of Myself

I think that trying to remove unnecessary worry and strife from my life is a good thing. I am a liberal, a shameless, tree hugging, peace loving liberal.

Take from that what you will.

I am very far left. Possibly to the left of left. That being said, I am beginning to understand (1) why moderates are important and (2) why it is important to see both sides of everything, politics and otherwise.

I attribute these revelations to one very hot, very smart, excruciatingly humorous 50ish Jewish man.

I need not name names.

I can continue to tout my leftist beliefs because even though conservatives I know swear I'll change as I age, I'm pretty certain that I will not. But I also am beginning to realize that change comes in baby steps and that like it or not, compromise is key.

I am "satisfied" with what happened with healthcare (for now).

I am "satisfied" with the repeal of DADT (for now).

Like a lot of people who are of my persuasion, I was quick to jump on the conservatives for their violent talk and images and how this contributed to what happened in Arizona. I don't like the way "they" have gone about with their "don't retreat, reload" and the target symbols but I don't know how much, if at all, this type of rhetoric contributed to what caused the kid who pulled the trigger, to snap.

Everyone is responsible for their own words and actions, and a lot of us, myself included, should think more about what we say and how we say it.

I am the one who barked at the neighbor who complained about our dogs barking.

By making these kind of revelations about myself: being okay with moderation, curbing my f-word habit, attempting to not badmouth people, not jumping on the liberal, leftist bandwagon (even though most of it I believe), I feel like I'm losing bits of myself.

Maybe this is part of growing up.

Maybe I really am making myself happier. I feel happier. I have noticed that I am starting to look harder at things and thinking more.

But I do know one thing, and I think Lydia Williamson will agree with me here.

If I had to be stranded on a desert island with someone (if by chance the husband was hospitalized or something) John Stewart is the guy.

Jon Stewart and a LOT of red wine.

Pocket Dial Promise

Now to add to my (long) list of things to work on for myself, to make me the perfect person (HA) is to totally quit badmouthing people, mostly "real" people, people I come into contact with on a personal level, so that I can still badmouth celebrities and politicians.

There is just so much I can do and if I can't slam a Beck or Palin a few times a day, is my life truly worth living? And seriously, what do they care anyway? They don't. They exist to piss people like me off. Let's just be honest.

I'm worried about slipping up and offending people I really care about.

I also feel somewhat bad about badmouthing Finn's All Star Baseball coach who honestly sucked on many levels but rather than saying that, I could more kindly say "Really, he doesn't have kids and doesn't know how to treat them."

From now on, I will speak as though there is always the chance that the person I want to say something unkind about is listening, accidentally having been pocket dialed by moi.

I mean, it's totally true, if you don't have something nice to say, don't say anything. If I could only behave like I try to teach the kids, I would be a much better person.

Not Fair

Last year I stuck to my New Year's Resolution until about mid-summer, about the time I felt miserable from heat, pregnancy & 4 kids. That resolution involved the F-word.

I am re-upping my intention to MOSTLY rid my vocabulary of this word.

In addition, I am sick of listening to myself complain because really, what do I have to complain about?

Sciatic nerve hurts?
Can't get up off the couch?
NONE of my pants fit me!
The kids are:
1. Loud.
2. Fighting about something pointless.
3. Bec won't leave poor, sick pup alone.

The list goes on, but really, there is just so little I have true reason to complain about so I intend to nix complaining from my repertoire.

I will probably complain for about 10 hours at the end of February but I will NOT complain about anything pointless.

This is not so much a New Year's Resolution as it is a life resolution.

I don't want to raise complainers so I figure the best thing I can do to avoid that is to not do it myself.