I don’t wanna play

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Before I was a mother, my idea of parenting was limited by two things;

1- my own experiences from my parents

2- what I saw around me

The first was probably a bit more rocky than most.  No regrets.  No sadness.  Just kinda rocky.

The second reminds me of how us girls must feel when we realize that Cinderella and Snow White stories are bullshit-in-pretty-colors tales.  Just not real or happenin’.

This means that, because of what I saw, read, and ‘heard of’ I envisioned playing in tall pastures with the wind blowing.  Having picnics at the park with the sun shining warmly.  Teaching my children to stack blocks and color in the lines while they smiled lovingly at me.

Bullshit-in-pretty-colors tales.

What I really get is blocks being thrown at the walls and found in my covers so that I pierce my skin at the most inopportune time.  Rolls of toilet paper…unrolled…on my bathroom floor.  While a toddler lovingly smiles at me. Tantrums of the most extreme at the park…so that other parents stare and wonder if the kids are actually mine while I smile sweetly and think, ‘take them with YOU then‘ as I literally drag them by whatever body part is available to hold. Necks are game too people.

The truth is? I don’t wanna play with them all the time.

Gasp.  Eyebrows raise and look-down-judging-noses.

I kinda like to just do what I wanna do while I watch them play.  Or fight.  Or jump out the window.  Whatever.

My idea of fun is NOT to sit on the floor and play tinker toys.  Or in reality grit my teeth while I arm battle the children in an effort to keep THEM from fighting and do my very very best not to scream.  After about 6 minutes I have expired.  I am done.

6 whole minutes.  Judge me. (insert expletive here).

Somehow my children do survive.  My oldest child, my son, is graduating from high school and I asked him if he feels he had a good childhood.

motheroftheyear“Oh ya mom, absolutely”.

What the hell else is he gonna say?  He wants his car keys right?

Hand me that mother of the year award again, along with my glass of vino.

Cheers!

I hate my clean house

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I am not a clean freak by nature.  I do not generally spend time each day ‘cleaning’ my house.  Yes yes I pick up stuff…shoot I wake up doing that and its usually the last thing I do before I close my eyes…but I don’t scrub toilets or wash my floors everyday.

Until now.

And I hate it.

Don’t get me wrong.  I love a clean house.  More than that, I love an organized house. But clean and organized do not fit into the description of ‘mother of four’.  I won’t bother spending time discussing my husband’s habits…

After I spent three hours cleaning the garage (spotless), my husband works on one small project....and this is how it is left.

After I spent three hours cleaning the garage (spotless), my husband works on one small project….and this is how it is left.

But, right now, I have to keep a CLEAN house.

And it is HARD.  And it SUCKS.

This child works hard on making sure SHE is dirty...let alone the house.

This child works hard on making sure SHE is dirty…let alone the house. This is ink.  Ink people.

Why does my house have to be SUPER CLEAN all the time?

This wannabe Texas girl (aka really a California girl) wants to go back home.  And in order to do that, this house must sell.  And in order for it to sell, it must be clean.

Before any of you sweethearts tell me that anyone buying a home our size will also have children, thus will understand a bit of a mess….

No.  They won’t.

In this market, presentation sells.  In any market.  It is all about emotional factors (and price, yes price too).  Sooo…now I spend everyfreakingmoment picking up, wiping down, sweeping, scrubbing, and organizing.

Every.  Freaking.  Moment. Because you never know when a potential buyer may want to see the house…

Not to mention, when we are notified that someone wants to see our house, I spend another frantic hour ‘prepping’ the house for the showing.

It is enough to break one down. Or drive one to drinking.  Which I do already.  So now..I am going to drink while I break down.

Oh how I want to duct tape my entire family to the fence outside.  All day long.  I may put a tent up and shove them all in it.

Good grief, if this house doesn’t sell quickly, I may not need to worry about a change of address for the state…cause I am sure that Texas has nutfarms here for me to live in. At least those places have sterile white walls.  Right?

Cheers!

New perspectives

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notokI whine a lot about the difficulties of parenting.  Errr…MY difficulty in parenting.  The challenges my children pose to me, as a person, a woman and a mother.

I complain a lot about how hard parenting is.  How I feel defeated, tired and worn out.

I jabber about the battle of it all.  My wounds…and even the ‘wounds’ I inflict on my children with my yelling, short temper and shallowness.

I talk about my own selfishness.  This is apparent in all of my ramblings actually.  I am pretty damn selfish.

While I whine, complain and jabber, I think about the unwavering love I have for my children.  That I would, without hesitation, give up my life for them.

This was what I was willing to do and prayed for a few days ago.  To exchange me for my child. In my office, on my knees, I prayed with a fervor that I have not ever prayed with before.  Tears literally choked me as I prayed.

In the last month my three-year old has had a couple of very random, very high fevers.  No other symptoms, no ear, throat or nose infections.  No strep or flu.  Just high fevers…like 105 + high.  No one else gets sick, not even the one year old.  The fevers lasted for five to six days.  Her appetite waned and she complained of her body aching.

So her doctor decided a blood test might be a good idea.

To rule out leukemia.

And so I prayed.  And prayed.  And cried. And did what a lot of us do….googled the symptoms and instantly thought, “oh noooooo…all the symptoms match!” And so I prayed harder.  Cried harder.

And here it is folks; my baby does not have leukemia. And yet I still wake up with just a little bit of that horrible, body quaking fear that it could’ve been.  And also with a new, albeit shaky, perspective on just how quickly life can change.

With this nifty new perspective…..I cannot promise that I won’t be selfish any longer.

Or that I won’t yell.  Or lose my temper.

Or that I won’t want to (and possibly actually) hide in the closet with a case bottle of wine and wish myself to be anywhere else.

But…as I fight my battle of parenthood…I will make more of an effort to pause and reflect…possibly in the midst of dragging my ten-year old up the stairs by her hair…and just breathe and love and be.

savannahstickers

And be ever so thankful that I can lose my temper, or yell, or be desperately inadequate.  Because that means I have children.  That are here.

Thank you God.

Cheers!

Part time mommin’ it

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Yesterday I came to a stark realization. It hit me in the midst of changing a crap diaper. As soon as it hit me, I almost doubled over in shame, sadness, guilt and then that uncontrollable when-you-don’t-know-what-else-to-do-hysterical-laughter. It was either that or sit down on the floor and cry while my one and three-year old’s climbed the walls.

I am a better part-time mother than full-time mother.

Feel free to judge. I judged myself.

I get the difficulty of juggling a job and raising kids. And the guilt associated with that.

I get the difficulty of working at home and raising kids. And the overwhelming stress associated with that.

I get the difficulty of doing the toughest job period-raising kids. And the overwhelming desire to drive your car off a bridge…oh wait…that is just me…the overwhelming sense of accomplishment? Err…the overwhelming desire to do a good job. There that works.

Yesterday, while juggling the kids, working (I am self-employed), cleaning the house and prepping/cooking meals, I realized that I suck at being a full-time mom (can I even classify it as a full-time mom when I am doing all the NON MOM STUFF TOO???). I yell. A lot. I give my kids pow pows (yes, I beat my kids), I lose my temper, I want to…several times throughout a day…climb into bed, pull the covers over my head and pretend I am by myself, that I don’t hear the whining, crying, fighting or complaining.

I want to go somewhere..anywhere..other than right there with my kids. The office. The doctors. Hell I’d rather be at the dentist.

This is usually when the guilt kicks in. How many parents, that have lost their children, wish they could have the whining, crying, fighting and complaining back- even if just for a second? All, I would bet.

And yet, my selfish, crappy ass still wishes for silence. Peace. Love, harmony and all that jazz.

Then…I start to wonder…”Maybe it is because I do a terrible job- even part time- that my kids are like this?” Maybe if I did a better job, the kids wouldn’t be….well…KIDS…and I would WANT to be with them more. I see other families where children look to be so well-behaved. Why are mine not? Because of me…and my parenting, surely. I am positive it has nothing to do with the fact that kids are CRAZY demon filled spawns determined to wreak havoc upon us.

However, yesterday, with my crap diaper realization, I also realized that my parenting, my kids, my life are….mine. And it is…… HARD. And no one, NO ONE, knows what happens behind someone elses door, inside someone elses mind, heart and soul. And though I want to literally ram my head into a wall, almost EVERY DAY…. I also lay in bed each night and thank GOD for my kids. And pray for strength for tomorrows hell adventures.

motherhoodhardBecause my kids…each one of the brats (including the fourth that is-right at this moment- lying at my feet… crying for no damn reason…) has shaped ME into who I am. Each of my kids as left their mark…not just on what I am made of, but on my soul, on my heart…yes even on my body…(damn stretch marks). Some days my heart is so scratched, dented and even broken by my kids, and then….some days…even if it is just once in a while…my heart is so full.

It is for that feeling. That full feeling, that I still show up-even when I feel so inadequate….when it is so HARD. There is a saying in the fitness world, that showing up is more than half the battle. For me…parenting…is a battle. With myself. With my kids. With the world. So some days..showing up is enough.

So today, after I pick up this crying brat and put her to bed, I will thank myself for showing up.

You, should do the same. Even if you don’t have kids.

Thank yourself. For showing up.

The world is a better place because you are in it.

Because I am in it. If no other reason than because I will have produced four amazing people who will have some serious resilience and determination (they have to in order to survive my parenting).

Then let’s grab a glass of wine and pray the kids sleep for a looooooong time.

Cheers!

Don’t judge

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I can admit that I am just not that great of a mom.  Really.  I am not looking for kudo’s or atta girls, or yes you are’s.  I just know that I am an OK mom and that on some days, a decent mom, and other days…well…I won’t put the words in print of the kind of mom I can be.

Then there are days, like the other day….when it becomes necessary to either;

1- medicate me

2- restrain me

3- ship me far, far away

or…ALL THREE.

Like a lot of houses, we have been full of sickness and crankiness.

Unlike a lot of houses; I don’t deal well with it. And on one particular day, I just let everyone fall apart.

Started with kid number 4.

S cryingThen moved on to kid number three.

P cryingThen it even hit kid number 2.

N cryingYes people.  All in the same day.  All within an hour or so.  And it kept going…and going…and going…

So what did I do?

Close your eyes.  What do you see?

That is what I did.  And let them all cry.

Then I walked away, poured a glass of wine and prayed.

I checked on a friend whose house is also full of sick and cranky kids. I asked how things were.  Here is her response;

txt See why I prayed?

And so they all lived to see another day.

Thank you God.

Cheers!

 

I’d rather have an aneurysm

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I took the lil ones to do art the other day.  So cute to see the excitement and joy.

girlsatart

I felt like such a good mommy.savannahatart

Ya…not doing that again.

At least not with the one year old.  This kinda art is not meant for kiddo’s under three…unless you enjoy holding a screaming kid with a paintbrush loaded with paint who only wants to paint herself, her sister, the furniture and anything else within a foot of reach.  Just not the damn canvas.

We will stick with the color-magic markers and outside chalk art thank you very much.  I will take her back when she is….sixteen and can drive her dang self.  Brat.

My dear friend is the manager of the art studio, and is pregnant with her second child.

Her first is not even two yet.

One would think, that by seeing the obvious joy (errr…hell and chaos) of my situation it would have caused her to not only NOT get pregnant again (like maybe pull her own uterus out), but AT LEAST wait oh….for never…ok, three to five years….at least…in between.

For all you mommies (and daddy’s) that LOVE and ENJOY having kids close in age, CHEERS to you.  I like em’ big and the constant, daily, minute by minute angst, and fighting, and fevers, and crap diapers, and whining, and middle of the night HELL-IS JUST NOT MY CUP OF TEA.  At all.

So when friends of mine gathered several weeks ago and started discussing having babies my skin literally started to itch.  My eyes started to water and my throat to tighten.  My heart started palpitating and I was reminded of the numerous nightmares I have where I am pregnant…despite my husband being fixed and my uterus being BURNED out.  Where I wake up in a sweat and want to immediately….and simultaneously…cut my husbands manhood off and take a pregnancy test just to be sure that I am not pregnant with Jesus’ sister- a miraculous event considering the lengths we have gone to ensure no more babies.

As I start to take deep breaths, to calm myself during all the ‘having more babies’ talk, my beautiful friend pipes up, “Uh..if I found out I was pregnant I would climb up on the roof…the highest part.. and jump.”

As laughter bubbled out…I couldn’t help but think to myself, oh I love you dear friend for making me feel normal for just a moment.

I love, with all my heart, my babies.  All four of the monsters.  And I would, without hesitation, give up my life for them.

Just don’t ask me to have another one.  I’d rather have an aneurysm.

Cheers!

Not even twelve hours

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I just got back from an awesome yoga retreat.  It was awesome for a few reasons:

YOGA.

FRIENDS.

NO KIDS.

WINE.

Need I say more?

Groupinfront of sign

On this retreat, I did some soul-searching and while reading a great book, “What on earth am I here for?”, that our whole church is reading, I asked God for some help in not being the MEAN mom all the time.  To be more loving.  Attentive.  PATIENT.

Then I came home.

My husband did a great job with the kiddos.  Truly.  But he was ready to release the reins.  And I put my best loving-attentive-patient foot forward.

I didn’t even last twelve hours folks.

Because…my sweet one year old got up at 2am.  And…being the loving-attentive-patient mother I WANT TO BE…I got up to make sure she didn’t have a fever (you know it’s that time of year when the flu can happen at any moment), or crap in her diaper, or you know..is just not dangling from her teeth in her crib.  And since my awesome husband had to get up at 4:30am, I FOR ONCE didn’t nudge him to get her.

Poor girl.

I very patiently changed her diaper, rocked her, and put her back to bed.

Thank you Jesus.  I did it.  I did it! <insert happy dance>

But wait…It is now 4:45am and the OTHER one is up and crying.  And this momma never fell back to sleep (because I suck at sleeping).

I very lovingly-attentively-patiently pushed the talk button on the baby monitor;

“GO BACK TO SLEEP OR I AM COMING UP WITH THE BELT!”

And I wonder why my kids hate me?

Then, of course, just as the three-year old fussed herself back to sleep, the one year old wakes back up at 5:15am.

And I let her cry for 45 minutes.

Yes, yes I did.

While I laid in bed wishing I was on any kind of retreat and realizing that I already failed the first test God gave me on my desire to be more loving-attentive-patient.

Good thing there is GRACE.  And good thing the kids have their dad to be loving-attentive-patient.

Cause I have got A-LOT more work to do. Dang it.

Cheers!

PS- check out my paleo bread recipe.  I am on a 30 day paleo challenge..and though it is kicking my tail..I am loving it.

Not allowed to be sick

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I am addicted to drugs.

I never used to be.  I didn’t even like to take Tylenol, let alone the hard stuff.

But I am.

Now I am.  Actually….my head is in a cloud right now…on drugs.

And I like it.

It is getting time to cut back…..I think.  Probably.

Cause my cold is finally going away.

Time to get rid of the Advil cold & flu, NyQuil, Dayquil, Emergen-C and halls cough drops.

For 9 solid days I have been sick.

For 9 solid days I have been listening to my husband tell me to take it easy and rest.

For 9 solid days I have been juggling work, the kids….and my husband….as he hands me work (or a kid)…all while telling me to rest and take it easy.

RIGHT.

So I drugged up.  And put a mask on.

Cause I am beginning to think, mothers (and even some fathers) are just not allowed to be sick.

So tonight I am going to treat myself to a salad.  A fruit salad.

fruitsalad

And forget the damn drugs…kids….and husband.

Cheers!

 

 

I am not the good kind of mom

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I just got back from Las Vegas. Ahhh…..

Why is it that upcoming fun events take so long to get here and yet FLY by when you are there?! Dang it.

We had a fabulous time though.  Well…we had lovely dinners and lots of adult beverages…(thus I owe someone 150 burpees…you can just throttle me now please), along with long nights of sleep.

Yes.  Sleep.  Each night we had VIP entries to hot Vegas clubs….and the only VIP entry we made it to was our bed.

Why? Well…because sleep is as precious to me as having a blast dancing the night away.  Sort of.

Needless to say, I do have a tiny cringe of regret at not pushing myself…and venturing to the clubs… at least for a short while.

Oh hell, who am I kidding? I LOVED the 9+ hours of sleep!

Prior to leaving to Vegas…like hours before…my youngest one got a fever.  A high 102.5 one.  So off to the dr. I ran to make sure it wasn’t the dreaded flu.

savannah at dr

It wasn’t.  But that didn’t make me feel much better leaving her behind….sick…as I venture off to partaaay.

At the airport..waiting for my flight..with a glass of champagne in hand (duh..don’t you start the fun BEFORE you even get to Vegas?), I got a text that she not only had a fever…but started throwing up.

Just dandy I thought, as I ordered another glass of champagne.

A little tickle starts to happen in the back of my tiny brain…that I ignore.

The next day, I get another text.  The three-year old is throwing up too.

Well, that is lovely, I think as I order a bottle glass of wine.

I then glance through facebook briefly, sipping my wine, and see some sweet comments on the picture of my lil sick baby I posted the day before…and then another comment from a fellow mom that turned the little tickle into full-blown mommy guilt;

“ya we have sick kids too, so I had to cancel my trip”.

Oh hell.

Is that what I should have done?

Well..I didn’t.  Because I trusted those that had my babies (and I am so grateful to them), and you know what else? Babies get sick- a lot.  Extra kuddos to those that put everything above their own needs…however, I have always been clear on the kind of person I am: SELFISH.

Ya, I am not the good kind of mom really, especially when it comes to this stuff.  I enjoy my time way too much, and although I couldn’t wait to see those precious faces when I got home last night, I sure did enjoy my lazy mornings, long nights of sleep, and the ability to go to the bathroom without an entourage.

Plus…don’t we tell ourselves that these breaks make us better parents? Ya, I am sticking with that.

Cheers!

Survival parenting and stupid bets

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Yesterday I read a passage that someone wrote about living for the moment.  To not wish for the future, or be stuck in the past, but to live in the moment, now.

Right.

Am I the only one that finds this really difficult to do?  Yes I spend quiet time in prayer and thankfulness (usually in the closet with a bottle of wine while the kids beat on the door outside…Bose headphones are the bomb by the way) and yes I spend moments in the WEEK (no not everyday) just pausing and reflecting on my blessed life (usually moments before all hell breaks loose).  But each moment?  No.  I do not.

Most moments I am just trying to get through.  To the next one.

And truthfully…I am usually wishing for a future event or time frame…like next week I am going to Vegas for a couple of days…and YES…I am wishing it WAS RIGHT THIS VERY MOMENT.

I wish I could live in the moment.  That each moment I was treasuring and relishing and not even thinking about later, or tomorrow, or next week (Cosmopolitan hotel…Cirque de Soleil…oh sorry…got sidetracked)…

Usually I don’t…live in the moment.  What I do, most days, is GET by.  And survive.  I try to find ways to make the time as enjoyable as possible…or at the very least NOT ABSOLUTE CHAOS.

I survival parent.

My survival parenting includes long baths.  Sometimes more than one in a day.  Why?  No it is not because good parents make sure their kids are clean.  It is because it keeps them QUIET and happy.  For.  A.  Long.  Time.

girlsbathingYes they are usually pretty pruned up by the time they get out.

My survival parenting also includes art time.  Why?  No it is not because good parents encourage their children’s artistic side in order to establish well-rounded healthy children.  It is because it keeps them busy.  And quiet.  For.  A. Long. Time.

paigecoloringYes usually the paint, markers and crayons end up everywhere.  That is what the ten and seventeen year old’s are for.  To clean up.

My survival parenting includes treat time for the dog.  Why?  No it is not because we love our dog so much that we enjoy giving him goodies.  It is because if either baby is having a tantrum, all I have to say is, “who wants to give Jack a treat?” and they both run to the pantry with instant dry eyes and quiet smiling faces.

girlsfeedingjackToo bad Jack is becoming quite overweight in the process…

My survival parenting includes TV time, iPad time and popcorn whenever I want. Why? Yes…it is exactly as it sounds.  Cause it is easy for this parent (me) that is probably just needing to finish dishes, pack lunches or make dinner.

paigeipad

I am not especially proud of my survival parenting…but it does keep the kids…and myself…alive.  That is good, no?

Speaking of good…my husband and I are really focusing on our nutrition for 2013.  No not a diet.  Not a lose weight plan.  Just eating even healthier than we already do.  Which includes less alcohol (shoot me now please).

THIS IS NOT PART OF SURVIVAL PARENTING BY THE WAY…which includes A LOT of alcohol.

And in this process of trying to limit the alcohol intake, I made a bet.  That I wouldn’t drink at all (AT ALL PEOPLE) Monday-Thursday.  And if I do (or the other person) we would have to do 50 burpees per day of infraction.  50 freaking burpees!

burpees

OK….now…do you remember where I said I was going next week?

Vegas.

In the middle of the week.

Stupid bet.

Tomorrow, during crossfit, I will be doing 50 burpees and putting them in the bank.  Why?  Well….because I can GUARANTEE that I will be drinking the three days I am in Vegas so might as well get a head start on the burpees.

Stupid bet.

Cheers!

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