When I was five years old, I was certain that I would not live to see six. There were just too many monsters in the closet and under my bed. There were werewolves outside just waiting for their chance to slip in and devour a little girl all alone in the dark.
And my parents didn't care.
Okay, so maybe they did the first 100 times I told them, but after that they just stopped.
I was not allowed to sleep in their bed. (injustice!)
So instead when I woke in the night to the sounds of monsters and creatures and all things terrible, I rushed to my parents' room and lay down on the floor near their bed...
as far away from the door as possible.
I would lay there, trying to accept my certain death and think scornfully how sorry my parents would be when they woke and saw that I was devoured and they did NOTHING to protect me.
How sorry they would be!
side note: I am aware that this admission admits to my tendency to slightly over dramatise things. And by "slightly", I mean massively.
What I didn't know then is that monsters and werewolves aren't real, that it really sucks to have small children sleep with you, and that you will be punished for your crimes against your parents.
How is that, you ask?
By having children and becoming parents and being forced to go through what they went through.
Caleb is convinced that there are monsters under his bed, giant spiders hiding in every nook and cranny waiting to bite him when adults aren't looking, and creepy clowns in his closet.
And nothing makes it better like sleeping in between mom and dad. Only I don't enjoy getting punched in the face intermittently during my slumber, and Brian doesn't enjoy a constant foot in the back.
So recently we had to banish him from our bed and sentence him to the recliner.
And as he whines every night unwilling to accept his impending doom, I silently say my penance to my parents and wonder when my forgiveness will come.
Because I am really a big fan of sleep.
Saturday, August 28, 2010
Saturday, August 21, 2010
Blue skies are here again
They are.
It has been a long few weeks full of work and absentee husbands, car troubles, floods (in our own house and in others as well), appointments, assessments,preparations, and shopping with four children. Let me say that one again: shopping with four children... but we survived.
And Saturday was our day to celebrate.
We celebrated a successful summer.
Days filled with field trips, water fun, trips to the library, friends, and yummy summer food.
We celebrated a dad home for the whole day. Or afternoon at least.
There was sight seeing, talking at accelerated paces, hugging, tickling, joking and general merriment. (yes, during celebration you may use words that have been retired from regular use in the English vocabulary).
We celebrated the end of our "courage" theme and talked about how everyone rose to the challenges in their lives.
We gave Hailey props for kicking every one's behind in the courage department this year, thanks to diabetes!
We celebrated the beginning of another school year by having our annual back to school feast.
The fancy glasses were taken down from the top shelf. The steak was cooked to medium rare perfection and the corn on the cob was as tasty as ever.
We celebrated the beginning of our new theme:
Focus.
We talked about what everyone can choose to focus on. We made goals. Oh, how I love goals.
We celebrated going back to school [insert hallelujah chorus singing praises here].
We had a back to school fashion show, that ended much like one a few years back. Then we settled down for father's blessings.
And then we, the 30 something parents, promptly crashed with fatigue from all that celebration.
There is a reason celebration doesn't happen every day.
It has been a long few weeks full of work and absentee husbands, car troubles, floods (in our own house and in others as well), appointments, assessments,preparations, and shopping with four children. Let me say that one again: shopping with four children... but we survived.
And Saturday was our day to celebrate.
We celebrated a successful summer.
Days filled with field trips, water fun, trips to the library, friends, and yummy summer food.
We celebrated a dad home for the whole day. Or afternoon at least.
There was sight seeing, talking at accelerated paces, hugging, tickling, joking and general merriment. (yes, during celebration you may use words that have been retired from regular use in the English vocabulary).
We celebrated the end of our "courage" theme and talked about how everyone rose to the challenges in their lives.
We gave Hailey props for kicking every one's behind in the courage department this year, thanks to diabetes!
We celebrated the beginning of another school year by having our annual back to school feast.
The fancy glasses were taken down from the top shelf. The steak was cooked to medium rare perfection and the corn on the cob was as tasty as ever.
We celebrated the beginning of our new theme:
Focus.
We talked about what everyone can choose to focus on. We made goals. Oh, how I love goals.
We celebrated going back to school [insert hallelujah chorus singing praises here].
We had a back to school fashion show, that ended much like one a few years back. Then we settled down for father's blessings.
And then we, the 30 something parents, promptly crashed with fatigue from all that celebration.
There is a reason celebration doesn't happen every day.
Friday, August 13, 2010
today
I don't feel like blogging.
I don't have anything interesting to say (I am warning you upfront).
My husband has worked 56 hours the last 72 hours (that equals 3 days in case you weren't aware. And if you didn't know that, you probably dropped out of elementary school to join the circus. I hoped that worked out for you!) For those of you who aren't math geniuses, that leaves 16 little hours; just over 5 hours a day. I have kindly allowed him to use those to sleep. When he slept in until 6 accidentally on purpose this morning and rushed out the door to work, I wanted to cry for him.
And a little for me.
I mean, he is not even a Dr. (which would be a nice improvement on the meager salary) And there is no such thing as overtime pay when you work for yourself. (no fair!)
But children were already squawking and that meant time to suck it up and move on.
Later we went to get out of the house and the car wouldn't start.
Battery was dead.
I was not sure which child left the interior lights on so I couldn't decide who to blame.
We decided to go for a walk.
It was too hot.
The small child in the stroller decided to scream.
So, we went home and played in the back yard.
The same small child played in the ashes in the fire pit.
I bathed him, and cleaned up the kitchen from the breakfast mess I had decided to neglect this morning. Then I messed it all up again to make lunch.
I ordered more syringes and other supplies, and gagged at the cost of diabetes.
I was tempted to cry again.
But I sucked it up to play candy land.
I lost.
I texted the husband and asked him when he was coming home tonight.
He didn't know.
Just in case you don't know, I don't know in a marriage is usually code for something bad.
There is no chocolate in my house.
My shins are sore.
I need a hair cut.
And a lot of money.
That is all.
I don't have anything interesting to say (I am warning you upfront).
My husband has worked 56 hours the last 72 hours (that equals 3 days in case you weren't aware. And if you didn't know that, you probably dropped out of elementary school to join the circus. I hoped that worked out for you!) For those of you who aren't math geniuses, that leaves 16 little hours; just over 5 hours a day. I have kindly allowed him to use those to sleep. When he slept in until 6 accidentally on purpose this morning and rushed out the door to work, I wanted to cry for him.
And a little for me.
I mean, he is not even a Dr. (which would be a nice improvement on the meager salary) And there is no such thing as overtime pay when you work for yourself. (no fair!)
But children were already squawking and that meant time to suck it up and move on.
Later we went to get out of the house and the car wouldn't start.
Battery was dead.
I was not sure which child left the interior lights on so I couldn't decide who to blame.
We decided to go for a walk.
It was too hot.
The small child in the stroller decided to scream.
So, we went home and played in the back yard.
The same small child played in the ashes in the fire pit.
I bathed him, and cleaned up the kitchen from the breakfast mess I had decided to neglect this morning. Then I messed it all up again to make lunch.
I ordered more syringes and other supplies, and gagged at the cost of diabetes.
I was tempted to cry again.
But I sucked it up to play candy land.
I lost.
I texted the husband and asked him when he was coming home tonight.
He didn't know.
Just in case you don't know, I don't know in a marriage is usually code for something bad.
There is no chocolate in my house.
My shins are sore.
I need a hair cut.
And a lot of money.
That is all.
Friday, August 6, 2010
In the name of Love
My baby Porter.
So cute.
So fun.
So loved.
He has started doing that thing that all little babies do that every mother hates:
Grow.
And with no camera, I have not been recording it, well.
So I decided to dedicate an entire post to things I love about Porter at this moment in his life right now at 14.5 months.
His teeth.
There is never another time in life where having four teeth is a cute thing. But on babies, acceptable. And SO adorable.
His singing talents.
Porter's career is still getting off the ground, and by off the ground, I mean he can only sing the chorus of Neon Tree's "animal", but every single time I hear that "uh-oh, I want some more.." I want to squeeze the life out of him...
in a good way.
His athleticism.
We recently bought Porter his first pair of shoes. I am one of those weird moms who doesn't buy stuff that has no use....like shoes for a baby that doesn't walk. So once he started to walk, we lazily took our time picking out the perfect pair. Once we put those shoes on his feet, he understood we were giving him permission to run. And he has taken it. And I love watching it.
ALL DAY LONG.
The mark he leaves on the world.
I always know where Porter has been. He leaves evidence everywhere. Pacifiers, dripping bottles, kitchen utensils, drool. All lovingly placed there for me.
His curiosity.
Mainly, with toilets. This one isn't actually something I love. But, to Porter, toilets are the way God has shown his love to the world. I tend to agree with his line of thinking, but I don't however love to bath myself in them.
His determination.
For example, Porter loves to climb the table. He loves for me to find him standing on top of the table yelling his celebratory cry, which is his version of "I'm the king of the world!"
His love for Dad.
Porter is like a dog. He can sense when Brian is due home. At that time of day he walks from door to door pathetically and constantly asking me, "Da Da go go?" Which in English means, "Shouldn't dad be getting home soon?"
I love him. We all do. And even though, at 14 months, he is working hard to test that love, it's still there.
Unconditional.
But I do have a problem with the other three children who refuse to shut bathroom doors and flush the toilet.
So cute.
So fun.
So loved.
He has started doing that thing that all little babies do that every mother hates:
Grow.
And with no camera, I have not been recording it, well.
So I decided to dedicate an entire post to things I love about Porter at this moment in his life right now at 14.5 months.
His teeth.
There is never another time in life where having four teeth is a cute thing. But on babies, acceptable. And SO adorable.
His singing talents.
Porter's career is still getting off the ground, and by off the ground, I mean he can only sing the chorus of Neon Tree's "animal", but every single time I hear that "uh-oh, I want some more.." I want to squeeze the life out of him...
in a good way.
His athleticism.
We recently bought Porter his first pair of shoes. I am one of those weird moms who doesn't buy stuff that has no use....like shoes for a baby that doesn't walk. So once he started to walk, we lazily took our time picking out the perfect pair. Once we put those shoes on his feet, he understood we were giving him permission to run. And he has taken it. And I love watching it.
ALL DAY LONG.
The mark he leaves on the world.
I always know where Porter has been. He leaves evidence everywhere. Pacifiers, dripping bottles, kitchen utensils, drool. All lovingly placed there for me.
His curiosity.
Mainly, with toilets. This one isn't actually something I love. But, to Porter, toilets are the way God has shown his love to the world. I tend to agree with his line of thinking, but I don't however love to bath myself in them.
His determination.
For example, Porter loves to climb the table. He loves for me to find him standing on top of the table yelling his celebratory cry, which is his version of "I'm the king of the world!"
His love for Dad.
Porter is like a dog. He can sense when Brian is due home. At that time of day he walks from door to door pathetically and constantly asking me, "Da Da go go?" Which in English means, "Shouldn't dad be getting home soon?"
I love him. We all do. And even though, at 14 months, he is working hard to test that love, it's still there.
Unconditional.
But I do have a problem with the other three children who refuse to shut bathroom doors and flush the toilet.
Sunday, August 1, 2010
33
Today, my husband is 33.
In case you were wondering, he is pretty amazing.
How is that, you ask?
Let me expound:
Reason #1 - for one thing, he has weathered the storm of being a full time husband, a full time father, a full time student, and a full time employee...
all at the SAME TIME.
I know I always come back to that and Brian has been officially graduated for a year now, but it was pretty freaking amazing. I mean those of you who have done any of those things knows how hard it is to do each one individually. Those who have done them at the same time know that it takes super human strength. And while I admit it took some pretty hefty strength of my own to make it through those days, most of the crap was always on his shoulders.
Reason #2 - He puts up with me. That sentence really doesn't deserve further explanation if you know me. If you don't, read on: I am obnoxious. And I am dorky. And I have been known to state my opinion when it is not desired.
Reason #3 - He lets me correct him. A lot. You see, Brian has a tendancy to sing the wrong lyrics to songs. Like 85% of the time. And I just cannot let a lyric be incorrect... I can't. I even have to correct him on the lyrics to his own songs on occassion. I think all that schooling and work really did a number on his brain.
Reason #4 - He eats my food. He eats it and compliments it. Like it is really good or something. Really, the mere fact he eats my food should tell you he loves me. He has an issue with eating people's food. He can't just go to a pot luck and dig in, because what if someone's kitchen is dirty? What if they didn't wash their hands? What if they sneezed right into the cookie dough? Those thoughts are more than his stomach can handle.
Reason #5- He is a present father. He is there. In the middle of all the action. And he loves it. He is so good to them. He is their teacher, their playmate, their friend, and their student. He respects them as people. Real ones. Because that is what they are.
Reason #6 - He brings milk home for me. He calls me on his way home almost every day to see if I need anything from the store. For those of you with a small army of children, you know how there is always something you need, and you also know that packing them all up to head to the store for one thing, just isn't going to happen.
Reason #7 - He works. Like, Hard. No, he isn't a workaholic and he isn't just madly in love with his job. He does it for us. For me and the kids. He works hard and long hours and never complains. Even when he works weekends. I, however, make up for his lack of complaining. Mostly in my head. But sometimes it slips out. And he still understands.
For these things, and for countless other things, I love him.
And you should too.
In case you were wondering, he is pretty amazing.
How is that, you ask?
Let me expound:
Reason #1 - for one thing, he has weathered the storm of being a full time husband, a full time father, a full time student, and a full time employee...
all at the SAME TIME.
I know I always come back to that and Brian has been officially graduated for a year now, but it was pretty freaking amazing. I mean those of you who have done any of those things knows how hard it is to do each one individually. Those who have done them at the same time know that it takes super human strength. And while I admit it took some pretty hefty strength of my own to make it through those days, most of the crap was always on his shoulders.
Reason #2 - He puts up with me. That sentence really doesn't deserve further explanation if you know me. If you don't, read on: I am obnoxious. And I am dorky. And I have been known to state my opinion when it is not desired.
Reason #3 - He lets me correct him. A lot. You see, Brian has a tendancy to sing the wrong lyrics to songs. Like 85% of the time. And I just cannot let a lyric be incorrect... I can't. I even have to correct him on the lyrics to his own songs on occassion. I think all that schooling and work really did a number on his brain.
Reason #4 - He eats my food. He eats it and compliments it. Like it is really good or something. Really, the mere fact he eats my food should tell you he loves me. He has an issue with eating people's food. He can't just go to a pot luck and dig in, because what if someone's kitchen is dirty? What if they didn't wash their hands? What if they sneezed right into the cookie dough? Those thoughts are more than his stomach can handle.
Reason #5- He is a present father. He is there. In the middle of all the action. And he loves it. He is so good to them. He is their teacher, their playmate, their friend, and their student. He respects them as people. Real ones. Because that is what they are.
Reason #6 - He brings milk home for me. He calls me on his way home almost every day to see if I need anything from the store. For those of you with a small army of children, you know how there is always something you need, and you also know that packing them all up to head to the store for one thing, just isn't going to happen.
Reason #7 - He works. Like, Hard. No, he isn't a workaholic and he isn't just madly in love with his job. He does it for us. For me and the kids. He works hard and long hours and never complains. Even when he works weekends. I, however, make up for his lack of complaining. Mostly in my head. But sometimes it slips out. And he still understands.
For these things, and for countless other things, I love him.
And you should too.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)