Blogger, mother, dreamer, swimmer, biker, runner, coffee-drinking mistress of silliness… all in exciting Kitsap County!
Since I tend to sit in a “half-empty glass”, I really have to make an effort to see the brighter side. So, despite my title, here is an attempt to look at the brighter side of some of today’s suckier attributes.
The bright side: In the history of sucky-days - this will not make the top 10, nor the top million, not even close… Continue reading ‘“Today Really Sucks” by Jennifer Ingram’
I just have bits of things floating in my head. Some folks may think this fact clearly illuminates my need to be institutionalized, while others (in the medical community) would simply call them by the names my alternate personalities have given them - Eugenia, Felicia, Josephina Guadalupe Maria Carmen de la Cruz, Southern Bell, Tracy, Tina, Christi and Babs. Just kidding. See… random.
I prefer to call myself a “realist”, though my husband would call it “pessimism”. And that’s because he is so optimistic. (How optimistic is he???) He is so maniacally optimistic that if he were on the edge of eternal dehydration in the desert - he would actually believe that a cloud would see his suffering, come down to him and wring it’s very own moisture straight into his parched mouth. Cloud to him. Serious. Oh yeah. I married an artistic-dreamer-optimist. Some in the medical community call it ADHD.
Hey, this was supposed to be about ME.
With that said, I am struggling with my attitude and perspective on mothering. Whether it’s realism or pessimism, this whole “mom thing” is one tough gig. Especially with a nearly 3 year old… for a third time. I haven’t had a teen yet, so please forgive my naiv-e-tay. I don’t want to know. Continue reading ‘More complaining.’
I really did.
But it appears I didn’t put it away ENOUGH (read: seal it in duct tape, lock it in a fire safe, and drop it to the bottom of the Mariana Trench).
At least it wasn’t permanent ink.
I headed to a local running store today… I needed some beverage enhancement, and stumbled upon a “20% off all apparel” sale. Yip!
I moseyed, whilst the Luc-meister moseyed - she spent quite a bit of time perusing the wall of “essersize shooooes”. You may be aware she has a “thing” for shoes. I found a lil’ somtn’ somtn’ and another lil’ somtn’ somtn’ to try on.
If you had been standing outside my dressing room (which you very well might have been - because it’s one of those rooms that is only a room with a partial door right off the “show room floor”), you would have heard this… after I had undressed down to my unmentionables: Continue reading ‘Just Say “No!” to Dressing Rooms’
And there she goes to preschool. One day a week. 3.5 hours of freedom from mommy. Or is that 3.5 hours of freedom FOR mommy? Yes aaaaaaand yes.
Did I cry? No. She’s my 3rd… I’m a “first day of preschool” veteran.
Did she cry? No. If I wasn’t her mother (and gave her her middle name) I’d swear her middle name was “Adventure”.
It went down like this:
Mom: Peace out, dude.
Lucy: Peace out. Kiss?
Both: Mwah… Mmmmmwah!
Lucy: Hug?
Both: Grrrrrrraaaaaah! Grrrrraaaaaaah!
And there you have it. Another step in the climbing staircase of childhood independence.
If there is something we are not deficient in around here - it is Vitamin C. We Lu-HUV mandarin orange season. Bring it.
When I see those boxes of little orange orbs my toes go “on point”, my arms form an “O” above my head and lightly I flitter to grab me one of them boxes. I love them most because anyone can peel them (read: I don’t have to unwrap, slice, peel, mold or stir), and the kids are WILD about them. W to the I to the L to the D.
Oh, and you know the question that comes with any snack, “Can I have 2???!!!” I cooly answer, “Hmmmm… Ok, I guess. Go ahead.” It’s a psychological game I play, like it’s the equivalent to a brownie or monster cookie. Yeah, let’s splurge kids - have TWO oranges!
Oh, Mom, you are much too sweet to the kids… You shouldn’t have. No. Really. You shouldn’t have…
8 years and 3 children have filled our tree. Year after year, I have tried to make our Christmas tree the “charming” that my style longs for it to be. I give.
This year there is no room for me. Who lost the memo that reminds everyone that everything is all about ME? My tree has no room for my “darling this” and “dang-awesome that”. Nope. It is filled with the ceramic ornaments the kids have painted each year at our local paint-your-own-pottery place. There are the annual “character” ornaments - The Incredibles, Veggie Tales, Princesses, Kitties, Star Wars, and Spiderman. There are the school-made ornaments - with their school pictures, made of Popsicle sticks or foam paper, and covered in glitter, embellished with sequins, silvery pipe cleaners, and pom-poms.
I thought giving up on MY tree would be more painful. I guess the tree isn't the only thing full around here. As I look at this mish-mash of decorations I feel full, of thankfulness. I am so thankful for my 3 tornadoes that take me for a spin every minute of every day. I am honored it is their precious hands that have created the things that adorn our Christmas tree.
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The driveway…
A future snowman…
Frosty, could that really be you?
Yay! A snow angel!
The view from my room…
The back of the house from the back…
“Is that enough, Mama?” Ummm… yeah…
“Yook Mama! I did it!” …and I’m 2!
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