Taking a Break

I told you the holidays would wipe me out! I'm back after three. Long. Months. Barely...

The stress I am under lately is incredible. Its almost as if there is someone else who endures this thing called my life during the day and even at night. It can't possibly be me, the strong and structured mommy of three beautiful children who depend on my every. waking. move. I am not really this out of control, am I?

I've checked in with a few of my dear and trusted friends, its official, I am.

So today when I crawled out the door with my usual headache in beautiful 80 degree weather to drop the kids off, I perked up a bit when I realized I was getting my hair done. I don't know what spending 3 hours in a salon chair really does for my well-being, but I am definitely feeling better.

9 am, sitting in the chair that waits for me every couple of months, I start to morph...into me. Before long I am laughing again. I am feeling the tension drift off my shoulders and my face begins to get that stuck feeling because I am laughing so hard. We share stories about the drama in our lives. We both have crazy lives just different crazy lives- and it is actually funny. It is funny how she relates to her children, and it is easy to relate to the daily crap that creeps into life.

I realize my days though overwhelming and filled with total disorganization aren't the most important thing in the world. There are other things going on around me besides what happens in my little world. My sweet Grandma needing help finding a home seems manageable. My children's projects will get completed on time. My husband and I will straighten this mess of a life out sooner or later. The car will be fixed and the house cleaned. The faucet will get unclogged. My children will be FINE. I will be FINE.

Even if I only believe this for three hours, it is enough of a break for my tired and fuzzy brain. I can now think about dinner, homework, and carpooling and actually not want to throw a nap in the middle of it all.

Like I said, TODAY I don't need a nap. Maybe I can have more days like this one- I might just have to start creating them for myself.
I am going to... one day at a time. I hope. Some things I can change, others I can't. I'll start with the smallest things I can and go from there.

Housekeeper comes tomorrow!!

My Pain

I open my eyes in the morning and light seizes my optic nerves like a hot hand, twisting and burning. I close them again and swing my legs to the floor.

As I sit up, blood rushes and thumps in my head, drumbeats of sick pain against my temples. The muscles of my neck and shoulders settle into their familiar knotted array.

I stagger to the bathroom, I flip on the light and grab the lip of the sink as the first wave of nausea washes over me, crushing any hope that today might be better than yesterday.

Cold sweat prickles my forehead. I suck in a breath and force it out, slowly.

I won't throw up.

I find the resolve to look in the mirror -- the right side of my swollen face is pale, the eye oozes a tear that's stuck in my eyelashes.

Good morning, Sunshine.

I have a killer migraine.

To be more precise, I've entered the hellish world of "transformed" migraines, where the once-occasional misery of these debilitating headaches has become a near-daily mix of tension headache and migraine torture.

When a migraine starts, the roots of each hair on the right side of my head are fiery and electrified. Before the pain begins, sometimes a few hours or a full day ahead, I am antsy and uncomfortable in my skin.

I am always in pain. Saying those words aloud makes me cry.

No one likes to talk about pain. And chronic pain, the kind you just can't seem to fix -- who wants to talk about that?

I'd rather hide. But there's nowhere to go.

I've had migraines since I was diagnosed with Viral Meningitis 4 years ago this January 9, 2011.

For 4 years I've tried just about every drug, alternative and preventive treatment available. I exercise, eat well, try to fend off my migraine triggers (weather changes, cigarette smoke, stress, crying, caffeine), and even avoid those that probably aren't triggers (red wine, strong smells, MSG, seasonal allergens).

I have an arsenal of medications designed to squash a migraine before it squashes me. They often don't work. And sometimes, the treatment is worse than the disease: an injection, a pill to counteract the nausea from the injection, vomiting when the pill doesn't cut it, lethargy, and an inevitable migraine hangover that lasts two days and makes me feel like my head is stuffed with cotton batting.

I've done everything I'm supposed to do and nothing I'm not supposed to. I listen to what my neurologist tells me.

Yet many times I find myself huddled under the hot spray of the shower, lights out, weeping, silently praying for relief from a god I don't much believe in.

Please make it stop.

Please Mama, make it stop.

I'll do anything.

I figure if anyone would put my name in for a miracle, my mother would.

The truth is that my brain, like the brains of 36 million other Americans, behaves differently from those of people who have never had one of these headaches.

Our brains are hypersensitive, demanding little brats that throw earsplitting, room-rocking tantrums at the slightest provocation.

My primary trigger is stress and sleeplessness. If I am woken up at any time before 6:30 am, and have gone to bed after 11:00 pm, I am screwed. I battle the pain off like a new mother tip toes around her sleeping baby.

Any of a million triggers can bring on the hurt. And the hurt is exquisite.

The word migraine comes from the Greek hemicrania, meaning half the skull. Most migraines try to destroy only half your head at a time, perhaps the smallest of concessions in what often feels like a battle for your sanity.

When a migraine starts, the roots of each hair on the right side of my head are fiery and electrified. Before the pain begins, sometimes a few hours or a full day ahead, I am antsy and uncomfortable in my skin.

Then suddenly it's like I'm drunk and stupid -- slurring my speech, forgetting words, incessantly yawning and fighting a strong urge to sleep.

And then there's the pain -- pain that some people call "headache" but that any migraine sufferer knows belongs in its own infernal category. It's pain that wakes me up out of a deep sleep some nights and makes me cry like a frustrated child.

It's a pulsating, drilling, burrowing monster. You spend long enough with it, and it sprouts legs and arms and intentions. It attacks.

The pain starts around my right eye and coils around the right side of my head, embedding a spiky metal hand into my face, holding tight to my eyebrow, cheekbone and jaw line.

Its other hand locks onto my right shoulder and neck, digging in like a sadistic teacher dragging a ne'er-do-well student to the principal's office.

I shake, stab myself with syringes of medication to kill the pain and fight off nausea. I curse the sun, light bulbs, headlights, the flickering glow of the clock radio.

All this nastiness is screaming around in the malfunctioning, overreacting, treacherous black box of my brain. In the aftermath, I lie there, sick and spent, idly wishing I could somehow separate my head from the rest of my body just for a while. My whole body feels as if I have worked each and every muscle until it is spent completely.

There is no redemption in the pain of a migraine or its daily headache spawn. I am not a better person because I suffer. I am a person, hurting. And the joys I miss, the plans I cancel, the life I forfeit -- that is what matters.

I can suffer, or I can cope.

That misshapen mug that glares back at me too many mornings -- my migraine face in the bathroom mirror -- is the face of raw, familiar, deep-rooted agony, the face of my burrowing monster.

It's also my face, and my mom's face. I am so like her.

Help me, Mama.

My mom died 12 years ago, and oh, how I miss her when I feel so small and alone. I think she hears me. God, I hope she hears me.

I wipe away the tears and open the medicine cabinet.

Today might be different.

Excerpts taken from :

Brie Zeltner; as she has exposed my headache story perfectly.

She's Back....

I don't really know why, but it seems as if one of my alter egos has shown up early this year. I probably have three other people inhabiting my brain that I can identify consciously. They all have different and....unique personalities.

Martha is one. She has started and is making me do things I don't normally start until mid November. Its the damn projects. Cooking the big meals. Decorating the house. Scouring the internet for new fun and festive...candle holders???

So, having young kids is what I am partially blaming this early take over on. I gotta blame SOMETHING. Halloween (yes, even for the 13 year old) is HUGE in our house. I have been hunting for cool ways to outdo our local Halloween super store products by creating my own. I will probably even invent a new and improved caramel apple recipe to post on All Recipes.com this season. I have emptied Joanns and Michaels as well as 3 of our neighborhood thrift stores. Mind you it's only October.

I love the fact that all the neighborhood kids ooo and ahh over our brightly lighted Halloween decor in the front yard, and that they all get super excited to come over before trick or treating to play games and eat chili. Our kids love to dress up and show off as well. But man, if I keep this pace up I will be burnt by Christmas.

I'm not going to lie- I dive into this every year with the greatest intentions, and even more so this year because of personal stuff clouding my brain. If I am Martha, I don't have to be me for a few hours.

There are others...like the women who possesses me when I travel, the other one who comes to visit after a couple glasses of wine or the one who SHOPS after having a couple glasses of wine... probably way more of them exist but I'm trying to go easy on myself at this point in my life!

I know everything will turn out wonderfully...the caramel apples for the 5 year old Kindergartners, the witch hat cupcakes, the party games and costumes. I will even come across to others as if I whipped everything together with my daughters magic princess wand.

Isn't that the point?

Schools In!

OK- Now I know I use this blog to let off a lot of steam, but its my blog- so deal.




With the kids back in school full swing, and me trying to get everyone back onto the weekly routine I have decided to change up some things... Why? Because it wouldn't be my normal if I didn't.




My BFF and I came up with this great idea to have Cissy and her daughter ride their scooters together every day to and from school. They both started Kindergarten together this year. They go way back to the womb together, and really have a sweet relationship. They will, as all our kids have, grow up together. How special her mom and I thought it would be to see them bobbing in front of us legs swinging back and forth exchanging giggles as we walked behind sipping coffee and marveling at their experience.




Needless to say, it hasn't been that easy. In fact I can't think of one day in five that someone hasn't taken a huge fall, thrown a fit because they can't live together after school, complained incessantly about how hot it is, has to pee RIGHT NOW, becomes so thirsty they can't take another step, the helmet becomes too tight, needs a rest, the backpack is too heavy...it is always something.




It should have been an omen when on day 2 of school another mother walking home with her 2 children ended up in tears after her kindergartner took off and as she was chasing her daughter down the busy street the stroller she had left behind with her other child in it tumbled into that same busy street scattering everything everywhere including the child. Luckily, both children were fine. But as we are comforting her and reassuring her she was not a bad mom and she still had a shot at The Mother of the Year 2010 award because its still early enough, Cissy proceeded to crash pretty hard on her scooter banging her head and scrapping her elbow. We have both been running in every direction with our great ideas for these kids since Wednesday of last week.




But every day I ask Cissy if she wants to ride to school, and every day she tells me yes. Until she gets "melty" as she calls herself when she is hot. Or her backpack hurts, a boo-boo magically appears on her body and she needs a band-aid RIGHT NOW, or she says, "I forgot, I don't want to ride my scooter to school anymore!". This is all within 2 minutes of starting. We live less than 1/4 mile away from this school mind you.




Everyday I calmly explain how we are almost there... I will hold your backpack... we can rest at the corner. I make jokes about how funny it would be if she was chocolate and really did melt away into the sidewalk, then we could eat all the chocolate. After about 14 breaks at pretend corners, kissing the invisible boo-boos and 7 1/2 stops for water, I lose it.




"Cissy, I am hot too- but if you keep whining, it will make this ride even harder. Get on the scooter you insisted on riding in the first place, push yourself to the house and STOP COMPLAINING! No more breaks, we have lunch and homework waiting for us when we get home." And if that doesn't work, I really lose it. "OK FINE! We will NOT be riding scooters tomorrow with your friends if you cant handle this small ride. I am sick of the tone and the complaining and the attitude! You can walk, or you can ride but we have to get home!" That (so far) has worked when push comes to shove. Except the chocolate joke, because she didn't like the idea of me eating her- so we changed it to an ice cube then she would at least be cool all melty on the sidewalk.




Really, the intensity of the ride to and from school fades pretty quickly once we are done. It must for her too, because she is ready for it again first thing the next morning. Guess this is part of getting used to our new routine. This is our first year riding to school and from past experience it takes my family about 2 weeks of this structure for the kids to seem rested with the new bedtimes, organized with their homework assignments, and for me to join them.




Of course, then I have 2 other children to pick up from school, and that is a whole other display of drama.

I am a Legend in My Own Mind...

So, the kids are back to school, and I have made it to the gym all 3 days. Working out is my refuge from the chaos that is my life.
My. Every. Minute. Of. My. Life. I have decided I am a better me when I get to the gym.



I realized something rather interesting today on the elliptical. It followed me during push-ups and weights and remained until I actually ended my excruciating (yet crucial) stair master climb...I am a legend in my own mind.



It starts with my cardio playlist on my itouch. As soon as I start listening to the music, my brain goes somewhere it wishes it could be all the time. And I allow this take over, because it gets me through the intense parts. The parts when my lungs hurt, legs wobble and my towel is so drenched with sweat I don't bother using it anymore.



Today I became aware of the legend I create that is me. All in my head. I know we all have one. It went a little something like this: I want to travel to different parts of the United States and all over the world, and all with different people. Some places by myself. I would love to pull an "Eat Pray Love" role with my life and just take off to where ever I feel would feed my soul. Taking that journey with different people I have met throughout my life would add something spicy and exhilarating to any adventure in its own way.



I would love to be able to throw money at a charter jet and take off with Chloe to Disney World for a few weeks, or until we got our fill of all things Princess. I would pull JJ out of school and take singing lessons with him. We could enroll in art classes together for a year- he has some unbelievable talent at 10 years old. Noah and I would follow all our favorite bands around the world and have front row seats at every concert. He would take guitar lessons from Slash and I would sit back in the studio and listen and smile and marvel at the opportunity. This about 10 minutes in on my cardio.



There would be no need for school or schedules. My children would learn and absorb everything they could possibly need from the experience of living life. There would be no grade to tell them how they measure up. They would feel it deep inside with the confidence and pure love they feel for themselves and humanity.



Any where I went would be perfect. Filled with all the perfect people and experiences for me and my journey. And I would feel that. Every book I picked up would be impossible to put down. And I would never feel as if I had something else to do while I was reading it. All around 25 minutes in.



On my not so hot days, I would close the shutters, pull out a HUGE gallon of Cold Stone peanut butter and chocolate (extra peanut butter) ice cream and watch the whole True Blood series all day. And when that was over, I'd take a nap. The sleep would actually be restful. And when I woke up, I wouldn't have to hurry anywhere, or start dinner. I would feel peaceful and nurtured. I'm pretty tired now, and needing a pick me up about 35 minutes in.



Moving on to my feeling hot days... I would love myself and everything about me so much I would think nothing of saying "Absolutely!" to the modeling agency that wanted to pay me to be their next Top Model. And, by the way, want me to be able to represent them at all the "A" list parties. I have a lot of questions for some of those celebrities, and a lot would probably be answered if I was one. Then I'd meet all the ones I am star struck over. Eminem would fall all over himself to find me across the room and profess his love and passion for me. We would have a long chat- but not so long as to spoil my moment (sometimes I think it might just be better if he didn't say a word, that might ruin everything).


My wardrobe would have everything and anything I could possibly need for all my worldly travels. I would always have great hair days without spending a ton of time on it. I would never need makeup...Yes, among other things, this is my legend. All this positive thinking takes me to the end.



When I allow my brain out of my legend about minute 8 on the stair master and bring my reality back into focus, I feel fresh.



So... note to the guy with the blue bandanna, white shorts and neon green tank top- No I was NOT staring at you or anyone even remotely near you. You are NOT my legend. I would appreciate, as I am sure every women at the gym would, that you leave us alone and stop gawking. Yes women actually work out. And some of us actually like to use the free weights. No, we are not there for you to stare at. We don't need help with anything unless we ask. It can actually come across gross, and quite intrusive.


Stay in your own legend, I shall remain in mine. I can't wait for tomorrow.

Sianara!

So I am getting Christmas a few months early this weekend...and it's the only thing on my list about now.

Fireman is taking the kids, yes all THREE, camping.

How fun you say? What a great experience for them all, you add? I say Sianara!

Oh the visions I had when my children finished school for the summer! Late night swims, smores out back after BBQing all day with family and friends, family trips to the lake, sleeping late, I even have those books for them to work on during the summer so their brains don't turn into mush.

They start in a week and a half, and I can't wait.

I am exhausted. I can barely keep up. My beautiful system of cleaning, menu organizing, going to the gym, and laundry has been long gone.

It starts like this: "Mom, can I invite a friend over?" "Well can we wait and see for a bit, its 8 in the morning." or "Noah, do you really need to eat Top Ramen for breakfast?" and then I get the look that tells me there is no one available in his 13 year old brain to have a rational discussion with.

They have been waking up I'm sure by 7 am every morning, so they can sneak in Xbox time. They can't be bothered by their alarms during the school year that ring them awake at 7 am, but Xbox can. Do you have any idea how many times I have bolted half brained down the stairs to yell "turn that thing off NOW!"? Neither do I, but enough to want everyone to just leave.

Me being me, I wonder quietly and then out loud to Fireman, where did I go wrong? These kids have had 2 really nice boating vacations they probably feel entitled too. A beautiful backyard oasis to swim and play in. I even gave them a project and they painted our play structure themselves. We've planted a garden, gone to see movies, had their friends over for the night and visited with family. It seems that every waking moment needs to be filled with some sort of entertainment. And sometimes when push comes to shove, I say, "That's it! I'm sick of the fighting, I am sick of you all wandering around here like you have nothing to do!" then I pull the mommy dearest card out and add, "I have plenty for you to do!" I give them a magic eraser and make them scrub the grime of the doors.

Well, good riddance with ya'll, I say. I'm out of ideas and money! Fireman's turn. Have fun in the wild wilderness.

I will use my 2 days off well. I will visit some long lost friends, and eat lunch when I feel like it. I will sleep past 8 and not feel guilty. I am staying with my sister and my beautiful niece. It will be fun to play with her and spoil her, and then hand her to mommy when she is hungry or tired. I will shop with no intentions and watch True Blood without worrying about which kid will walk in on the nude or gory parts.

Yes Christmas came early...too bad it will only come once this year.

My Mother's Day...in the raw

So there is a reason I didn't write about Mother's Day before now. I both love and hate that day. I love the idea of having a day set aside on the calendar each year to remind everyone in our lives to celebrate us mommies and all we stand for.

I am fortunate enough to have a family that treats me really quite nicely that day. I am always spoiled on Mother's Day. And I truly love it. I love sleeping in until 8-ish because my body is so used to getting up by 7 every other morning, it doesn't recognize the occasion and therefore doesn't let me sleep any longer. I devour the strawberry crepes Fireman and the kids place on my lap while they all lay on my bed and huddle as close as they can to me. The coffee gets spilled and the food is cold...the flowers are beautiful. The presents are a heartfelt gesture- the homemade song from my 13 year old, the coupons for chores from my middle child, and the hand print from Cissy made my heart sing. Fireman even hung up his frugal hat for the day and splurged on a really cool car adapter for my iTouch, the kind that has to be professionally installed! Yes, I know, I am spoiled. For one day, anyway.

Every year on that Sunday, no matter how wonderfully I am being treated, or how much love I am shown by my adoring family, there is always a sense of loneliness and loss that's creeps into my heart. It starts the day before. As my thoughts drift to the festivities of the next day, while I am finishing up the house so I don't have a load of laundry staring me in the face on what is supposed to be a day of no chores. As I go through the motions...I am suddenly very aware of a growing throb in the pit of my stomach. Throbbing that doesn't stop until it is very much at the center of my chest and has made completely sure it has consumed my every thought. I know it is easily angered at my attempt to try and stuff it by the way it turns to a sort of disabling nausea. Just enough to make me unable to eat, unable to sit still and unable to feel any sort of contentment. It sits in the bottom of my stomach and rises and falls throughout the day into my throat. It gnaws at me, demanding attention.

And I know exactly what it needs. Every year. Same time and place. And I know deep down it doesn't go away on its own or because I tell it fervently that it is not welcome. It's like one of my kids- it needs attention. Raw attention. And it needs it at its convenience, not mine. By the end of the day, with the all the physical chores done, I decided to lean into this throb that continued to lie in my gut. I retreated to my closet. I sat on the floor next to the old paint spot. And I cried. I cried the ugly cry.

I miss her more every year. I need answers only she can give me. I need the unconditional love only she shared with me. I am jealous of everyone else whose Mother's Day plans involve their own Mother. I remember her Mother's Day routines. I miss them. I miss her. I ache for the warm touch only her hands could deliver. I am forever empty in the place only she could fill. My tears don't stop as easily as they started. I hate to lose myself in this seemingly endless pain and torture. Thinking my way out never helps it ease away. Tears do, though. A lot of them. And I slowly feel my way out.

It is as if my Mother is hearing my cries and actually feels my heartache, when my daughter walks into the closet. "Mommy? Why are you crying?" She sits down and holds my soaked snotty hand in hers. She waits until I can talk. "I miss my Mommy" I tell her. I start crying again. I hate to upset my children, but they are all very aware that their Mommy, doesn't have a Mommy. She sits quietly while I sob. I think she sat there for about 5 full minutes not moving, not squirming, not asking for anything. Just being. I realized the throb had dulled a bit. So I looked up and stared into Cissy's brown eyes. She smiled back at me and I pulled her little body into mine for a hug. I suddenly felt something I hadn't felt before. This is what I felt like to my Mommy for 23 years. It made me smile from the inside out. The throb lessened even more.

Yes, I realized the moment I gave life to my first born how my Mother's love was like no other. But, the love and tenderness exchanged from a Mother and daughter is really just different. Not to be judged, just different.

So, at that moment, I could relate in a way I had not seen before. I became very conscious of what my Mommy actually felt each time I hugged and held her. I am aware now of what that felt like to her. I am so thankful I was able to give her that kind of irreplaceable unconditional love in return, even if it was just for a short time. I take such solace in knowing she felt that from me in her times of need, especially in her final days here with our family.

I could feel the throb descend into an ache. The nausea subsided a bit. I held my little girl and my little girl held me. It was a quiet exchange of raw love. I enjoyed the feeling of her warm soft skin against my neck and arms. I savored the thought of what pure joy my little girl gives me daily and related it to the joy I must have given to my mommy.

This is what it feels like to be a mommy and to have a mommy. My feelings range different throughout the year, and can strike at anytime. This Mother's Day was so special in that I was actually made aware of something I had never thought of before...who and what I was to my mommy is now so clear and tangible to me, it has made my role as a mommy carry a whole different meaning.

I will always miss her, but this past Mother's Day, I truly felt a little closer to her than I had before. I like to believe she was giving me a Mother's Day gift all her own. Through my daughter she was showing me that love, our love, will never die.

Thank you, mommy!

So I am Selfish....SO WHAT?

OK- I am having one of those days...actually one of those weeks. I am increasingly wanting to act selfishly. And I really don't care. There is nothing pretty or flowery about this situation. I make no claims to be perfectly Martha Stewart at every moment in my life. This is one of them.

Fireman was home for a good few day stint after being at the station for 5 days (actually he has been home for 3 days in last 14, but whose counting?). I really took a load off when he arrived through that door. I hugged and loved on my hunky Fireman. I even cooked one night for the family while he was here to reap the benefits. I really missed him and knew he would be leaving again soon for a while. I nestled into a real cozy family while he was here. BBQing by the pool, letting time fly while I read my novel and he played with his babies. We watched movies that weren't rated G. I slept in while he hushed the kids so as not to wake me. I was in Heaven. Literal Heaven on Earth.

Then he went back to work. I woke up late- probably because I was starting to get used to it by then. I had saved up running my errands for when he did leave, and I have been racing to catch up since then. See, all my running the house hold routine takes a hiatus when Fireman is here. I don't cook because I love his cooking. I don't shop unless we absolutely need something. I don't do bills, I don't do laundry. We stay up late, we catch a movie or watch Dateline. We lounge in the morning after the kids leave for school and sip coffee, pour over the newspaper, and watch GMA. So the morning he leaves, I am busting butt trying to play catch up.

This week has literally taken its toll on every fiber in my body. I can't catch up with anything! Laundry seems to be going well, and a kid pees the bed. I have the day squared away, and the other kid calls from school urgently needing something he should of remembered on his own. On my way to the gym, the car is out of gas. Try to print important stuff off the computer...no ink. You get the point? Well, normally, I am go with the flow. This is my job as I see it. I am here to deal with those things. And I do.

However, this week, I have no desire to- at all. I have no patience with homework. I have no desire to drag a 5 year old around to my multiple stops during the day. I found myself actually trying to scour the Internet for how to make milk from a few ingredients in my cupboard- without luck- so I wouldn't have to go the store. My daughters normal darling way of musical talking incessantly has become just incessant. I have no patience for anything that doesn't involve me, a book or an ice cold beer.

Is this what the teachers mean when they say they can tell when the students are getting itchy for summer break? I can't figure it out. I am definitely ready for school to be out, but for way different reasons than the kids are. I am done with projects and riding my boys on their homework and GP A's. I am done making lunches, done missing my workouts, done rushing around in the morning, done rushing to after school activities, done worrying about having everything in life complete before 2:30 on Tuesday and Thursday, and by 12:30 on Monday, Wednesday and Friday.

I don't know what is the cause of this shift in my brain. I am sure it has something to do with our beautiful weather lately. It has allowed my veins to get a small drip of what our Summer's are filled to the brim with. Boating trips, BB Q's with great friends, lazy days and nights with no where to be, and of course...beer (or whatever is being poured at the time).

All I can do is pray, vacuum, and kick-box my way to sanity right now. I got to hang in. I just have to find a way to compartmentalize my irritation and down right insanity at the goings on right now.

Until then, I am open to suggestions...though I give you fair warning, I am a red-head and not afraid to use it!

Life's That Way ---->

I just finished a really enchanting memoir. This book had me doing all the things I love to do with a really great story... laughing, crying the whole thing. I know it's a good book when I continue to re-hash its events over and over in my mind. The story will settle into an understanding I didn't have while reading it. Sometimes my perception changes of certain scenes. What was sad and depressing, actually makes a different kind of sense to me a week after completing the book. That, to me, is a really good book. This one was like that- I found myself thinking, and rethinking of the title. Life's That Way.


When reflecting on my own life, I recognize a very common theme. Common meaning we all as humans have the same circumstances in one way or another that make us feel and connect at a very human level, with very human emotions. It's recognizing this commonality that sets us apart because we all do it in different ways, different areas of the world under different circumstances and from different backgrounds.


My own journey has been one of multiple up, down and sideways events. I can look back still and remember sequences of life happening in such a way to have shaped my life as I know it now as if it were literally a few moments ago. Like when I was 9 and my dad had me drive my sister and I home from the stables we kept our horses at after dark on the I5 freeway from San Juan Capistrano to Mission Viejo. I can still feel my little legs tight against the steering wheel of the Mustang as I sat on his lap while he operated the gas and brake pedal. I can hear his voice warning me not to tell my mom that he had me driving I can smell his dirty alcohol stained breath as he coached me the whole way home. The memory was one like a good book is now, it didn't really bear any importance or value until a few months ago when I was folding towels letting my mind wander and this particular memory hit me upside the head. I had to sit down and allow myself to recollect the situation and mull it over and over to iron out details. It was fun and harmless then, it is not now.


What details grab me now didn't grab me at the time. The impact my own memior has on me as I was going through the living part of it didn't bear any resemblance to what it does now in my 34 year old psyche. My mothers soft touch of her hands on my face, a boyfriends breakup in high school, my sisters lighting in her room while she put on her makeup. Becoming pregnant for the first time at 21, watching my mother fight and succumb to cancer. The making and losing of dear friends. The absolute joys of raising my children. The warming feeling of unconditional love, and finding it in my husband. The moment I found out I was pregnant for the third time, feeling to my core it was my daughter. Becoming aware that my life goes on and on regardless of the seemingly endless experience of illness, prosperity, relationships, family drama, and general life is what absolutely makes my experience unique to anyone else.


What is not unique is that I have them. I experience everything everyone else does. Sure to different degrees and at different times, but really in my own perfect time. Losing my best friend during a childhood squabble paved the way I respond mentally and physically to similar situations as an adult.


I can remember at the time of my mothers death it was as if my world came to a screeching halt. What I realize now, is that life as I knew it then had stopped. I began to slowly begin living and feeling again, though differently. I can't remember exactly the moment, but I do remember having one of complete understanding. I understood that life would continue to happen all around me and through me constantly, at times so much so that I would have to consciously re-learn how to live, even when I didn't want to. I would need to constantly be adapting to whatever a particular experience imprinted on me into my new life.


The experience of having children is a great analogy. If you don't have them, you have no idea what to expect day to day mentally, physically, emotionally, and financially. If you have experienced the death of someone very close to you, relating to anothers aftermath is something you are capable of doing. The key is becoming aware that regardless of what life brings your way, it will go on. Differently.


I could relate to almost every raw word in this book I read. I picked it up sensing the title "Life's That Way" held the meaning of "well, that's just the way life is". In fact, it was a direction. LIFE IS THAT WAY ----> In other words, look around after life happens to you, it continues to grow and build, in another way. And when allowed, as I have experienced, it just gets more and more fulfilling with the ways it expands your level of compassion, endurance, happiness, sadness, wealth, contribution, and even kindness you show to your self and others. We choose our action and reaction based on what life has shown us, but hopefully we can remember to apply what life has just added to our suitcase that will never be to full, and continue following the signs that tell us, Life's That Way ----->

My Best Friend the Vacum

Well, it's official, though I do actually have a lot of great friends in my life, my BFF is my vacum.


I realized this last week while cleaning my house. Vacuum is always there and available when I need him the most. I will refer to Vacum as male, because a vacum seems masculine in the way he barges through the house, leaving no corner with dust in his tracks. Vacum listens to my rants about how unfair it is to be me. And Vacum is also there when I am joyous about the special occasions we are preparing for. Vacum never tells me to calm down or that I am being out of line, even when I throw him around recklessly.


Vacum knows all my intimate secrets. I trust him completely. He knows my desires, and fulfills them when I am most in need. We do have a love hate relationship. I hate pulling and pushing him all around the house (twice a week sometimes more). I hate the pain in my neck and back after a good session. However, I strongly believe, as with every relationship, you need to weigh the good with the bad. I spend the most time with him than with any other friend. He hears my woes without judgement. He is up and running when I say go. And all the while, no matter what mood he may find me in, he leaves me with such a sense of accomplishment. I am left feeling grateful. Grateful for my clean carpet. Grateful I have such a great friend to provide it for me and family. For some reason, he always knows what to do to make me feel better, or encourage me. He cleans. He knows the sense of pride it gives me. He allows me to take all the credit. I would be nothing without my Vacum.


When Vacum died out a couple times last week (don't worry, it was just a little cold) I was there for him. I nursed him back to health with the help of some needle nose pliers. As I worked whole heartedly to get him healthy again, I thought...what would I do without him? He restores my calm with his beautiful clean lines he leaves behind. They aren't just lines of clean carpet to me. They bring the calm centered peace into my brain that everything is right with the world. Its a special bond we share. As I gently (who am I kidding, I don't do anything gently) place him back in the closet, I thank him for the therapy session we have shared. I thank him for always being there to put my life back in order when all I feel is chaos. I leave him with a mental promise to return soon. But I am sure he knows that by now.

Some people meditate, I vacum.

Working Mommies or Stay at Home Mommies?

OK- I love Facebook, especially when it sparks a debate. Controversy is fun to me. Last week I posted a comment, "I cant believe how much work it is to be a stay at home mom!" BOY! You all had a lot to say. So I decided to post a blog about it. Yep, today I'm going to forgo the bon-bons and Oprah, so I can let you all in on MY opinion about this touchy subject.

I am a stay at home mom. I decided to stay home when my third child was 1. I love being a home based mommy. I wouldn't change it for anything at the end of the day, BUUUUTTTTTT.... I do find myself longing for my old professional life as a Registered Nurse every once in a while. Like when everyone on our street calls for Fireman to help with a medical problem, or get advice for their sick loved one. I still know now what I knew then people! But for some reason, because I am now the "stay at home" parent without a "real job" I am no longer the go to gal! Ahhh... trade off's. As in everyones life, somedays are rewarding, and some...not so much.

I took particular notice to some of the mommies responses. A lot of you compared your situation to others, or maybe mine. Maybe you just wanted to get a good old fashion pat on the back. Maybe you feel as if you are the only one doing what you do, and no one else except for a select few could possibly understand. Bottom line is, YOU ARE THE ONLY ONE WHO KNOWS WHAT YOUR LIFE IS LIKE...you live it. Aren't all of us mommies in the same boat really? Don't we all just want our children to have better lives than we had? Don't we all try to teach them to the best of our ability? Don't we all try to be there for every amazing moment in their lives, good or bad?

I am the only one who wakes up reluctantly, only to hurry and get the coffee and three kiddos going. I am the only one who walks around my house with a magic erasure in my back pocket for emergencies. I am the only one who battles the internal guilt over almost every single word to my children throughout the day. Did what I just say be the ONE thing they remember for the rest of their lives? Will they be in therapy one day because of what I just said? Or will they be forever ruined because of what I didn't do? No one else has lived my childhood experiences and turned into ME. But does that internal dialogue sound a little familiar? Your a liar if it doesn't, working mommy or not!

Just to indulge myself I will tell you. My mommy was the absolute best mommy. She was always there for me, she brought in cupcakes and meatballs to my classroom. When my dad and her separated, she went to work full time and though that should have been a really hard time, she made it seem less. My mommy died when I was 23 and my first born was 18 months. I was married a year- and I had just realized how much I was going to need her. The past almost 12 years without my mommy made me realize a way of life not everyone shares. This is neither good or bad...it just is.

Ask my sister in law...a very loving, involved mother of two beautiful girls. She works full time, has a very corporate job. We discuss child rearing ALL THE TIME. Why? Because we both realize we do it different and it is interesting. She is the only mother I personally know who routinely stocks and re-stocks freshly cut and diced to perfection veggies for her girls. I have never (well, not never, but you know what I mean) done that. The girls have a better balanced diet than anyone I know, including all my stay at home mommies! Her girls are the loves of her life. Is she less of a mother because she is also in the corporate world? So many heated opinions ensue over this. To me the answer is simple...she chooses what works best for her and her family. She has her own daily minute by minute struggles. Her family runs differently than mine, that is it.

I am kinda getting this vibe that us mommies feel we are better than the other mommies because they are single mommies, or have no family support, have no money, or work, or don't work, you fill in the blank. Quite frankly I have been guilty of this type of judgement before...before my second child was born, before I was a stay at home mom, before I started gaining weight with every bite of ice cream... I've learned that while I have my opinions, I am in no ones shoes but my own.

So when I didn't volunteer to be the classroom mom the second year my third child was born, I am sure there were whispers. At least the voices in my head told me there were. It went something like this; "Well she certainly CANT do it all now can she?" or "Now her son will really suffer the middle child syndrome!". All the mental mistake movies my mind plays over and over is enough to drive me to drink, and I do. Often. And maybe I wont be a size 6 forever. And maybe my kids can live a long life eating Tater Tot Casserole... Yeah, I realized, I am no where near perfection. But then again, neither is anyone else I know.

So I compromise, now I take pre-baked cupcakes instead of homemade. I use emailing the teachers instead of walking to the classroom everyday to touch base...so what? At the end of the day, I only truly care what my kids think. I ask them all the time...Do they think I am a good mom? What would they change? We have quiet intimate moments together individually that lead me to where I need to go with my babies.

If your a supermom in your kids minds...welcome to MY club! Its the only one that matters! If your not- change your life for them. Not because of what society says is politically correct. Celebrate you and friends raising diverse children from all types of dysfunctional families! After all...we made it didn't we?

Oh- and please throw your comments and opinions my way. I love em!

The Day I Realized I Fit In Perfectly at Walmart

So Christmas this year is on a budget, or so I am telling myself. Fireman isn't bringing in the trusty overtime, but we always save throughout the year for the Christmas event. When the time comes to start spending, it doesn't matter what the budget is for the year, I am a frugal bargain shopper. I find a peculiar high in finding sales on already reduced merchandise. This is absolutely my favorite time of the year.


That said, I always no matter how hard I try to stay out of the Walmart, end up there for one reason or another. Now, I am no Walmart hater. I just prefer to steer clear of the relentless crowds, lines, and picked over items whenever possible. I don't care if sippy cups are $2 cheaper at Walmart than Target. Target is more my idea of thrifty shopping. It has cute jewelry, cute PJ's, fun stylish T-shirts for the sweat pants I wear everyday, etc...oh, and its void of the population who choose to look homeless when they are not. You all know exactly what I am referring to. There is a web site dedicated specifically for the purpose of exposing fashion and social no-no's on an hourly basis at Walmart. Now, these things happen everywhere we go, but for some reason you can count on it at Walmart, every minute of every day. It is just downright awkward sometimes.


Last week, in a valiant effort to finish my stocking stuffers, I went to the Walmart. I prepared my mind for what kind of crowds I would ride in on. I mentally accepted being pushed around by holiday shoppers all in the same isle I needed to be in, parking in the very back. I was perfectly OK with this scenario. It is Christmas after all.

To my surprise, I landed a wonderful parking spot without any problem. I smiled to myself as I strolled into the Walmart with my 4 year old in tow. I was feeling so confident, I didn't even force my daughter to sit in the shopping cart. I had a return to make, so the friendly little lady greeting me at the front door carefully stamped my items and I proceeded to the line of people waiting to do exactly the same.

It occurred to me suddenly that everyone in line looked, dare I say, normal? The only distraction was my 4 year old who would not stop pounding on the open computer kiosk next to us. I just pretended I didn't know who she was for a while. As I surveyed, people watched if you will, it hit me. I am the one this time in sweat pants I have worn two days in a row. My red hair is up on my head in a sloppy clip that doesn't match. There is no make up on my face, though I desperately need it. MY kid is the one running a muck. A women a couple people back is staring at ME!

I chuckled to myself. I kept ignoring my daughter who was by now climbing the wheelchairs next to the kiosk in her high heel dress up shoes. I continued waiting in the return line. I think I maybe shuffled my hair around and threw some lip gloss on. That's what the wheelchairs are for, I figured, and what a nice relief to not have to get out of your pajamas when you go shopping for once! These people surrounding me became my friends. I instantly knew they all had stories of why they are at the Walmart looking the way they do...and basically our common thread in humanity when it comes to the Walmart is; Who Cares????

Walmart is where all the highly educated and rich people go on an off day! It all makes sense now! You can let your hair down and be yourself while shopping up the deals! So you wake up in your mansion and just want some eggos- by pass all the grocery stores that require you to change out of your slippers and stop by the Walmart. You are always greeted warmly and I dont believe anyone would ever turn your business away based on what you choose or choose not to look like on any given day!

I relaxed and almost enjoyed watching my daughter, who I now realized looked as hairied as I did, dance around the carts and wheelchairs. Our return time came, and I found myself just happy to be comfortable. The six and a half inch multi colored nails on the older women checking my return didnt even faze me!

The Gym

Everyone who knows me even a little knows I make working out a priority in my life. Some might even go as far to say I have had moments in my life where I can take my love of the adrenaline high too far.



Like the time three years ago after I had spent 4 days in the hospital for Meningitis, I was back on the elyptical the day after returning home. Or the time(s) I have dropped my sniffling children off at the Gym's babysitting club praying their colds would go unnoticed. All in the sake of a workout.



Working out, expending the energy out of my body is something I crave. Daily. Well almost daily.



When Fireman is working his normal 24 hour schedule and we are all in the groove of school and such, I am at the gym at least 4 times a week, or out in my garage boxing my hanging bag. I have a routine that fits into my life and into everyone elses life (as far as I am concerned). Anytime that rountine gets even slightly knocked off its wheel, we all suffer- some more than others, ask Fireman.



So when the kids get sick and need mommy with them at home all day, or say for example on our way to the car in the morning the kids find a trail of ants leading all the way to my cupboards filled with Martha Stewart's finest baking goodies... I usually end up reluctantly taking the day off from the gym.



Not such a big deal, a day off here or there right? Wrong! I find myself crowding my already refined routine with little incidental projects, like cleaning out drawers or photo boxes. Sometimes I even start a new hobby. One day easily slips into three days to even a week!


So we've been off schedule a bit overhere. Fireman is still home. Though we all our finding our way (slowly) life has come between me and my beloved punching bag. Now, Fireman knows what our routine is here at home. He is very much aware of all the time I take to strategicly plan my weeks events including my gym time. He is also aware of his role in our lives. Usually.


One morning after coffee, I looked over my list for the day. I decided in my head today would be an "off" day for the gym. It must have alarmed Fireman greatly when he looked back over his shoulder from the computer to see me dressed in clothes and not strech pants and a tank top because he uttered words that make my hair and skin do really weird things.


"So no gym for you today?" this was delivered with no eye contact whatsoever.


Seriously?


Within about 45 seconds my mind had raced over all the possible responses ranging from," Why? Do you think I need to go to the gym today?" to "Well, no I decided that since I am adding taking the dog to the vet to my already busy day of grocery shopping, laundry, dinner prep, dropping overdue books off at the library, and picking up a gift before 1:00pm with a four year old on my coat tails that maybe today I could take the day off!" All followed with a look that delivered my message fairly well.


I decided on, "No." Also with no eye contact.


Although his remark, and he makes this remark often, almost always sends me into a crazed thought pattern for most of the day, I decided to drop it. I have told him on my verbal crazed- head days NOT to ask me about the gym, and it's not registering for some reason. I have explained to Fireman why he shouldn't say or imply his stance on my workouts. It is, to me, just like him saying ever so gently that my butt better find a way around everything I have thought to be the priority over my workout and make it happen some way, any way.


This comment has been known to lead me into long bouts of self doubt. Doubting my structure, doubting my ability to plan, doubting my committment. You name it, I can end up finding a way to doubt myself with this one small seemingly benign comment.


All within 45 seconds, I had decided to keep my power for the day and go on as planned. I pushed the comment out of my brain...I decided I was too busy to give it anymore thought. I was even too busy to let Fireman know exactly where he could put the gym.


Those 45 seconds was the best time I had spent that particular day, even if it wasn't in the schedule.

Mommy's Kitchen

Well, I decided to try and earn that silly Mom of the Year award and cook a really delicious dinner. Quite a feat in this house filled with Costco frozen meals. It's officially time for Martha Stewart to show her face in my house...she has been on a very long vacation, just ask Fireman!

I was turned onto a recipe blog called Mommy's Kitchen...the meals are easy and kid friendly, well my kid friendly! I got sooo excited after trying out a couple of different recipes, I choose to venture out and try something requiring a little more brain power. So while Fireman took the kids pumpkin shopping, I gathered my ingredients, donned the $75 apron, and did not open the bottle of wine. I needed all my brain for this one.

I had some red potatoes that about to go bad, so why not peel and mash em up? Everything was off to a great start...potatoes boiling, onion caramelizing, and chicken browning... Even Fireman was impressed (well, he is always impressed when I actually cook) While he helped the kids carve their pumpkins, I worked steadily on preparing a meal close to Thanksgiving good. I opened my bottle of wine and savored my glass of white...piece of cake!

Then it happened. The final step called for broiling the chicken dish for a mere 5 minutes to crisp up the bacon I had so carefully placed a top halved chicken breast basted with a Merlot sauce and caramelized onions...why were the bacon pieces not crisping? Oh well, I'll add a couple more minutes to the timer. I called the kids in to wash their hands and set the table, dinner had to be just a few minutes away. Still the bacon was looking nothing like the final picture. I downed the glass of wine.

I said out loud, "why is this not cooking? Is there another setting besides broil I am missing?" Fireman, seeing his cue and seizing the moment came over to the oven and peeked in. He quietly picked up the recipe. I poured my second glass of wine. "Well doesn't it say broil? Here is the broiler honey..." He opened this magical little door placed purposely on my oven to confuse me. All this time I thought it was storage! I mean that's what my mom used it for...the traditonary storage drawer for the oven safe dishes you never use. I removed the dish from the oven and quietly placed it in the secret oven. The Broiler.

Not a word was exchanged until Fireman saw my second glass of wine was finished, and everyone had raved over my cooking. And even then it was really quite funny. I mean I can not believe I didn't know the drawer was the actual broiler!

Laugh all you want, I know some of you don't know what that drawer is either and to top it off, I know you store your dishes there too! My mom wasn't the only one... at least it makes me feel better to think that!

Cissy

I have yet to tell the story of our littlest most powerful member of our family...she is all of 4 years old.

It's my fault, I am not in any type of denial. She just LOVED shoes before she could reach her feet. Her clothes are of better fashion sense than mine ever have been. So I may have provoked a little of her inner diva. We call it self-expression.

Our day with this little lady goes a little something along these lines; She wakes up (in our bed, because Fireman just cant say no to the raspy voice asking, "Daddy? Can I sleep with you?" This is a very sensitive task. The way she wakes up will determine how our entire day will run, so we have been known to try multiple tactics to get her to at least not kick us while squealing whale noises as she climbs out of bed.

Once that has been accomplished, we make her usual for breakfast...waffles and milk. Any variation is unacceptable. So if Costco is out of waffles...I'm screwed. She also needs a little chill time in the morning. So on mornings she doesn't go to school, I sit with her and sip my coffee for as much GMA I can possibly get in. So sweet you may think...I also sit with about 13 of her newly "can't do without" toys, a blankie that inevitably always stinks, and Cissy is also trying to wrangle our defenseless, small yorkie-poo into sitting on our laps. So, if coffee isn't spilled, its a miracle.

Getting dressed is the worst time of our day. I always dreamed that once I had my daughter, my days would be filled with dress up and makeovers. I was wrong, oh so wrong. She loves to dress herself. So after about a year of fighting this every morning- I decided to go with the flow most mornings. After all, she changes her attire at least four times a day and usually ends up running around the house with only her princess underwear on. Her taste in clothing and mine are no where near close. For example, I would prefer not to have my darling little girl dress as a modern day punky brewster. I mean, two pairs of different colored tights with socks along with a bright pink polka dot tank top that is 2 sizes two small is a little weird, right? I mean some days she even manages to get her baby doll shirts over her head and we actually go to Costco like that, because she does this exactly 2 minutes before I am ready leave the house. Occasionally I get the, "oh how cute" looks, but more often than not I am getting the, "How could her mother let her out of the house that way?" or probably more like, "Where did that outfit come from?" looks.

She has this thing lately with her silver shoes- so those are worn everywhere, along with what she calls bracelets...these are really just over sized ponytail holders of all colors. She wears them on her ankles and her wrists. Just darling. I almost forgot the purse- she changes her purse everyday. So if she is wearing Ariel's dress-up costume for the day, it has to be a red purse filled with her 13 can't so without toys of the day. Under NO circumstance am I allowed to offer any suggestions with regards to her wardrobe.

So what, right? I guess at least she is clean and fed? It really is my issue... who cares what everyone at Costco sees or thinks. At least that is what I try to tell myself every God forsaken day of my life right now.

Until the day she actually cares that what she is wearing is well... different, I am choosing to relish in the absolute carefree attitude my daughter has. Her lesson to me is so much greater than having her clothes match head to toe. She is teaching me every day that it is OK to be caught up in doing what you want to do, not what other people expect. She is so much her own spirit, and I find myself envious of her naive ability to run around in princess panties. I want to twirl around with her little hands in mine singing princess tunes.

So for now, and as long as I can have it, I accept this little rambunctious precious energy as one of the most beautiful gifts I have ever received.

Laundry

Well, I am definitely not going to be receiving Mother of the Year for 2009. Not just because of my track record this year, but most definitely because of my actions, or in this case, lack of.

I call myself CFO because my home is run like a business. There is a time and place for pretty much every activity involved in our lives. Laundry is no exception. OK- this week it was.

Mondays are always the busiest day of the week. For myself it is the start of my work week. I am always overwhelmed with the list I make for myself and I usually feel as if I have to accomplish the complete list on Mondays. Anyone who knows me personally will tell you- I have a problem. I am OCD in many ways...but that's for another day.

As I am driving my two boys to school this past Monday coffee cup in hand, I just happened to glance over at my 12 year old's jeans. Were those grass stains covering both knees? I quickly looked back at the 9 year old who was dazing out the window. His jeans were covered in mud.

My mind raced. Yes, I started to panic. "WHY ARE YOU BOTH WEARING DIRTY JEANS?" I was on the verge of yelling. They are very aware of my rule. I don't care what kind of fad or style they try to pull off through the years, but they HAVE to be clean. Clean clothes and clean bodies are a must.

They both immediately sang the same tune. "I had no more clean jeans!" says the 9 year old. "I didn't have any clean jeans or shorts, mom." As soon as the vision of my children walking into school with dirty clothes became my reality, I did what any mom would do in a pinch...I immediately called Fireman and told him to rummage through their hampers to find the cleanest of the dirty jeans and I turned that car around as quick as I could. No kids of mine would ever go to school dirty, I didn't care if they were late or not!

Laundry was on my to do list, of course, but now I was in full panic mode. Guilt and shame clouded my brain. That's what I get for taking the weekend off. What was I thinking napping both Saturday and Sunday? I am battling a head cold but that is NO excuse! After 12 and 1/2 years of my job as a mommy, I should know better than to take a sick day, let alone two!

Now Fireman thinks I am crazy. Although he is home nowadays, he never really understood why when he was on shift I would still be doing laundry until late hours of the night watching my TiVo. He now understands. He has been shown the light on my business operation quite a bit lately. He has actually told me he can't believe how much I pack into our day. He has acknowledged I don't really sit on my butt watching Oprah and eating bon bons. You laugh, but talk to any of my stay at home mom friends and their husbands will jokingly say that is what we all do. (They joke because it would get ugly if they were ever precieved serious). Along with, "your always on the computer" or "Geez! Our children know the story line of General Hospital (or in some cases Dr. Phil)" all the while inferring we pack our day with TV shows and ice cream.

So after two whole days of laundry, and cleaning the house Fireman is right smack in the middle of what makes our world here at home turn. I am thankful he can see it as well as experience it first hand. I don't think in the 10 weeks he has been home he has seen me once sit myself down on the couch to catch Oprah while eating anything, let alone bon bons.

Dessert

Well I kew it wouldnt take long for the white trash mom in me to poke through...

Tomorrow night we are going down the street to have dinner with our friends. These are some good friends, though we've never been to their house intimately. "What can I bring?" I asked, being the giver I am..."dessert would be great!" She emailed back.

Hmmm....what to make? I looked through some recipe books. I remembered some old potluck desserts I had tasted over the recent years. Maybe a tart? I could whip that up in no time. No, better than that, "How about pumpkin shaped rice krispie treats?" I yelled downstairs to Fireman. Silence.

I waited. I knew exactly what was going through his mind. You see, I do this ALL the time. I have an inner Martha Stewart that is dying to have some show off time. Kids birthday at school? It's not your simple cupcakes to share with the class, its pink flower candy molds with organic pretzels, or homemade lollipops with sugarfree bubble gum. You should see my Christmas baking routine. It looks so easy in the magazines! So he was thinking, "Oh GOD! she is going to pull out Martha!"

Normally, this wouldn't invoke fear into the mind of a normal person with a normal wife. However, I can sort of understand. I mean I start with the greatest intentions. My ingriendients all lined up, my $75 apron on (yes, if you cook with a $75 apron wrapped around you your food tastes better). I may even start with the kids around helping measure and pour. Somewhere around hour 2, my good intentions are no where to be found. I have kicked the kids out side of the house (even if it is raining) and start using words I dont normally use. My kitchen becomes my worst enemy. I suddenly decide very loudly "I am NEVER doing this again!" I start planning the letter I am going to write to the author of the recipe, and I usually end up on the phone with my BFF to vent my anger and blame all turning into feeling defeated and a horrible mother, wife and overall person for not being able to pull off the calm cool collected and yet gorgeous dessert. Fireman is around for this half the time, and that is enough for him.

In the beginning he would just quietly move the children outside away from their crazed mother. Then he began to calmly suggest other easier recipes, he even made the mistake of trying to help one time, to which I responded, "So do you want to do this or what?" among other things. Finally he has come to the conclusion that offering to pay for the dessert of my choice was his golden ticket to a day of bliss instead of living in his own personal hell.

So I waited, and honestly I was waiting just to hear the tone of voice when he responded, "Well honey..." he hesitated. "That sounds pretty easy? I mean you already have the cookie cutter right?" The fact that Fireman knows what a pumpkin cookie cutter is says a lot about his dealings with me in the kitchen. He had probably mentally thought over what it would take for me to accomplish this dessert.

My minds eye actually gleemed at the thought of me pulling off an absolutely divine dessert... I could color vanilla frosting orange, and then make some green! I could pull out the black frosting gel for the eyes! The kids would love it! My mind continued...what could I make for the adults to savor as the kids gleefully ran around munching on rice krispie pumpkins? Reality quickly set in as I turned the hallway corner and saw fear in his eyes. Who was I kidding? We have a total of three "have to" events this weekend, Fireman is still gimpy, and the kids are, well... kids. Even I was in no mood to turn into The Wicked Witch for the day.

Our eyes met and I knew right then. I would be picking up a Pumpkin Pie from Costco. I am even serving it in the tin it comes in. Cool whip as well. Nope this weekend Martha wouldn't get her chance...but Christmas is right around the corner.

Guilty? A little...

So I slept in this morning. So what? Fireman has been out on injury for 9 weeks and 5 days and doesn't return back until the earliest, February 2010. That's right, 4 long months from now.

Depending on how you look at this predicament... it can be a blessing and a curse all at once. He is in my way all of the time, we don't have the overtime money flowing in, and he is really not able to help tons due to his injury (its just a torn ACL- he will be fully recovered after months of intense Physical Therapy. I am not completely heartless!) On the blessing side, which I find myself constantly needing to remind myself of lately, he missed the brutal fire season this year and I know he is safe for now, as well as the boys have daddy to go to for all their math homework.

So, I guess I decided to check out this morning. I felt no need to hustle out of bed and rush through school routines, arguing with Cissy about which clothes she would wear. I wanted nothing to do with refereeing the boys arguments. I didn't want to make waffles for one child, toast for another, and oatmeal for the third...it was Fireman's turn.

I sauntered downstairs around 9 ish. I had prepared to look flustered, I even had a "I'm innocent" line ready...something like "Gosh, I can't believe I over slept!" or maybe it was "Geez! I hope the kids made it to school OK?!" But as I poured my coffee, I noticed Fireman was no where to be seen. The kitchen looked unscathed...no breakfast carnage to be found. So had I pulled it off? Or did Fireman forget to feed them all? That, I quickly decided, I would find out later, like after school.

I sank into the couch and turned on Good Morning America. What was America up to these days? My heart got a funny warm feeling when Diane Sawyer's voice flowed through the family room. I really didn't care what she said, boy had I missed my GMA! It had been 2 weeks since I had been able to join them for coffee, and I know Chris Como had been wondering where I had been.

Fireman came in and joined me. Nothing was mentioned about me being MIA for the carnival that is our morning rountine today. Neither of us spoke a word of it. I noticed half way through my coffee, I was relaxed. For the first time in 9 weeks and 5 days, I was calm. I didn't even ask if the kids ate breakfast.

Fireman is on the road to recovery, however inconvenient right now he, I mean this, may be, it is only temporary. The kids weren't my problem until at least 2 pm. I had a long awaited hair appointment to look forward to. Did I mention the kids weren't my problem?

So did I feel guilty? No, not at all. I think I am going to start sleeping in more often.

I AM

Taken from "The Fireman's Wife" by Susan Farren
I am thank ful. This has not always been an easy walk for me.
I am disappointed. We have missed family gatherings, weddings, dinner engagements, birthday parties, and holidays because of shift schedules and overtime.
I am patient. There have been dinners spent at the firehouse waiting for Daddy to return from a call while the kids get cranky and the food gets cold.
I am nervous. I awake at 3:00 A.M. hearing creaks in the house and don't have the comfort of my husband beside me.
I am tired. The house is full of sick kids and there is no relief in site because Daddy is on a seventy-two-hour shift.
I am jealous. Jealous of all the women whose husbands came home at 5:00 P.M. to have dinner and hold them at the end of their day.
I am worried. I worry that he may not come home one day. This I try to tuck away.
I am content. We have decided to give up my career so I can stay home and raise our children. We no longer have an abundance of money or things. It is the greatest freedom I have ever known.
I am incompetent.There was a time when I considered myself moderately intelligent. I now struggle to remember where I left my car keys, the diaper bag, and, occasionally, the baby.
I am waiting. Knowing the phone may one day ring for me.
I am doubting. Doubting that God hears all my prayers. Doubting I am the kind of wife and mother He needs me to be.
I am trusting. Trusting that my husband will come home again.
I am confident, I am embarrassed, I am lonely, I am surprised, I am overworked, I am underpaid.

I am...The Fireman's Wife.

Just Starting to Find My Way...

I have always wanted to know how other fire families operate. I often feel very out of ordinary when I talk with my girl friends about their daily 9-5 routines. A fire family is different. Our children grow up with daddy gone for 24 hours at a time (who am I kidding) often times multiple days at a time. As wives, we grow used to our husbands and best friends being unavailable to us. Though I have a wonderful extended fire family, I still feel a need to touch base on a different level. I want to hear how other fire families run the show. What do you cook in your kitchens? Are you able to maintain perfection at all times? If so, PLEASE share your strategies with all of us who battle the daily grind of our hectic lives. I want recipes, child rearing tips, ideas how to reconnect with a long lost mate, Holiday shuffle ideas, living frugal, putting out our own daily fires, depression busters ...you name it- I wanna know!!! In return I promise to share the good the bad and the ugly of my daily life. And believe me, I have a lot to dish on! We accept the fire service for the wonderful life it has given us...but this blog is all about the down and dirty daily life I live in the wake of my husbands beloved career. No one tells a fire wife what to expect for her children, not what kinds of things she gains and loses when her husband takes an oath to the fire service. One thing I do know for sure is that my life is a lot like everyone elses life when you open their front door, REAL!