Most of you know that I work for a once a year annual event. Part time. Like half part time. 12ish hours a week.
In a previous decade in another world- I was the event planner for this particular outdoor venue that involves airplanes. I took the job working from home when Allyson was born. It was all consuming. I worked non stop and our house became air show central. But I was home with Allyson- and it was awesome. On more than one occasion I thanked God for the opportunity. Like daily. I would pack around my baby on my hip while visiting printers, committee members and while on phone calls.
And then I became pregnant with Emily. And Dan and I knew that I couldn't do it all with TWO. So when Emi was born I was replaced and then for the next 12 months I was a consultant. And after that I was done.
Then I had Sam.
And when he was almost a year old- I got a call asking if I could consider coming back to work for the show part time, as an office girl, and basically just answer the phones. I agreed, as long as I could pack my traveling circus around with me (bring my kids to work). And I was sucked back in.
Here I sit- 4 years later. And I realize I was dooped. When I heard 'office girl' I envisioned 'stress free', 'can I pass a message', and 'I'll have her call you back'. I should have known better.
It's good. I really like what I do, and I feel strongly for the cause that we serve. So it really is good. But see, last night I had the first of many restless nights dreaming about the upcoming show. And I know that it is only the beginning.
Around 8 weeks before the event, the stress begins to grow, deadlines begin to come due, half part time turns into more than full time and I stop being able to rest. Last nights dream? I neglected to have the credentials prepared and I forgot to show up for the actual weekend of the show. I was glad to wake up.
About this time every year, every spare minute that I can conjure up ends up being spent on air show stuff (and then I go to sleep and dream about all the stuff I have to do.) Somehow office girl has evolved into 'take care of most of the details you used to' girl.
It's started, and it's only February.
I used to get to this point every year and I would think in my head 'just hold your breath and plow through'.
77 days to go. And then this baby can be put to bed for another year. And I can basically be a stay at home mom again.
Ready. Set. Go
Monday, February 28, 2011
Friday, February 25, 2011
Alert.
I don't want to startle anyone, but I have something fairly scary to inform you of.
Lean in close- I'm going to whisper.
I think there are gremlins living in my house.
I know. Scary right?
See- I spent all day Tuesday picking up and cleaning. I put away hair bands, jewelry, orbeez, squinkies, legos, dog toys, socks, bath robes, I could go on forever. This might be a good time to mention though that NONE of these items were mine. Not one.
But sometimes, as the mom, it is just easier to take some time, put it all away and create a fresh palette to clean. And that was the plan for Tuesday. Not to mention- most of the item owners were at school.
After all items were in their home- I cleaned it all. Rugs, bathrooms, counters, glass, floors. I even sprinkled in a few loads of laundry for good measure.
It was all done. The laundry, the house, all of it.
I went to my bedroom to take a shower, a brief blowdry, some light make up and perhaps a good teeth scrub. Walked down the hallway and BAM!- it was all back.
Dishes in the sink, dishes on the counter, toys sprinkled through like confetti and the laundry baskets were overflowing again. I'm not even joking.
And gremlins must have a thing for Fruity Pebbles, because they were freakin' everywhere.
And I KNOW this can't be blamed on my innocent family, because I swear to you sweet mother of pearl that four people as beautiful and loving as my family could not create this kind of catastrophic mess as quickly as it happens around here.
This is not a one time incident- it is not isolated. This happens dang near every.single.day. Mysterious drips of chocolate milk, anonymous globs of toothpaste, outfits in the laundry that I have never seen on a living breathing body in this house.
It's got to be the Gremlins. Anyone know of a good trap? Cause this is getting old.
Lean in close- I'm going to whisper.
I think there are gremlins living in my house.
I know. Scary right?
See- I spent all day Tuesday picking up and cleaning. I put away hair bands, jewelry, orbeez, squinkies, legos, dog toys, socks, bath robes, I could go on forever. This might be a good time to mention though that NONE of these items were mine. Not one.
But sometimes, as the mom, it is just easier to take some time, put it all away and create a fresh palette to clean. And that was the plan for Tuesday. Not to mention- most of the item owners were at school.
After all items were in their home- I cleaned it all. Rugs, bathrooms, counters, glass, floors. I even sprinkled in a few loads of laundry for good measure.
It was all done. The laundry, the house, all of it.
I went to my bedroom to take a shower, a brief blowdry, some light make up and perhaps a good teeth scrub. Walked down the hallway and BAM!- it was all back.
Dishes in the sink, dishes on the counter, toys sprinkled through like confetti and the laundry baskets were overflowing again. I'm not even joking.
And gremlins must have a thing for Fruity Pebbles, because they were freakin' everywhere.
And I KNOW this can't be blamed on my innocent family, because I swear to you sweet mother of pearl that four people as beautiful and loving as my family could not create this kind of catastrophic mess as quickly as it happens around here.
This is not a one time incident- it is not isolated. This happens dang near every.single.day. Mysterious drips of chocolate milk, anonymous globs of toothpaste, outfits in the laundry that I have never seen on a living breathing body in this house.
It's got to be the Gremlins. Anyone know of a good trap? Cause this is getting old.
Wednesday, February 23, 2011
It's been a great season
I can hardly imagine.
Anywho- I have learned a lot this year from this large orange ball and my family. The girls love it. Sam loves running around the walking track with his 'friends'. And Dan and I love it. We all have our reasons- my main one is that it is an indoor sport. But the biggest thing I've learned is that men and woman do children's sports differently. Completely.
At most of emily's games there have been tears. And a few of Allysons. Not enough turns with the ball, getting called for a foul, not getting to bring the ball up when they wanted, shooting at the wrong goal, falling on that horrible hard floor, taking a basketball right between the eyes (poor emily- it even bent her glasses). There have been many tears. (more at emily's games- just for clarification)
The clock does not stop. The game does not stop. The ref doesn't stop. No one stops. Women fight the urge to run onto the court, hoist their baby onto their hips and pat their little backs. Men scream 'dry it up', 'keep going', 'you're fine', 'hustle up'. And then those little tearful girls do just that. And they really are fine.
As I watch one of my children play- my brain is filled with overwhelmed feelings of their current life state, how big they are, how blessed I am to be their parent, how I love their piggy tails, how curvy their small baby bodies are becoming, how their chubby little elbows have dimples, how very tall and beautiful they are becoming, how much I love them..................and then I get snapped back to reality by their father who, out of no freakin' where, screams "GET YOUR D ON" or "MAKE A LANE". Not even at our children. He is watching the actual game.
At the end of the game Dan knows the score. I typically do not.
During the game I know exactly where Sam is. Dan typically does not.
When one of my children is sitting out for a period- I stop watching the game. Dan definitely does not. He is still screaming strange things over the railing. The whole time. The strangest thing I screamed over the railing the entire season????? 'Ally- put your hair up.'
What? She looked hot.
See. Mothers watch their children. Fathers watch the game.
That is why most of the coaches are men. Because women coaches would spend their time fixing the girls hair while packing them around on their hips and doling out Kleenex and bandaids.
Tuesday, February 22, 2011
This post will not be worth the time you will spend reading it. You have been warned.
My children are getting to the age where they want to push the shopping cart. Not Ally- she's long past that time period. But Sam and Emily are right there. And every time we enter a drug store (which is a lot lately because of their frickity frackin sales and my teeny tiny coupon obsession) they ask to push the cart. I suppose I understand, they look like miniature little shopping carts- and I typically have to hunch over to be able to push it- but the answer it always NO.
You think I didn't ever want to push the shopping cart, fruits of my loins? Heck yeah I did. Did I ever get to? Um- actually I did, but the only times I remember end with me slamming the cart into my moms heels and then strangely not pushing the cart anylonger. That information aside- the answer is still NO. I have waited my whole entire life for this privilege. To get to decide how fast we walk, what aisles we will peruse, and when we will stop moving. I no longer have a baby to rock and talk to and try to calm while holding it and pushing the cart. This grocery business is finally making a turn for the better (as long as I don't take all three children at one time- that is a complete disaster that always ends with yelling and me being a redfaced sweaty mess). I GET TO PUSH THE CART.
Thems the rules. I'm pushing the cart.
But I will drive wayyyyyy out of my way to shop at a store that offers those tiny little shopping carts for the kids. No joking. I've even switched to higher priced stores because they had them and the kids actually loved going shopping there. And then all of their little carts got stolen, they didn't buy anymore and I switched back to the cheaper store. I'm kind of flighty like that.
The only problem with the little carts is that Sam is forever forgetting his. He loads it up with groceries that I asign him, we'll round a corner, shop for yogurt, head to eggs and I will look down and there he is without his cart. When asked about it- his eyes pop open and we get to retrace our steps until we find it. We do this at least 4-5 times per shopping trip. 6 if they have one of those dag gone die cast car displays at the end of the cereal aisle. The kid goes into a trance as soon as we get near it and he MUST carefully touch and sort and arrange all of those glistening beauties.
On another note- who else remembers riding on the bottom of the shopping cart???? I remember sitting cross legged under there the whole shopping trip, just hanging out. Or I would lay down super man style- like I was flying. Why are we not allowed to do this anylonger? There are even pictures on the cart indicating that we can't do this anymore. Aside from possible finger smashage, what would the possible harm be? And wouldn't the entire store be grateful to have that small blonde kid out of the center of the aisle? (seriously- I must say 'sam, move over here, there's a lady that needs to get by' like 2000 times during one shopping trip).
Whatev. Either way- I'm pushing the cart.
Anyone know of any groceries that have alcohol sample ladies?
My children are getting to the age where they want to push the shopping cart. Not Ally- she's long past that time period. But Sam and Emily are right there. And every time we enter a drug store (which is a lot lately because of their frickity frackin sales and my teeny tiny coupon obsession) they ask to push the cart. I suppose I understand, they look like miniature little shopping carts- and I typically have to hunch over to be able to push it- but the answer it always NO.
You think I didn't ever want to push the shopping cart, fruits of my loins? Heck yeah I did. Did I ever get to? Um- actually I did, but the only times I remember end with me slamming the cart into my moms heels and then strangely not pushing the cart anylonger. That information aside- the answer is still NO. I have waited my whole entire life for this privilege. To get to decide how fast we walk, what aisles we will peruse, and when we will stop moving. I no longer have a baby to rock and talk to and try to calm while holding it and pushing the cart. This grocery business is finally making a turn for the better (as long as I don't take all three children at one time- that is a complete disaster that always ends with yelling and me being a redfaced sweaty mess). I GET TO PUSH THE CART.
Thems the rules. I'm pushing the cart.
But I will drive wayyyyyy out of my way to shop at a store that offers those tiny little shopping carts for the kids. No joking. I've even switched to higher priced stores because they had them and the kids actually loved going shopping there. And then all of their little carts got stolen, they didn't buy anymore and I switched back to the cheaper store. I'm kind of flighty like that.
The only problem with the little carts is that Sam is forever forgetting his. He loads it up with groceries that I asign him, we'll round a corner, shop for yogurt, head to eggs and I will look down and there he is without his cart. When asked about it- his eyes pop open and we get to retrace our steps until we find it. We do this at least 4-5 times per shopping trip. 6 if they have one of those dag gone die cast car displays at the end of the cereal aisle. The kid goes into a trance as soon as we get near it and he MUST carefully touch and sort and arrange all of those glistening beauties.
On another note- who else remembers riding on the bottom of the shopping cart???? I remember sitting cross legged under there the whole shopping trip, just hanging out. Or I would lay down super man style- like I was flying. Why are we not allowed to do this anylonger? There are even pictures on the cart indicating that we can't do this anymore. Aside from possible finger smashage, what would the possible harm be? And wouldn't the entire store be grateful to have that small blonde kid out of the center of the aisle? (seriously- I must say 'sam, move over here, there's a lady that needs to get by' like 2000 times during one shopping trip).
Whatev. Either way- I'm pushing the cart.
Anyone know of any groceries that have alcohol sample ladies?
Monday, February 21, 2011
I got my eye on you
Tuesday one of the little girls from down the street came to our front door with a giant gift bag covered in pink and red hearts. Inside were two handmade valentines- one for emily and one for sam. She also included a book for each selected from her personal library, heart shaped chocolates for emi sue and a batman glasses case for sam.
Awwww. I love to see little kids hand writing.
Happy Day. We love you too.
How sweet.
She even picked blue paper for my little man. How very swe.............what does that say up there in the corner?
What!!!! I love you? Clearly on emily's she says 'I Love Friends'- but on Sam's?????? She loves HIM.
I got my eye on you girl. I know your type- all swooshy with the batman glasses cases and Golden Book Readers, and then BAM! you are out for the family inheritance and my little man's heart. You'll leave him for some high rollin' daddy'o and drive my poor little broken hearted blonde boy to drinkin'.
No way missy. I'm watchin you.
Momma hawk is on the case.
Friday, February 18, 2011
What do you think this is, a democracy?
You don't get no stinkin' vote.
What are we having for dinner- no vote.
What are your chores for the week- no vote.
What is going to be on the car radio- who am I kidding, I totally let you pick that.
But what shirt I am going to wear while driving the car?- no vote.
What brand of yogurt I am going to buy? it's all in the coupons darling- no vote.
What's that? You don't want milk with your lunch? Sorry- no vote.
You don't feel like brushing your teeth? NO VOTE.
You guys get to bust out with fevers on a whim, wake up puking ever so rudely in the middle of the night and drag home heads full of crazy little critters. And on all of these issues I get absolutely no vote.
As to how I am going to function and run our home, the same is true for you. No.Vote.
Now go and hang your coat up and put your shoes on the tray. Cause that's how it is.
What are we having for dinner- no vote.
What are your chores for the week- no vote.
What is going to be on the car radio- who am I kidding, I totally let you pick that.
But what shirt I am going to wear while driving the car?- no vote.
What brand of yogurt I am going to buy? it's all in the coupons darling- no vote.
What's that? You don't want milk with your lunch? Sorry- no vote.
You don't feel like brushing your teeth? NO VOTE.
You guys get to bust out with fevers on a whim, wake up puking ever so rudely in the middle of the night and drag home heads full of crazy little critters. And on all of these issues I get absolutely no vote.
As to how I am going to function and run our home, the same is true for you. No.Vote.
Now go and hang your coat up and put your shoes on the tray. Cause that's how it is.
Thursday, February 17, 2011
'Who let YOU in here?'
Yesterday Sam and I may have kinda played hookey a little bit and spent the afternoon at the children's museum. Just Sam and just me. He got to pick the places to go and how long to stay there. This was monumental for Sam. And me.
Taking just one child to the museum is something I have not done in years. Seven years to be exact. There were even a few years that we didn't go there at all because taking all three once Sam started walking became just too difficult. So this new season of our life, where going places is easier, doing things is more enjoyable, and even getting one on one time occasionally is a nice change of pace.
Except every single other person in the joint was pregnant. And if not pregnant, carrying a newborn. Seriously newborn, like probably on their way home from the hospital. Or pushing a stroller holding some cute round baby. All of them. Well, except the grandparents who were there pushing around strollers full of round drooly babies. All of them- their freakin' babies or pregnant bellies- and us. The children's museum is no place, apparently, for a woman whose uterus aches every time she is reminded that it will forever be empty.
But I was comforting myself with my new season jargan. I'm trying really hard to embrace that my time to bring new life into the world is done, and my hands are really full anyway. I love my children and they are so awesome and fulfilling and make me happy. Which is why one more couldn't be bad. Stop that. Too much laundry, lack of patience, no time for all of the important stuff. Not much cash, braces are expensive, book rental is expensive, sweet mother of pearl little league is expensive. Three is enough. Three is perfect. Three is more than I ever thought I might get to have. I was so afraid I would never even get one. In my heart I ALWAYS wanted four. But three is perfect. And enough.
And then I'd turn around and BAM! Some giant bellied pregnant happy lady with thick hair and strong nails. Poop. It started all over.
And then I got to thinking. I wonder if God has never taken this desire away for a reason. I've prayed about it, I've begged Him to take away this yearning (or give the desire back to Dan). But it is still there. Even as we get farther away from the time that would have been 'right' to have another, I can't shake it.
And then I had almost an epiphany of sorts. My heart almost felt relieved as I realized that maybe it's because He has a plan that will bring another child into our home. Maybe He does need us to be foster parents and just needs me to keep that option open. And He does that by making me want to kick pregnant women.
I've always wanted to be a foster family. But Dan and I decided we would wait until a later season of our life, one where the children would be old enough to understand what is going on. Where they would be safer, and less confused. And be able to love freely and pray openly for the children that would come and go from our life. A season that I think might be dawning. I felt peace wash over me like a river. And I actually helped the pregnant lady up off the ground from where I had knocked her out of my line of vision.
Sam and I ventured to the Playscapes area, a special spot for kids ages 5 and under only. He hadn't been in this area for well over a year. I knew he would remember how awesome it was and LOVE spending time in there playing. We walked in and instead of running straight to the water table, like he has ALWAYS done, he hung with me. He looked around. Walked past the water. Past the sand. Past the giant front loader that he ALWAYS used to sit in. Played with the wooden trains for a moment. Came back by the play house without even venturing in. He played on the floating river raft thing. He did spend about 20 minutes or so making all kinds of great rubbings of seahorses, trains and a fish.
Then he looked at me ever so seriously with his little hands tucked in his pockets and said "Let's get out of here, this place smells like a giant babies diaper". And so we left.
Goodbye Playscapes, I'm afraid our time in your world has come and gone. But only until we see what God has planned next. You might never see Sam again, but I might be back! Worst case scenario I will be one of those grandparents with the strollers.
*No pregnant woman were harmed in our actual visit to the museum.
Taking just one child to the museum is something I have not done in years. Seven years to be exact. There were even a few years that we didn't go there at all because taking all three once Sam started walking became just too difficult. So this new season of our life, where going places is easier, doing things is more enjoyable, and even getting one on one time occasionally is a nice change of pace.
Except every single other person in the joint was pregnant. And if not pregnant, carrying a newborn. Seriously newborn, like probably on their way home from the hospital. Or pushing a stroller holding some cute round baby. All of them. Well, except the grandparents who were there pushing around strollers full of round drooly babies. All of them- their freakin' babies or pregnant bellies- and us. The children's museum is no place, apparently, for a woman whose uterus aches every time she is reminded that it will forever be empty.
But I was comforting myself with my new season jargan. I'm trying really hard to embrace that my time to bring new life into the world is done, and my hands are really full anyway. I love my children and they are so awesome and fulfilling and make me happy. Which is why one more couldn't be bad. Stop that. Too much laundry, lack of patience, no time for all of the important stuff. Not much cash, braces are expensive, book rental is expensive, sweet mother of pearl little league is expensive. Three is enough. Three is perfect. Three is more than I ever thought I might get to have. I was so afraid I would never even get one. In my heart I ALWAYS wanted four. But three is perfect. And enough.
And then I'd turn around and BAM! Some giant bellied pregnant happy lady with thick hair and strong nails. Poop. It started all over.
And then I got to thinking. I wonder if God has never taken this desire away for a reason. I've prayed about it, I've begged Him to take away this yearning (or give the desire back to Dan). But it is still there. Even as we get farther away from the time that would have been 'right' to have another, I can't shake it.
And then I had almost an epiphany of sorts. My heart almost felt relieved as I realized that maybe it's because He has a plan that will bring another child into our home. Maybe He does need us to be foster parents and just needs me to keep that option open. And He does that by making me want to kick pregnant women.
I've always wanted to be a foster family. But Dan and I decided we would wait until a later season of our life, one where the children would be old enough to understand what is going on. Where they would be safer, and less confused. And be able to love freely and pray openly for the children that would come and go from our life. A season that I think might be dawning. I felt peace wash over me like a river. And I actually helped the pregnant lady up off the ground from where I had knocked her out of my line of vision.
Sam and I ventured to the Playscapes area, a special spot for kids ages 5 and under only. He hadn't been in this area for well over a year. I knew he would remember how awesome it was and LOVE spending time in there playing. We walked in and instead of running straight to the water table, like he has ALWAYS done, he hung with me. He looked around. Walked past the water. Past the sand. Past the giant front loader that he ALWAYS used to sit in. Played with the wooden trains for a moment. Came back by the play house without even venturing in. He played on the floating river raft thing. He did spend about 20 minutes or so making all kinds of great rubbings of seahorses, trains and a fish.
Then he looked at me ever so seriously with his little hands tucked in his pockets and said "Let's get out of here, this place smells like a giant babies diaper". And so we left.
Goodbye Playscapes, I'm afraid our time in your world has come and gone. But only until we see what God has planned next. You might never see Sam again, but I might be back! Worst case scenario I will be one of those grandparents with the strollers.
*No pregnant woman were harmed in our actual visit to the museum.
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