The Way He Loves Me...

The month of April tends to make me nostalgic because Classic Old Spice and I went on our first date on April 4, 2002 and became engaged on April 16, 2004. Without ever realizing the connection in the past, I tend to really relish in my luck at what a catch I have caught in the spring as the flowers start to bud and the air lightens a bit. So I begin this latest entry with a bit of a disclaimer - it is going to be a mushy, heartfelt ode to the most amazing man I have ever met. If this tends to nauseate you, well, I have given you fair warning. I will write more tomorrow so be sure to check-in.
I met my darling dear about one year after the most emotional year of my life - I had just finalized the proceedings of a yearlong divorce that rocked my world, my father passed away very unexpectedly, and I had an emotional roller-coaster ride with a lot of debt my ex left with me on top of a guy I was dating who was not the most emotionally stable of the bunch (not that I was at this time either but still...) The first evening we spoke on the phone we talked for three hours - how do you talk to anyone you have never met for three whole hours!? He envisioned me as a brunette with dark eyes and my scratchy voice led him to believe I was a bit of a smoker (not so). We had a great time chatting and of course were eager to meet one another so we went out the next night to a charming Italian restaurant in an old Victorian house in the neighborhood we would eventually inhabit two years later. To say he charmed me would be putting it mildly - in fact, I was not sure he was really for real. For starters, the man is drop-dead gorgeous and melted me with his dark brown peepers and that dimple that is so notorious that I have written about it in the past. This will continue at least for one more generation because Bubba Boo is the spitting image of his daddy with both the eyes and dimple to prove it...When the time comes for Bubba Boo to knock an unsuspecting young lady on her feet, I will know EXACTLY how she feels and can simply bond with her over this heart-in-your-throat-but-still-must-remain-cool feeling. Unfortunately, he was also in the midst of a divorce which led me to believe that he might need some more time in the emotional recovery oven before we could actually have a healthy relationship. It did take some time and some bumps along the way but we made it through and were married in July 2004. Now, after six years and 2.5 children later, I find it difficult to put into words the realization one acquires when you suddenly learn that there is a human on this earth that actually knows you better than you know yourself. It is incredibly frightening as this person of course holds a lot of emotional power over you but alas, I thank God I took the risk because who else would pass over, without a word, the curled tortilla chips that I love so much out of the basket at El Rodeo? Who else simply chuckles when he looks for something under the couch and comes up with three, half-filled water bottles or finds one in the shower, or lodged in a toy bin in the play room (yes, I know this is not an ecologically-sound practice but I lose my water bottles throughout my days and let's just say I am working on it)? It is these human foibles and idosyncracies that make us who we are and make us real. Most of them are not revealed until you have lived with someone for a while as they are an essence of your character and while we can hide them while dating, it is a whole new ballgame when you live under the same roof. I will never reveal my husband's own quirky quirks in a forum such as this but let's just say he has his fair share as well. Though sometimes irritating, the man possesses an uncanny ability to know what is going through my mind before even I do and can anticipate my every move. While this might sound somewhat dull to live this way, I find it incredibly safe and comforting as I know he loves me for who I am right now - not yesterday or in the future, but who stands before him right now. He encourages me to grow and stretch beyond myself more than any other person I have ever encountered and has even sat next to me in a therapy session with tear-filled eyes as I have dished some painful episodes of a life well-lived but with plenty of ups and downs. He is the man I want my children to revere, he is the one I want beside me for the rest of time, and luckily, he is the man that still makes my heart skip a beat when he comes home at the end of the day. The fact that he has one of the best buttocks I have ever seen makes me feel even more blessed...
Now before you feel you are about to get sick, let me put out there that there are certainly days that I would like to scratch his eyes out and most definitely, he would like to do the same to me. We are intensely passionate people and can have a doozy of an argument that would scare even Donald Trump. I say this because in no way do we have a perfect marriage - no one does. But I am in it for the long-haul no matter what and, hoping that I am correct in saying this, I think he is right there with me. Happy Spring, Classic Old Spice. I love you more than I could ever let you know or write with words. You are my rock, my home, my true north.

Too late to go back...

Have you ever opened a can of worms and wished you had not but it was simply just too late to go back to where you were before? This past weekend, Missy Moo, who has been potty-training for the past month and is doing a great job but of course, she is going to do things at her own pace and will do so as long as she is in control...(When I complain of this, my husband's response is always, "Hello, Pot...Meet Kettle"...) had a small mental breakdown over the fact that she is now wearing underpants and mommy will not allow her to put on a pull-up unless she is sleeping. Here's how it all shook down: Missy Moo and I are using the potty in our very small half-bathroom on the lower level of our home. If you have read earlier postings, you know that anytime anyone goes to the bathroom at our house, it is cause for all living beings under the roof to join him or her (this is especially enticing if it is mommy in the bathroom) for I guess maybe positive encouragement or to keep him or her company. God forbid we have privacy while using the restroom! However, if there ever was a cause for company in the restroom, it is during those early days of potty training because, like tying your shoe or riding a bike, there are steps involved that are just too difficult to verbally explain. Let me preface this by adding that I did not get home until 12:30 a.m. the previous evening due to an out of town dinner with Classic Old Spice with dental cronies and since he was attending a convention, he was gone until 5 p.m. on Saturday. If you are reading between the lines, this equates to a tired, six months pregnant mommy who is caring for a potty-training three year old and a pre-walker who cannot be left alone for even one second. When Missy Moo uses the potty, I quietly try to escort her to the bathroom so Bubba Boo does not catch-on and follow us in and as horrible as it may sound to hide from your one year old son in your own home, I know he is safe. Our house is completely baby-proofed (and will be for years) and I know we have a little bit of time before said son realizes we are no where within his visual range. This gives us enough time to jump-start the actually potty-process which could then prohibit him from attempting to play in the toilet or the small potty-chair (my skin curled each time I caught him doing this) or, as was the case last week, falling on the edge of the toilet thus resulting in his first black eye. In this small room are we with Ellie the WonderDog attempting to gain entry as well when Missy Moo throws out the "I want to put on a pull-up." I calmly answer back that pull-ups are only for when we go to sleep but she simply repeated her request again. I then said that if she chose to put on a pull-up, she would have to go take her nap (this is at noon - way too early for nap) and of course, this was also not what she had in mind. When it sunk in that she was not going to be successful with this endeavor, she began to wail. I don't mean a sad little cry but a full-on, shrieking fit with continuous screams that made me worry she was going to suffer from brain damage due to lack of oxygen for such a long time. When we get to this point, the options in our house are to stop throwing the fit or continue the fit but in the privacy of one's own bedroom. Since she chose not to stop, I took Missy Moo up to her room to recover where she proceeded to have one of the biggest meltdowns she has ever had for about 20 minutes. Meanwhile, Bubba Boo was beginning to grumble because, after all, it was about 12:15 p.m. at this point and gosh darn, where was his lunch? God forbid that he go without food for more than two hours, so I kicked into my lunch mode of dicing and chopping for a young eater while Missy Moo continued to melt. Once Bubba found his happy place, I went upstairs to check on the eldest only to find one of the most pitiful sights I have seen in a long time. There in the middle of the room with her head resting on her bunny, Floppy, wearing nothing but her new butterfly shirt and her bare-bottom naked as a jaybird, was Missy Moo making those heartbreaking whimpering sounds that come after major fits and for all mommy's I know, make us feel worse than Joan Crawford in "Mommy Dearest" no matter how "right" you knew you were. Her face was stained with tears and when she saw me she simply said, "I am not ready, Mommy." Of course, at this point, my heart had melted and I immediately identified with the feeling of not realizing that you had crossed a major milestone in your life that once crossed, was too late to ever go back. Things that came to my mind were starting your period, your first job, your first sexual encounter, paying your bills for the first time and I am sure a myriad of other "majors" that I can't think of right now but are monumental enough to chop your life into "before" and "after". Anna Quindlen, a writer that I think walks on water and expresses thoughts and emotions with amazing clarity, describes this "before and after" thing in her book "A Short Guide to a Happy Life" with her mother's death. She realized that there would always be a life she led"before" her mother passed away and then there was the "after" from that point on. Her life was divided in two and while I might be over-dramatizing Missy Moo's potty-training experience by comparing it to such a serious event such as this, in her young life, this is huge. She does not yet know the utter heartbreak of losing someone you love whether through divorce, break-ups, or death. She does not know that bad things often do happen to very good people. She does not realize that sometimes lessons do have to be learned the hard way. Truthfully, I am all for her keeping this sweet innocence for as long as possible as I know it will be robbed from her sooner than I will ever be ready. However, because of this sweet innocence, things I think are "no big deal" and she should just get over are actually monumental events in her own little life as well because this is all she knows. She can't go back to diapers and she can't wear pull-ups when she is awake - isn't this one of the first major milestones our children reach as they begin the process of sprouting their own wings? I can also identify with the feeling of being so excited for my newly-found independence and then being taken aback when I discovered that the grass was not always greener on the other side. Missy Moo has begun her life journey and while this should have been obvious to me three years ago when she was born, it is the actual heartbreak of life that molds us into who we are. The disappointments are the hands that shape our clay soul into who we eventually become and I can't help but think these hands begin as early as the potty-training years. Keep molding your soul, dear one. Don't ever stop because while your journey has just begun, if you are lucky, you will always be molding who you are.

Disclaimer...

Some of you friends have inquired as to why I don't write daily, or even weekly for that matter, so I thought I might explain...I have no freakin' energy! My only time to write is when children are napping during the day or in bed for the night. Since I must nap these days while they are doing the same (it is not pretty if I don't and I think for the sake of all of my family members we might want to prioritize this) and my brain is often tired and fried by the time I put them to bed, I must strike when the energy level is hot. This being about two to three times a month, for now, is how often I will post BUT I have good goals and intentions to do more. So what I am saying is that I hear ya pals and I will be giving it the good college try to be a little more prolific...:)

Nicole and I are Friends...

So Nicole Kidman is pregnant and due the same time I am - at some point in July...Yes, I realize this is her first pregnancy and yes, I know she is eight feet tall, but if I have to look at anymore photos of her in the media, I just might hurl...If you compared me to her you would absolutely think I was either a) carrying multiples - as in more than two multiples, b) my due date had been grossly miscalculated or c) I must have gestational diabetes. Of course I know that I am five foot three and carrying my third child in four years but still...I find it horribly unfair that her breasts are not hanging down to her ankles or that her cleavage does not begin right under her neck making it close to darn-near impossible to find shirts that don't flash the general public the million times one must bend down and pick up one's soon to be walking one year old. I am also certain that she does not have the lovely "white lightning" as I like to refer to my new friends, otherwise known as the stretch marks that are extending on the top back of my hips...Oh yes, I know - I am being vain and of course I realize it is a small price to pay for the joys of my three children; however, I would love for one second to not feel like I should actually be in a primitive tribe in Africa living a bucolic life while serving as a wet nurse to all of the village babies and sporting my beaded lip disk. I recently spoke to someone who had had a breast "lift" of which I have no qualms about considering once junior arrives this summer but I must admit that the girls did flinch a bit when she described the procedure...She used the phrase "cookie-cut your nipples then re-attach" that made me think that maybe it would not be worth it - for about two seconds. Then I decided that this was a small price to pay for actually being able to wear clothes that look good instead of tents that Mama Cass from the Mama's and Pappa's used to sport back in the day (God rest her soul with all due respect). When you have a rather large bosom (doesn't that word remind you of something a home economics teacher would use?) and you choose to wear a looser-fitting shirt, you might as well select to wear a muu-muu or a caftan as this is precisely what becomes of the garment once it is slid over your head. I often decide to simply wear a sports bra which does indeed make them look smaller but is not always the most comfortable option, comfort of course having a lot of pull (no pun intended) these days. I have considered going to get fitted for a new bra just to hold me over until July but the thought of this makes me down-right giggle - I can imagine the poor sales associate instructing me to hold them up so she can measure them around the nipple as she is supposed to do and can also see tape measures and chalk getting stuck in crevices and cleavages that could be somewhat traumatic so I have decided that I will wing it and wait until baby has arrived and I have gotten to pre-baby weight for this fun experience. To add insult to injury, while I was complaining to a friend of mine today about the absolute lack of maternity bathing suits that contain underwire tops for support - I mean if ever there was a time to break out the extra stainless steel armor it would be to corral these girls during pregnancy - she informed me that it is now not recommended for pregnant and breast-feeding mothers to wear underwire tops because it could prohibit milk-ducts from forming and could lead to infection...Dear God, I say, give us the option to at least take the chance for in less than a month I will be going to Disney with the family and will have to sport a suit with a flimsy padded shelf bra that will be exhausted after being worn just one day. Regardless, I still say that Nicole probably does not care much about the fact that she will not have underwire in her maternity suit this summer - in fact, she probably won't even wear a maternity suit this summer or any maternity clothes for that matter...Lucky, genetically-blessed girl I say...

Then and Now

Reading through the various pieces I have authored, one can see that much of what I write about pertains to my current life with 2.5 children, a dog that is so human she should be considered a child, and a husband who, God love every inch of him and his greatness, is a child as well. That said, I have been thrust into a life where I am currently raising four children with one on the way while at the same time, not always feeling like I am a grown-up myself until I have to send off a bill or have some random family member reveal a deep, dark secret that was reserved only for those who are old enough to hear it, making you wish you were still all of 16 and considered too immature to handle the drama of real life. Once in a while, when I am allowed to listen to my music instead of Dora from the DVD player (love it when the headphones actually stay on...) a song from my college days/single post-college days will play and I am instantly transported to memories that don't even seem to belong to the same person that I am now. Now before we start to think that I have "lost myself" and could be suffering from depression, let me add the disclaimer that I truly to do love my life and love where I am.. It just always amazes me and stops me in my tracks when I think back to who I was before I became 34 years old with almost three children...I remember jumping off a bridge that connects Sanibel and Captiva Islands when I was 17 years old after an afternoon of consuming, shall we say, beverages that were not legal for someone my age to consume. We all laughed and had a fantastic time as we plunged to the ocean below and it was not until years later when I was relaying this story to my mother that I reazlied how incredibly stupid this was and how easily it could have turned out to have a not-so happy ending. My mother looked at me incredulously and simply stated that the undertow beneath that bridge was legendary and most people do not attempt to swim in that area let alone jump from the bridge to the water below...The mother in me wants to vomit to think of my own children doing something like this someday but yet I know they will because though I did have a mild wild streak, I was still your average teenage girl that had crushes on boys, made good grade (OK, decent), and was very active in extra-curriculars (the real ones,not boys and drinking, though I sometimes did indulge in these as well). One of my friends also loves to tell a story in which I wrote various words with my big toe on the windshield of a car in which I was riding in at 3 a.m. while eating a leftover piece of pizza...Lovely...I could certainly go on, but my point is to simply illustrate the fact that I often stop dead in my tracks and laugh at the fact that I am now raising children that make me wear my heart on the outside of my body - once they reach their teens, I will be fully-aware of what is going on and be sick with worry. Classic Old Spice likes to joke that when our children are trying to pull off all-nighters with friends (you know the drill - I am staying at Jill's house and she is staying at my house and bingo! No one expects us home...) or simply thinking that they concocted a good story that their parents just might believe, it will be me that will call their bluff rather than the much more tame and mild-mannered him. I do take issue with this as his halo is not quite as golden as he would like for us all to believe, but he is probably correct in that I have "been there, done it" with whatever they try to pull. What I do have now that I did not have before is wisdom and to be honest, fear. I used to ride roller-coasters without a second thought while now the idea of getting on one makes me nervous and clammy. I never gave flying in an airplane another thought until I realized how much I had to lose should my plane go down. I used to casually smoke when I was out with friends and the thought of it now makes me ill. I have recently become interested in my genetic history (long story on this one - let's just say that I was conceived through artificial insemination in the 1970's so there is half of my DNA that I am unsure of which of course, now affects my children) whereas I have never given this another thought though I have known this information for quite some time. I look at strange men (and women for that matter) who glance a little too long at my children with a look that is not the friendly smile that I might show a stranger but instead a scowl of a mama bear protecting her cubs from a hunter. This aside, I also must chuckle that I have, though this is difficult to admit, become not as hip as I once was. There are times when I look at myself after I have picked up Missy Moo from preschool, gone to Target, and stopped by the bank and the dry cleaners' and truly am stunned that I would ever even step foot out of my bedroom looking like I did let alone parade myself all over town. In fact, a few weeks ago, a woman (probably a sympathetic fellow mommy) stopped me on my way out of Target to tell me that I had a Cinderella sticker stuck to my arse...How lovely to bring attention to an area of my body that seems to be expanding along with my pregnant belly and who better to showcase it than Cinderella? What recently caused me to stop and laugh out loud was a radio report on "Max and Emme"...Feeling so cool that I knew the broadcaster was talking about the sister/brother combo on "Dragon Tales" and why on earth would they be talking about them on the radio?, I was taken down a few notches when he reported that these were the names that JLo and Marc Anthony had chosen for their recently-born twins. The fact that I know Max and Emme are the children on "Dragon Tales" astounds me but then I know theme songs to almost all major kid's programs and can rattle off all of the characters of Dora in my sleep. Scarily enough, I also have this amazing talent that allows me to create a made-up story following the exact pattern of the show (Who do we ask for help when we don't know which way to go? The map!) while jotting down my grocery list. This talent will not win me millions of dollars nor will it give me a first place on Star Search but if I must confess to a dirty little secret, this is my favorite newly-discovered talent I have yet to uncover. I also like that I am the only one who knows where the poms-poms are located, the one that possesses the great knowledge of how to paint fingernails, the one who can kiss boo-boo's and make the tears disappear, the one who knows how to do "Snug as a Bug" just right...No, I would not trade this version for what I was - OK, maybe just once in a while for a night or so...

At the Pump...

Being a former teacher, one of my "most-inspiring-hall-of-famers" is Annie Sullivan, teacher of Helen Keller. I love her because she took a child who had been labelled as "unable to be educated" and actually did just that - educated her to go on to be one of the world's most brilliant minds despite the fact that she could neither see nor hear. That aside, Annie Sullivan used real-world examples and context to teach little Helen so that it was meaningful instead of relying on the drill and kill method that is so often utilized in this obsessively mandated test-taking world of No Child Left Behind (whoa, let me get on my soap box for a minute...). My favorite scene of "The Miracle Worker" is when Annie takes Helen to the water pump, runs water over her hands and signs the word "water" directly into her palm. I love the lightbulb that goes off for Helen as she frantically runs around her lawn touching everything and holding out her hand for Annie to sign the word for her. Right before I stopped working outside of the home, I worked as a literacy trainer for an organization that used this clip to inspire teachers to be like Annie so of course, I have seen this part several times and think of it often. So the other day I was dangling Bubba Boo over our kitchen sink in an attempt to wash his "crawler" hands - as a little one who crawls, he picks up stuff off of our floors (yes, I sweep every day but we do have a dog and two children) and it makes my skin curl to think he would eat with those grubby paws, hence why I wash my baby's hands. As the water poured over his chubby little digits, I said "water" and his little face beamed and flashed the dimple that melted even the nurses' hearts in the hospital within an hour after his birth (for the record, Classic Old Spice has this trait as well and is one of the reasons why I knew I would marry him within a week after we met). He seemed to be saying "Cool mommy - I am getting this word thing - I am getting that everything has a label," and I immediately thought of Annie and Helen at the pump. This then led me to reflect on what exactly I do want to teach my children as well as HOW on earth am I going to do it...A few things popped into my head: There is no canned program, method, or theory that can educate your child more effectively than your actions. For this reason, I make sure that my children see that I am indeed human. I speak about my emotions freely, in fact, almost to a fault for just the other night as I was helping at Missy Moo's Book Fair at her school she said, "Mommy, are you feeling grouchy?" which I think is quite observant for a girl who just turned three (never mind the fact that she said it right in front of her teacher...For shame!). I lose my cool and say things that make me feel like I am going to suffer in the parenting pit of hell and worry that I have permanently psychologically damaged my children for the rest of time; however, I know that the right thing to do is say that I am sorry and admit that mommy was wrong. As a result, Missy Moo freely apologizes (usually) when she knows she owes one. In no way am I suggesting that I am "Parent of the Year" because of course, there is a down-side to this as well. Recently, Missy Moo started to say things like "I hate my coat" or "I hate to eat carrots" which for some reason, sounds really harsh and rough when it comes out of the mouths of babes. I was bothered by where on earth she could have picked this up until later in the day when I caught myself saying "Oh, I HATE when that happens!". You guessed it - Missy Moo picked this lovely trait up from me. This is not the only time that I will err at the parenting game but I also think that maybe when children see their parents mess up we are better preparing them for the real world in which they will be living (or maybe I am telling myself this so I feel just a little better). The world is not perfect and neither are we - we have good days, and days that are almost comical they are so bad. There are people who will wrong you, as we recently experienced as a family when a former sitter who owed us some money told us she would be at our home "in a half an hour" and was actually in Iowa (true story), people who will put you down and make you feel like you are less than you are, and there are times when an hour feels like the longest period of time on earth. But on the other hand, there are more people who will right you, more people who will build you up, and days when you think an hour is just not enough time to do anything because it goes so fast. A moral compass cannot be changed or rocked in any way - regardless of the trials and tribulations one experiences, that core, that foundation should remain the compass and drive who we really are. No outside occurance can shake this or take it away from you as it is your soul which was molded in your early years and is constantly shaped throughout your life. I remember telling the parents of the students in my classroom that they are their child's first teacher but I never really understood the power and magnitude of this statement until I had my own babies. Emotional core development occurs between the ages of zero to three years old so how can any teacher mold this part of my children? It's up to us to guide this development which is probably going to be my most valuable contribution to this planet after I am gone. To know that Classic Old Spice and I will work fervently to encourage our children to always do what is right makes me believe that it will sink in along the way somewhere and then when THEY have their own babes, they will do the same. It is how the cycle continues and the only way that I can foresee to truly leave the world a little bit better than how I found it. Life experiences take us back to the pump every time and force us to continue to mold who exactly we are and who we strive to be.

It's A Family Affair

There are so many things I was not really prepared for when I became a mother - the utter loss of any time to really do anything for myself, the powerful, animalistic desire to scratch the eyes out of anyone who hurts or insults my babies, the body's ability to survive on an amount of sleep that would have made me scoff in an earlier life...But perhaps the biggest surprise since becoming a mommy is my complete loss of any privacy while I am, nicely put, using the lavatory. I am astounded at how quickly every living being in my house can congregate when mommy tries to sneak off to the restroom for EVEN TWO SECONDS! Let's look at an example from just the other day...I must preface this story with the disclaimer that I am incredibly modest about bodily functions and do not really speak freely about what goes on when I DO use the restroom; however, for the sake of this story, I am going to have to sell myself out a bit and give you the fully monty. If you have ever been pregnant, you know oh so well the lovely side effect of constipation - one of my girlfriends claims that I must eat prunes and truthfully, I tried it and could not shake the feeling that I was eating an oversized gem from someone's nose. My point is that when you are pregnant and you feel that you might actually be able to get some relief in this area, you make a run for it. Luckily, I was at the end one of the best books I have read in a long time (The Used World by Haven Kimmel) and realized that since everyone in my house had just completed breakfast and my husband was peacefully reading the Sunday paper on the couch, it would be safe to steal away to the throne for a bit and take the rare opportunity to actually finish this book and read at a time of the day that I would not normally be able to read a photo caption let alone two to three pages of a book. I let said hubby in on my plan to steal away for a moment and retreated to the throne room with book in hand. Of course, a good half page into the last two pages, the door to the bathroom is flung open and there stands Missy Moo in her princess nightgown waving her magic wand and telling me that since we are going to church, daddy is coming up to shower and she will get to watch Dragon Tales. Quickly behind her was our lovable WonderDog, Ellie Rose, who beelined it straight to me and came pretty darn close to de-throning me while knocking my book to the ground. I take a moment to get off the throne and turn on Dragon Tales for Missy Moo and after I get back to the throne and into my book, hubby enters the bathroom and begins to engage me in conversation. And while I cannot recall the specific topic that Classic Old Spice was trying to cover, I do remember that it was not a light topic - it was not one of those that you can do an "umm-hmm" every now and then while engaged in another activity. I answered him shortly a few times and at about the fourth or fifth question, I lost my cool and said, "I am simply trying to read the last two pages of this riveting book AND attempt to go number two if I may. I can't have this discussion right now." Of course, Classic Old Spice replies with "Gah, you are a grouch - I'm outta here" and finally, leaves me at peace. What I wanted all along and at this point, there is no chance that the coveted release was going to occur. Perhaps it is not the pregnancy that is causing this problem...