After a good time here at Blogger, I've relocated my blog to WordPress. Come visit me there at
http://onemomsworld.wordpress.com/
Cheers!
Friday, June 20, 2008
Sunday, June 08, 2008
The Graduate
Saturday was a very big day, as Cooper proudly accepted his preschool diploma and bid his nursery days goodbye. The ceremony was very short (the director has a strict 38 minute deadline), but adorable, with the 30-plus graduates singing God Bless America and Saying Goodbye (which you may remember was made famous by The Muppets back in the '80s). Parents, aunts, uncles, grandparents and friends filled the cafetorium of St. Paul's school to near overflowing. (Well, not really. But there were an awful lot of us there to applaud our 5 year olds.)
Afterwards the kids had some playtime on the playground, and we brought home bagels and coffee for our celebration. All that by 10 a.m. Whew.
Yay, Cooper!
Saturday, June 07, 2008
Addiction, Recovery and the Appalachian Trail
The urge to smoke has been strong these past couple of days, maybe a week or so. I don't know why. The end of the school year stress? The terrible twos stress? The beautiful weather, where an evening smoke on the back porch chair seems relaxing and familiar?
Fortunately, fighting the urge doesn't take much effort. I've come too far, risked too much, to cave now. It's just funny that all of a sudden it's there. And smoking itself isn't something a nonsmoker would ever imagine someone craving so desperately. It's an ugly habit, smelly and dirty, nothing redeeming about it. Unless you've been addicted. Then you know the lure.
I do other things instead, things I've learned to do, as any recovering addict does. I am reminded daily by my dad, in his strange, new, weird and wonderful, family emails about the journey he's on, that we all are on in our lives. His messages are simple and not new, but always worth remembering.
You never stop quitting your addiction. You never stop moving or changing or learning new ways to live better. And if you think someone else has gotten it right, has finished the learning or the changing, look again. Some people believe that we never get it right in our lifetime, and that's why we are reborn time and again, to do it better and better and better.
It's like hiking the Appalachian Trail, maybe. One step follows the one before, but hiking the nearly 2,220 miles of national park takes a little time, a little effort. Almost 5 million footsteps, according to www.appalachiantrail.org. And once you get to the end, maybe you have do it again. Maybe you want to do it again.
But it takes some time. So as it's been noted before, by those far wiser than I, it is the journey, not the destination, that matters. Because, in the end, all those tiny steps add up to something truly magnificent.
Fortunately, fighting the urge doesn't take much effort. I've come too far, risked too much, to cave now. It's just funny that all of a sudden it's there. And smoking itself isn't something a nonsmoker would ever imagine someone craving so desperately. It's an ugly habit, smelly and dirty, nothing redeeming about it. Unless you've been addicted. Then you know the lure.
I do other things instead, things I've learned to do, as any recovering addict does. I am reminded daily by my dad, in his strange, new, weird and wonderful, family emails about the journey he's on, that we all are on in our lives. His messages are simple and not new, but always worth remembering.
You never stop quitting your addiction. You never stop moving or changing or learning new ways to live better. And if you think someone else has gotten it right, has finished the learning or the changing, look again. Some people believe that we never get it right in our lifetime, and that's why we are reborn time and again, to do it better and better and better.
It's like hiking the Appalachian Trail, maybe. One step follows the one before, but hiking the nearly 2,220 miles of national park takes a little time, a little effort. Almost 5 million footsteps, according to www.appalachiantrail.org. And once you get to the end, maybe you have do it again. Maybe you want to do it again.
But it takes some time. So as it's been noted before, by those far wiser than I, it is the journey, not the destination, that matters. Because, in the end, all those tiny steps add up to something truly magnificent.
Thursday, May 29, 2008
Scent of A Child, Part 2
Yesterday I said my kids stunk. And they did, yesterday.
Today they are fantastic.
Big surprise. Isn't that how parenting, families, go?
Here's what happened. After a day filled with the usual ups (Ellie swam solo during her Parent and Tot class) and downs (Ellie redesigned a new slipcover with her safety scissors), it was outdoor cleanup time. While returning some child-sized rakes to the basement storage, I twisted my ankle. Badly. Visions of 911-badly.
It was so bad I was nauseated. I saw stars. I cried. No none was near me. Then Ellie, already grounded to the house for aforementioned scissors incident, snuck outside and found me helpless, writhing in the grass on the side of the house. She fetched Mitzi and Cooper with my dynamic duo, and I hobbled inside where our evening followed. Even Joanna came quietly.
Here's where my kids are fantastic. Like all good people, they stepped up. Mitzi helped with dinner, Cooper with cleanup, and they all helped at bathtime. They fetched frozen corn to soothe my ankle and the phone so I could check in with Ray about my injury. There was help finding Joanna's lost Baby (without which no sleep would come) and support when I attempted a shower. Ellie brushed her teeth without a fuss, Joanna kissed my knee to help the boo boo.
These are good kids. I know they are. Not only because they DID help me, but because the did stuff without my asking. So remind me of this, tomorrow, when the stink lines hover once more over someone's tantrum or sibling argument. When the chips are down, my little ones are there for family.
Not too shabby.
Today they are fantastic.
Big surprise. Isn't that how parenting, families, go?
Here's what happened. After a day filled with the usual ups (Ellie swam solo during her Parent and Tot class) and downs (Ellie redesigned a new slipcover with her safety scissors), it was outdoor cleanup time. While returning some child-sized rakes to the basement storage, I twisted my ankle. Badly. Visions of 911-badly.
It was so bad I was nauseated. I saw stars. I cried. No none was near me. Then Ellie, already grounded to the house for aforementioned scissors incident, snuck outside and found me helpless, writhing in the grass on the side of the house. She fetched Mitzi and Cooper with my dynamic duo, and I hobbled inside where our evening followed. Even Joanna came quietly.
Here's where my kids are fantastic. Like all good people, they stepped up. Mitzi helped with dinner, Cooper with cleanup, and they all helped at bathtime. They fetched frozen corn to soothe my ankle and the phone so I could check in with Ray about my injury. There was help finding Joanna's lost Baby (without which no sleep would come) and support when I attempted a shower. Ellie brushed her teeth without a fuss, Joanna kissed my knee to help the boo boo.
These are good kids. I know they are. Not only because they DID help me, but because the did stuff without my asking. So remind me of this, tomorrow, when the stink lines hover once more over someone's tantrum or sibling argument. When the chips are down, my little ones are there for family.
Not too shabby.
Wednesday, May 28, 2008
The Scent of a Child
Forgive me for repeating myself. My kids stink.
Not literally, of course. At least I don't think so. I was so irritated with them I put them all to bed without bathing. Their stinkiness today is more of the Pig Pen type, with cartoon lines wavering in the air above their bodies, while below these currents their mouths spew attitude, negativity, and general poo-poo-ness.
Okay, the kids are true blessings, and I am grateful for each one of my babies. But today is one of those days I'd be more grateful if I had a nanny, a full-time job, a mom who lived within 20 miles. Someone with whom I could share all of my blessings!
Asleep, they are as all children are. Unmarred, flawless, perfect. Angelic, one might say. Awake, well, it's like the old joke about incontinence. It Depends.
So, here I am, blog in one hand, oatmeal/raisin/cranberry bar in the other (made in a tantrum I had after dinner when I sent them all upstairs to "clean", while I stewed over my KitchenAid mixer). Tasty, needs a little something more. Chocolate? No, it's sweet enough. Nuts?
We have plenty of those in our house. Some more pungent than others.
Today my beautiful wonderful kids stink. Tomorrow, who knows?
Not literally, of course. At least I don't think so. I was so irritated with them I put them all to bed without bathing. Their stinkiness today is more of the Pig Pen type, with cartoon lines wavering in the air above their bodies, while below these currents their mouths spew attitude, negativity, and general poo-poo-ness.
Okay, the kids are true blessings, and I am grateful for each one of my babies. But today is one of those days I'd be more grateful if I had a nanny, a full-time job, a mom who lived within 20 miles. Someone with whom I could share all of my blessings!
Asleep, they are as all children are. Unmarred, flawless, perfect. Angelic, one might say. Awake, well, it's like the old joke about incontinence. It Depends.
So, here I am, blog in one hand, oatmeal/raisin/cranberry bar in the other (made in a tantrum I had after dinner when I sent them all upstairs to "clean", while I stewed over my KitchenAid mixer). Tasty, needs a little something more. Chocolate? No, it's sweet enough. Nuts?
We have plenty of those in our house. Some more pungent than others.
Today my beautiful wonderful kids stink. Tomorrow, who knows?
Tuesday, May 27, 2008
Nightmares
I had a terrible dream last night, the kind of dream that scares parents more than any other, and the dream that most of us have at one time or another. The dream came in the last sleep cycle of the morning, after my alarm had rung twice and I ignored it twice, settling back into the warmth of my husband for a few minutes before the day really began.
Four hours later I am still unsettled, the scratches of the nightmare's fingers still hot on my skin.
I tend to have very dramatic, vivid and strange Dali-esque dreams. I always have. I usually do not have the gentle kind, the sort where kind ghosts of long-gone family and friends visit to chat, or where hopeful images of future play out over green fields and under blue skies. Perhaps I am too much a pessimist, a worrier for those. I also do not usually remember my dreams. Given their nature, that's probably a good thing.
I am of the school who believes that dreams are our mind's way of unraveling the mysteries of our days, the worries, fears and hopes that tangle in our thoughts without attention during our busy waking lives. I'm not sure how much I believe in the symbolism of dreams -- if I'm swimming in a dream, does it have to be a metaphor for my personal struggles or fears?
I'm told that you can control your dreams, to use them to your advantage. If you have a problem you can't figure out, focus on it before sleep and an answer will come in your relaxed mind. Or focus on those happy positive thoughts and that will be the substance of your sleeping images. I'm usually too sleepy to attempt this, most nights falling asleep with my glasses still on, a book open on my chest. But maybe I'll try it again sometimes, anything to never have last night's terror again.
About last night, using the dream interpretation approach. My primary job, as I see it, is to keep my family safe and healthy and whole as each one grows more into who he or she will become. I think I felt a bit of a failure yesterday in the safety department. In the hustle and fun of our early-start holiday, I forgot to put sunscreen on my fair-skinned family until just before lunch, after we'd already been outside for a few hours. Most of us got a bit sunburned, which I didn't notice until after baths late that evening. Perhaps my dream had to do with that. My family got hurt. I failed to keep my family safe.
I woke up crying because of the awful images in that early morning nightmare. All morning I have been touching my family, rubbing a back, smoothing hair, kissing sleep-warmed cheeks, reassuring myself of their solidity. As I finish typing, the smallest arms in our house are cradling my neck from behind, their owner raining my ears with kisses, in her effort to draw me away from the computer. Who could resist this reality? I will wrap up.
A dream is just a dream. Today, even as the forecast calls for thundershowers, we are all slathered in sunscreen. Just to be safe.
Four hours later I am still unsettled, the scratches of the nightmare's fingers still hot on my skin.
I tend to have very dramatic, vivid and strange Dali-esque dreams. I always have. I usually do not have the gentle kind, the sort where kind ghosts of long-gone family and friends visit to chat, or where hopeful images of future play out over green fields and under blue skies. Perhaps I am too much a pessimist, a worrier for those. I also do not usually remember my dreams. Given their nature, that's probably a good thing.
I am of the school who believes that dreams are our mind's way of unraveling the mysteries of our days, the worries, fears and hopes that tangle in our thoughts without attention during our busy waking lives. I'm not sure how much I believe in the symbolism of dreams -- if I'm swimming in a dream, does it have to be a metaphor for my personal struggles or fears?
I'm told that you can control your dreams, to use them to your advantage. If you have a problem you can't figure out, focus on it before sleep and an answer will come in your relaxed mind. Or focus on those happy positive thoughts and that will be the substance of your sleeping images. I'm usually too sleepy to attempt this, most nights falling asleep with my glasses still on, a book open on my chest. But maybe I'll try it again sometimes, anything to never have last night's terror again.
About last night, using the dream interpretation approach. My primary job, as I see it, is to keep my family safe and healthy and whole as each one grows more into who he or she will become. I think I felt a bit of a failure yesterday in the safety department. In the hustle and fun of our early-start holiday, I forgot to put sunscreen on my fair-skinned family until just before lunch, after we'd already been outside for a few hours. Most of us got a bit sunburned, which I didn't notice until after baths late that evening. Perhaps my dream had to do with that. My family got hurt. I failed to keep my family safe.
I woke up crying because of the awful images in that early morning nightmare. All morning I have been touching my family, rubbing a back, smoothing hair, kissing sleep-warmed cheeks, reassuring myself of their solidity. As I finish typing, the smallest arms in our house are cradling my neck from behind, their owner raining my ears with kisses, in her effort to draw me away from the computer. Who could resist this reality? I will wrap up.
A dream is just a dream. Today, even as the forecast calls for thundershowers, we are all slathered in sunscreen. Just to be safe.
Monday, May 26, 2008
Memorial Day
What a long weekend it was! A birthday party for the cousins up north joyfully claimed our whole Saturday. I was in bed all day Sunday, nursing an icky cold. Today we played outside all day while Ray finished some yard work. Then we enjoyed a cookout with neighbors way past all the kids' bedtime.
The weather was beautiful, food was delicious, friends and family were filled with love and laughter (a few tantrums notwithstanding). A near-perfect holiday weekend.
I hope that we all took a few minutes to remember the reason for this day off of work. I am not a vocal patriot, but I love my country. While I disagree with some of the decision makers, and the battles we wage in this world, I am in constant awe of those who choose to make a career out of defending what we have here.
So, thanks to you all. Because of you, we all sleep better each night, whether we know it or not, whether we say it or not. You deserve more than one day a year of national gratitude and recognition. Thank you.
The weather was beautiful, food was delicious, friends and family were filled with love and laughter (a few tantrums notwithstanding). A near-perfect holiday weekend.
I hope that we all took a few minutes to remember the reason for this day off of work. I am not a vocal patriot, but I love my country. While I disagree with some of the decision makers, and the battles we wage in this world, I am in constant awe of those who choose to make a career out of defending what we have here.
So, thanks to you all. Because of you, we all sleep better each night, whether we know it or not, whether we say it or not. You deserve more than one day a year of national gratitude and recognition. Thank you.
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