Change. I've learned to embrace it, ride it out til the end. Sometimes I'm kicking and screaming, other times weeping with my eyes clinched tight. Once in awhile I ride like a dog in a car, head out the window snorting what life has to offer. Mother to young adult children, a marriage of thirty years, and a desert to mountain to valley waltz with God have shaped me into someone I never imagined I'd be. Life is short and I want to live it. Tears, sighs, laughter and change. Every morsel granted to me. Scrambled, shaken or stirred.
Thursday, March 31, 2016
Wednesday, March 30, 2016
Tuesday, March 29, 2016
My friend X-ta is one I picked up in a former life. No, not Shirley MacLaine style, as in a long, long time ago when I was much younger, naive and impressionable.
Wednesday, March 23, 2016
Gladys feels my shame. See, I went into the basement....now if you're like me you are chanting "No, don't go down into the basement!" While the stupid heroine does just that. But instead of finding a crazed serial killer I found something worse....tucked back in a corner is a bookshelf filled with boxes. In those boxes? Paper!
20 year old paper. Medical statements, utility bills, canceled checks...stuff dating back to 1994. Ten boxes worth. Tomorrow I will begin hauling handfuls a day and tucking them into our secure recycling bin at work. Sigh! Happy. Happy.
Tuesday, March 22, 2016
Thursday, March 17, 2016
My long tale is nearly finished. And I may have almost recovered from four kiddos for 16 hours.
Pathetically, as my mother pointed out, this was a mere sliver of my daughter's life. Wheweeee. This is why I did not start my family at age 40.
No, that is not true. I did not start my family at age 40 because I was basically young and in love and we do crazy things like have and raise a family when we know nothing about birthin (or raisin) no babies. Right? Right.
So bless you daughters who are carrying that torch of whelping and raising kids when its a rough, filthy and thankless task so very often. The dividends are great. But the nights (and days are long).
Here is the rest of my story. We arrive at church. Halfway adhering to the daylight savings time loss. This is pretty impressive.
We had all the gear packed (except the shark slippers, the jacket needed for school on Monday and, of course, the toothbrush). Two poopy sacks (one a diaper part 1, the other the oops underwear issue. For the record this collection grew).
Unbeknownst to me and discovered later by my daughter, someone also left behind some hair.
Seriously. My daughter left them with me (don't leave, no, don't leave) as they were finishing their movie. Bedtime was a noisy affair with a pen war (clearly) but the doors were open. There is no pile of hair on the floor or in the bed. Alone time was bathroom time. Every other second (at my house) was under adult supervision. I do have scissors in my bathroom drawer. I mean, he's seven. That shouldn't be an issue. Right?
Well, I'm guessing he decided to cut a chunk of hair off to prove the laws of nature still work. Yep. I have no idea where the hair went. Maybe he ate it. I'll ask him. There's another scientific test there. I think I'll ask him if the extra fiber was what he was going for.
Worship contained a new singer. The baby is going through a phase where new or even very familiar people freak her out randomly and about 79% of the time. Rob wasn't a good risk, what with squirmy strong super baby and kneelessness....that paints an accurate accident waiting to happen. So she joined me on stage. Entertainment for her and an amazing upper body workout for me.
At church we had a good old fashioned time-out. Two of the four anyway. While in time-out the boy snatched the necklace of the four-year-old and broke it. Because when you are in trouble it's always best to do something else naughty...another law of nature being tested...cause and effect. Maybe he's going to be a scientist or a lawyer when he grows up. The four-year-old was very offended and sad and looked until she found the missing jump ring and I fixed it and put it on her neck. During this 45 second ordeal I put the 14 month-old down to toddle. I looked away to clasp the necklace...3 seconds...if that... she disappeared. Not really, but she was headed north, apparently saw I was otherwise engaged and veered west and hid behind a person. Thank heavens she was dressed in bright colors.
A few more days and all my tics should be in remission.
I love my daughter for so many things. Coming back for her children is right up there.
Wednesday, March 16, 2016
I crawled into my bed fully aware that morning was bearing down on me like a freight train and I would be reversing the bedtime process with three and adding a 14-month-old to the mix. We planned on going to church. With one hour less sleep and a very challenging bedtime. This had all the makings of a rich adventure.
Keep in mind, Rob is on crutches. Not that he doesn't have a voice which he can gruff up to get attention, but he possesses no chasing skills, at all.
Breakfast went well. In bits and pieces. The youngest woke up shortly after the baby arrived. She got the most sleep once she stopped wailing after the forcible removal from her sister shared nest. While baby toddled, little girl ran in to go potty. Oops. When Grandma was called for wiping we discovered a little more than what we had counted on. Those undies weren't going to church. And that behind needed a little more than toilet paper. Into the shower she went. Baby clung to me, smearing her banana yogurt, snot face against my shoulder. (She has an ear infection, and a cold.) I forgot to remove the yogurt container from the table and pop it back into the fridge. When we returned downstairs to finish breakfast a four-legged friend had already taken care of the pesky yogurt issue. Fortunately, baby was real content with anything and everything she found on the floor. I picked up bits of plastic so they didn't become consumables while the four-year-old and I continued to discuss the total okayness fashion premise wherein no panties were needed if a lady wore tights.
Did I mention that the older sibling who packed for her forgot her underwear?
The two others joined us downstairs. I portioned out breakfast, removed items from baby's hands and mouth, shoved approved edibles in their place and ordered different children into different bathrooms to clean up, brush teeth and get dressed.
The youngest looked at me. I glanced back, wondering silently what the look meant. "What's wrong?"
"I don't want to say."
Her brother said. "She lost my toothbrush."
She had been alone in the bathroom two minutes, presumably going potty and brushing her own teeth. "What do you mean she lost it?"
"She put it down the hole in the sink."
The oldest perked up and offered to grab it with tongs. I let her try. No luck. Brother got to swish toothpaste while I changed baby's poopy diaper number uno. Then I noticed faint black lines upon his face. "Did you draw on your face last night? After you went to bed?"
No, of course not, it was his older sister. Well, that explains the screaming and giggling. He scrubbed off the evidence and I sighed for the twelfth time.
Shockingly, we made it to Sunday School only 1/2 late.
More? Oh there's more. Stay tuned.
Tuesday, March 15, 2016
Bedtime. The kids were allowed to stay up a bit later than usual. This was stated to them every time they asked for a few more minutes. Finally, they were all snuggled, nestled in their beds. The night light was broken on the last sleepover so the door was left open and bathroom lights were on to act as a nightlight. The faux pas of things I forgot to do or didn't do like mommy were all discussed and laid to rest. The final "good night, I love you's" were said.
Then the giggling and fighting began.
Threat One involved the usual, the youngest would be placed in Grandma's bed until she went to sleep. Threat Two involved a slightly crankier reiteration of Threat One with the ominous promise of "one more chance, don't blow it." Incoming Threat Protocol Breach involved said Grandma swooping in and forcibly removing said child. Weeping and gnashing followed. Threat One, Two and Three involved door open or closed and the weeping decibel level connection. Finally, the threat was enacted, the weeping stopped, the door was opened and all seemed well.
The other two. Threats One, Two and Three were swifter in coming. Somehow sleep was achieved.
Stay tuned for the morning hustle....
Wednesday, March 09, 2016
|Pretty sure she could be trained to hunt for truffles!|
Tuesday, March 08, 2016
Thursday, March 03, 2016
Wednesday, March 02, 2016
Both goals met. Seriously.
I packed up 5 more bags and boxes combo of stuff. Granted, two boxes were the encyclopedia set we've owned since approximately 1994. I almost kept it because I'm sure history has been rewritten half a dozen times since then, but then decided if I hadn't touched them in, literally, seven years (and that was to move them to where they were until yesterday) I wasn't going to be needing to brush up on history. Real or imagined.
I did get the three articles written, too. I've got to keep going on both.
Violin. Uhhhh. Let's not talk about it.
Of note. Last night it was me alone vs four grandchildren.
Apparently, there is a grandmother Murphy's Law. It states: "If you are in your unfamiliar territory of your adult child's home, it is a guarantee that something strange will happen." Last night the kids managed to lock one of the bedroom doors. No one was left shrieking inside, nor did a dog slip in to get trapped overnight. This door actually had a keyed lock and bobby pins and sharp knives don't work so well. I gave up in defeat and put the bed-less child in the parent room to sleep (yeah, that's another Murphy's law..."you can put the child to bed but good luck making that stick" the chorus of giggles and shushing was deafening).
My daughter found the key after I left with my tail tucked. She no doubt got a much better night's sleep than with a seven year old kicking her in the head. I slept like a baby.
Three more articles. Okay. Four.
Three more bags of stuff. Yikes. That means dust bunnies. And other unpleasantness.
Tuesday, March 01, 2016
Tennis balls? Sigh and shifty-eyed bored look.
Rob's physical therapist came over for more how-to-live-without-a-knee therapy yesterday. He was like "You haven't put tennis balls on your walker yet." And Rob was like, "yeah" So PT dude asked if we had any. Rob directed him to the dog toy box. PT dude cut holes in the tennis balls and popped them onto the walker. Then this happened.
Later Rob got up to go to the bathroom. The girls followed him and barked all the way. Ha.