Friday, February 23, 2007

This is deep, so step wide.

Why am I so angry? I don’t walk around in a state of anger, but lately I’ve been camped out on the border. I think of those cheesy children cartoons where one minute the bull is happily grazing and smelling the flower, and the next his eyes are bulging and he’s seeing red.
That is how I feel.

The children are picking up on the undercurrent of my emotions and tend to be overly needed, whinny and hard to please. And I can not tell you enough, just how much I NEED them to be good, pleasant and happy.

I am a believer in Jesus Christ, and I do have a “personal” relationship with him, but I’m suspecting that there are some emotions that I have yet to address. Possibly even concerning that “personal relationship”. It’s hard to tell.

My son just had open heart surgery. One of my favorite people in the world is laying in a hospital bed in a comma after having a sever stroke. And apparently I’m mad.
I couldn’t say about what exactly. I could tell you of an instance or two that have pissed me off over the last couple of months, but to say that one thing in particular has made me dwell in a dark place or in the vicinity of one, I could not say.
I chose not to give these “bad situations” much thought. I feel that there is nothing to be done, therefore I try to move on. Try to deal with the “now”.

But I guess that is not working.

I feel as though I have no time to grieve.
No time to grieve over the idea that my child would be born healthy.
No time to grieve over the dead hope that my Lord would heal him. (without surgery).
No time to grieve over my grandmother’s painful and fragile existence.
I can’t even have a moment alone in a day.
I can’t even take a shower without someone banging on the door and yelling at me.

I picked up the phone to call my grandmother today and realized that I may never hear her sweet voice again and I shed a tear or two before my daughter come into the room demanding something and wanting it NOW. Then saw me crying and got even more agitated.

Maybe I don’t take the time to grieve for my own sanity.
My children are on High Alert already.

If I break - even for a moment - the world as I know it could be destroyed and Lord help me if I don’t have the strength to put it back together again.


*I apologize for the intensity of this post, and promise that it will not be a regular occurrence.

Wednesday, February 21, 2007

Mutiny

I not only have a three year old, but she’s a Red Headed Three Year Old. Not only is she a “handful” as people like to playfully call her. ( At this I always try to contain the urge to sit them down and explain why she is Not a “playful handful” but more of a monster that is out to get me. A vision flashes through my head as they kindly smile and nod. A vision of me telling them this story wide eyed and frightend.)
My daughter is what some would call a choleric, others a brat. Now I want to make myself perfectly clear that she is not always difficult, sometimes she down right impossible. But really, a lot of the time she a doll baby, and not the Chucky kind. . . the angelic kind. Infact, I think that is why I get so raddled whenever she turns Mr. Hyde on my arse. Everything’s sugar and spice for a few months, and then one day out of the bed rises a monster. A short one.
At times like today, I truly feel like I am being mentally abused by a three year old. Nothing I do is right, or fast enough. I myself am not a choleric, but I am not the lapdog type either. I see myself as a healthy medium, but it does take a little extra something to exert the power necessary to remain on the throne. I refuse to have a home that is ruled by little people, but apparently them be fightin’ words.
I felt like I was in Mommy boot camp last night. After a Full day of whinnying, crying, fighting, and general unhappiness we finally get to sleep. I had not had my head on the pillow for more than an hour and a half before I am awakened to the three year old standing in the dark, next to my bed. . . .yelling. And yelling. When I asked her what was wrong, she would yell. When I asked her what she wanted she would yell, “NOTHING”. And then yell some more.
What the -------!!!!!
I felt like those poor guys in the military that get woken up in the middle of the night with cold water dumped on their heads, only to be drug outside and tortured. That fool was me. I felt just as helpless, just as out of control as they have to. Yes, we could punisher her, and we do. But when she gets like that, when she gets all mad monster on us, any kind of punishment just makes it worse. I usually ignore her, and she will come around rather quickly, but in a case like last night, when she’s on full steam ahead there is no getting through to her. She’s on a mission to conquer and destroy.
I’m so damn tired.

Tuesday, February 20, 2007

The Six Weird Things About Me. . .meme.

1. I am a nut about washing my hands, I swear I can smell germs.

2. I can NOT sleep in jeans or socks.

3. I can not bite down on anything made out of wood or fabric. It makes my teeth hurt.

4. If you grab my @$$ when I’m not expecting it, you WILL get hit, even if you are my darling hubby. It’s a reflex and I can’t help it.

5. My own body hurts whenever I see anyone missing any part of theirs.

6. I can’t fall asleep to the T.V. Ever.

Okay, now let me hear yours.

OOoow this Hurts.

Grandmother.
Stroke.
ICU.
Painful.

Friday, February 16, 2007

Rough, Rough

I’ve heard of these wives that spend a little extra time on themselves right before their husbands get home every day. They apply a little makeup, brush their hair, put on a clean shirt and maybe a little perfume. . .nice.
I however am not known to do that. I rarely look at myself in the mirror at all in a day and when I do, I scare myself so bad that I think I purposely avoid it next time.
Yep, my sweet husband does not come home to a well groomed, sweet smelling lovely wife. He’s more likely to meet a messy lady that is still wearing puppy ears from when the kids and I were playing dress up. I do my best to be convincing during these games, so smelling like a dog is just part of the fun. *strained grin. . .right?
It’s not that I don’t love my husband and want him to always find me irresistibly attractive, it’s just that life happens, and I’m always right in the middle of it.
I just thank God for his patience, and that he’s a man of vision.
But most of all. . . .

I thank God that he’s a dog lover.

Wednesday, February 14, 2007

Surprise your Heart Day

Valentine’s Day

Does it make your heart beat faster and a smile spread across your face. Or do your eyes roll back into your head as it repeatedly pounds against the wall. Do you get butterflies in your stomach or you lose your lunch?
For me. . . well, I’m a glutton for punishment, but I see magic. The same kind of magic that creeps in under the door and around the windows on Christmas Eve. The same magic that hangs in the night air and dares you to believe.
I see the magic of love.
That element of surprise that may pop out of someone’s heart when the stars align just so. . .
The idea that someone may do something, or say something that would be out of character for them, but that would let you see what you have longed to see in them. . .love.
Love for you.
We all want to be loved. We all know that we are loved, by someone, somewhere. But to get to see it, or feel it is such a treat.
I like Valentine’s Day.
Even when I was single it was somehow a magical day. And if no one surprised me with a declaration of love that year, I didn’t seem to notice. I was too busy watching, and thinking, and planning my own surprises.
Valentine’s Day is beautiful, if for no other reason than it fills the day with hope and love.
Happy Valentine’s Day people.
Let your own heart surprise you, and maybe someone you love.

Tuesday, February 13, 2007

We are sick. sick. sick.

We sound like a bunch of cartoon characters, with our ‘nobs all stuffy and stuff. There are bits of tissue everywhere. My 3 year old gets frantic when she can’t find one, so I leave them where she can. Everywhere. I took a hot bath last night and completely melted. It took all that I had in me to crawl out of the bath and into my bed. I was ready to pass out around 7:30 p.m. but didn’t get that privilege until 9:00 p.m. Hubby got up with Babyboy so all in all I slept about 12 hours! Un-freakin-believable! I swear that must be a record around here.
Sleep is such a rare commodity in this house. Hubby and I are to the point where we are not above begging, cheating, and stealing for it. We’ve bartered. “I’ll get up with the kids tonight, if you will let me sleep in in the morning.” We cry and we beg. It’s just the way it is around here.
Unfortunately I see no end in sight. With the three kids being as young as they are, it’s always a toss up as to who will get up next. Even if Babyboy decides to sleep through the night, his sisters don’t.
Yes, coffee helps, but there has to be a better way. I’ve even fantasized about ropin’ in a babysitter and saying goodbye and leaving out the front door, only to crawl back into my bedroom window for a undisturbed nap. Maybe one day. . .
Until then I am the zombie woman with unbrushed hair that can’t make complete senten….zzzzzzz.

Monday, February 5, 2007

Raise and Shine (part 1)

1:23 a.m. Babyboy wants a bottle.

2:33 a.m. 3 year old wants another sippy cup of milk. Not just milk, but Warm Chocolate Milk. And as she demands this she is standing on my side of the bed yelling at me. I threaten her life if she wakes up her baby brother and move faster than I would have thought possible at that time of morning. All the while telling myself that I HAVE to do something about her attitude. Then I look at the clock and think that maybe I shouldn't expect a lot out of a 3 year old at 3 a.m.

4:45 a.m. 3 year old wet the bed. This is extremely upsetting for her and I wonder why I forgot to put her in an overnight diaper. I didn't forget, it leaked. I strip the bed all the while "shhhh"ing her and begging her not to wake up her other siblings. She is warm, dry and armed with yet another warm chocolate milk sippy. I vaguely wonder what kind of mess I will awake to find and hope that this diaper holds up. I return to my bedroom and am greeted by the beautiful sleeping sounds of my gently snoring husband. I just happen to elbow him as I re-straightened my covers.

6:15 a.m. Hubby's alarm goes off. I hit him. He hits snooze.

6:24 a.m. Hubby's alarm goes off again. I nudge him. He hits snooze.

6:30 a.m. Babyboy starts to wiggle and whimper. I start praying, "Dear God, one more hour. One more hour will make all the difference."

6:45 a.m.* I ask Hubby to get baby, Hubby jumps out of bed saying something about being late. He is followed into the bathroom by a flying pillow. And so it begins.

*Hubby is not always this. . . unavailable. He is usually pretty "hands on"...but not today. I think he'll be bringing home dinner tonight.

To Be Continued...

Sunday, February 4, 2007

How sexy is this!?

So my husband’s not THAT bad.
Things I’ve overheard him say to the kids recently:

“If you want it, you have to give me a kiss.”
“Seatbelts are our friends.”
“Wait! Wait! Wait! Let me look at that before you eat it!”
“Don’t touch that it’s hot! Here let me do it.”
“I’m gona’ get you!!! (heehee)”
“Jesus love you this much.” Stretches his arms out wide.
“Do you have a bow bow, come here and Daddy will make it better.”
“Do you want chocolate in your milk? Don’t tell mom.”
“I love you.”

It doesn’t get any better than that!

Hello again...

Wow, I ran into a lady that I hadn’t seen in a very long time. Too long if you ask me.
It was so refreshing to listen to her again. She speaks with a compassionate, sympathetic voice that I hadn’t heard in a while. She seems wiser than I remember her, but I am grateful for her insight. She doesn’t seem to judge others harshly, and has a way of overlooking their shortcomings.
I hope that she pops in on a more regular basis.

Thursday, February 1, 2007

Sorry, this must have been meant for your other wife.

I think I’m insulted.
My husband; talented; smart; sexy, but apparently there is something wrong with his ears and maybe his eyes.. We have been married now for over 6 years. And throughout that entire time, I have never like mustard. I have not been overly fond of turkey and just a day or two ago had an entire conversation with this man about how much we don’t like Swiss cheese.
I ask him to bring home lunch today and I get a Swiss cheese, turkey sandwich with mustard. What the heck?! Was is really meant for his other wife???? The one that enjoys everything I don’t??
It’s not the sandwich guys, I mean, I get that it’s just a sandwich and what’s the big deal really. But I was more than a little surprised that this roommate of mine knows so little about me. Now I sound dramatic, I know. I will say in my defense that this is just the latest example, lame as it is, of how much I am going unnoticed around here… Hello!!!
I mean, I know my man.
I know . . . .hmmm. . . . I know HE doesn’t like Swiss cheese! And. . . . tomatoes, lettuce or onions. I know he loves extra pickles. Hates liver.
He prefers my hair down and likes to talk Big but runs like a girl if I call his bluff.
He says he doesn’t like cats, but he does, and he likes to steal my pillows, which he’s doing now.
I know that pillow thieven’ man of mine.
Why doesn’t he know me?
Why doesn’t he know how I like my sandwiches?
What kind of deodorant I use, what size clothes I wear, that I don’t have time to change the pictures on the digital picture frame that he gave me for my birthday.
Why doesn’t he know that I don’t like marshmallows in my ice cream, or steak sauce on my steak? It’s not like I ever keep quite about these things. . . .I’m not a doormat or anything.
And for the record, I know, my husband wouldn’t like it if I were. . . .
Maybe I’m too observant. Maybe I have too good of a memory. Maybe . . . . . .

I’ll just have to make liver for dinner tonight. . . .