I have been dabbling in this blogging world for quite some time. Mostly I keep to myself and honestly it is because this blog is self serving. It is not a money maker (I have NO idea how to get that started or I might toss myself right under the bus), it is not a sample spreader (no idea how to get that one started either), it is just little old me getting some junk off of my chest (in fact now that I think about it I'm sucking!). Way back in the days of writing on paper, I quietly began typing this beast and didn't tell anyone I was even doing it until I accidentally left a comment without signing out of blogger. Oops! Cat was out of the bag, I figured that if strangers were reading what I was writing about Dave, he ought to know that I was writing it. So three or four people pop in here now and then, but I have taken care to minimize the risks I take with my blog over the years. Lately I have been reminded just why.
Angry folks. Angry, hurtful, hateful, judgemental, snide, bitchy, I-don't-want-you-as-my-friend folks. I get that when you put your thoughts on the internet for all to see you are opening yourself to judgement, I get that. I also think that just because I say my butt is big doesn't mean you get to say my butt is big bitches. I think that I (by I, I mean parents at large) should be able to question a moment of my parenting day without every troll out there calling me on it. I want to be able to agonize over decisions for my children, as we all do, voice it here and not have some wackadoo call me on my shit and tell me I'm lazy. Bite me. Lazy. Try traumatized. Now don't worry mom (just in case you are back again) this isn't all about me. This is just a little call for compassion. Rant away, complain, cry, bitch, moan, but dear people do find it in your hearts not to attack. We learned it in preschool.
Tuesday, May 8, 2012
Wednesday, April 25, 2012
Mini Push
I have four days. Four days to give just a mini push, a mini push that I hope reaches the eyes, ears, hearts, and frankly pockets of the people that we know. The people who know us and have come to know and love Ben, because to even know of Ben is to love Ben. To know his fight, his heart, his laugh, his love, his temper, his propensity to flirt with pretty blonds is simply irresistible. The boy is amazing. The boy lived and lives everyday with an understanding that bewilders me.
He went form this...
To this...
in no small part because of the work done by the March Of Dimes. This Sunday we walk to support this organization in the hopes that someday we will see the end of the pictures like the first one, and only pictures like the second. Four days, we'll do our best.
Monday, April 16, 2012
These Little Things
Clearly I am running on empty (see time stamp on last post) but kiddo's don't know this and neither does the bus, so we get on with our morning bustle.
Our morning bustle is a well oiled machine. It allows for a misstep here, a minor delay there, but that is really all any of us can handle. Forty-eight minutes from my alarm going off until the bus pulling up is what the three of us need to drag sleepy bodies out of bed and pull together something fit for public viewing. Not me, I walk the dog out to the bus in my sweats and a ponytail, but at least I try to wipe away most of yesterdays make-up.
This morning was tough. Not for me because I haven't had enough sleep for my body to figure out what is going on yet, but for the kiddo's. I had sleepy kids who were dragging a step behind. Interestingly Ben pulled it together but being a step behind for him means that he didn't eat most of his breakfast. "I'll be OK, Mom," he said. But there he went nearly empty belly and I feel terrible that he won't complain. I feel terrible that he will be tired and unable to pay attention and forget that he doesn't feel good because he is hungry, not because he is sick.
I can't stand that he is nine and I am fretting over him not eating breakfast. If you are wondering what that sentence means exactly, take it any way you like. I am sure I have felt it in that way. No one could judge that sentence more or in more ways than I have, but I am getting off track.
The really interesting part of the morning was that Kiera wasn't pulling it together. She wanted to hug the cat, she wanted to hang out in the bathroom, she wanted to stare at the wall... When all of a sudden we had three minutes until the bus was going to be there and I had my girl in PJ's and my boy with no shoes on. Now that my friends is a pickle. What does a mama do when her freaking six year old asks for help getting dressed and her nine year old sits before her unable to get DAFO's into sneakers, let alone tie the damn things, just three minutes before the bus comes? You tell me how you balance parenting in this house. You tell me there is a such thing as fair because I will tell you right now, there is not. There is no bloody reason that I should have to play super mom and put Kiera's clothes next to me and "you can do it" talked her through it while I explained that I needed to help get Ben's DAFO's into his shoes. Ben even told her what a great job she did when she went from naked to bus stop in 2 2/1 minutes.
We did make it. She was so proud of all of us, not just herself. She wasn't upset or hurt or put out. "We made it Mom!" she said when she got on the bus. Team Us.
I sat back stunned at what a typical six year old could pull off in 2 1/2 minutes (she even grabbed a butterfly for her hair) and then my heart just crumbled because I asked her to because he can't.
Our morning bustle is a well oiled machine. It allows for a misstep here, a minor delay there, but that is really all any of us can handle. Forty-eight minutes from my alarm going off until the bus pulling up is what the three of us need to drag sleepy bodies out of bed and pull together something fit for public viewing. Not me, I walk the dog out to the bus in my sweats and a ponytail, but at least I try to wipe away most of yesterdays make-up.
This morning was tough. Not for me because I haven't had enough sleep for my body to figure out what is going on yet, but for the kiddo's. I had sleepy kids who were dragging a step behind. Interestingly Ben pulled it together but being a step behind for him means that he didn't eat most of his breakfast. "I'll be OK, Mom," he said. But there he went nearly empty belly and I feel terrible that he won't complain. I feel terrible that he will be tired and unable to pay attention and forget that he doesn't feel good because he is hungry, not because he is sick.
I can't stand that he is nine and I am fretting over him not eating breakfast. If you are wondering what that sentence means exactly, take it any way you like. I am sure I have felt it in that way. No one could judge that sentence more or in more ways than I have, but I am getting off track.
The really interesting part of the morning was that Kiera wasn't pulling it together. She wanted to hug the cat, she wanted to hang out in the bathroom, she wanted to stare at the wall... When all of a sudden we had three minutes until the bus was going to be there and I had my girl in PJ's and my boy with no shoes on. Now that my friends is a pickle. What does a mama do when her freaking six year old asks for help getting dressed and her nine year old sits before her unable to get DAFO's into sneakers, let alone tie the damn things, just three minutes before the bus comes? You tell me how you balance parenting in this house. You tell me there is a such thing as fair because I will tell you right now, there is not. There is no bloody reason that I should have to play super mom and put Kiera's clothes next to me and "you can do it" talked her through it while I explained that I needed to help get Ben's DAFO's into his shoes. Ben even told her what a great job she did when she went from naked to bus stop in 2 2/1 minutes.
We did make it. She was so proud of all of us, not just herself. She wasn't upset or hurt or put out. "We made it Mom!" she said when she got on the bus. Team Us.
I sat back stunned at what a typical six year old could pull off in 2 1/2 minutes (she even grabbed a butterfly for her hair) and then my heart just crumbled because I asked her to because he can't.
How Ya Doing?
How ya doing? I ask the question and find myself wondering for an answer regardless. It is the question that, quite literally, has me up at night. How are they doing? How are we doing? How am I doing for that matter?
It's the goofy little triggers that all add up on one day that make me dream and wish and beg with all of my heart for Ben to answer that question for me. I wish for answers to all kinds of questions, like why sometimes I can get answers and sometimes can't. Why were you yelling all day? Why are you crying out in your sleep? Lost party invitation for Ben is making me nuts but I won't know how he feels until he is so disappointed, or not. Kiera has been up twice just to tell me she loves me after going to sleep so sad. And she is just your typical wreck of a six year old.
So, how ya doing, because I have no idea. It's all good but just a bit of a mess. Or is it all a mess but still good? Tomorrow(today) is Monday and my lovely madness will get on the bus and I will try to write a couple of papers and channel some super mom powers of let it be what it is. Now please, let me sleep.
It's the goofy little triggers that all add up on one day that make me dream and wish and beg with all of my heart for Ben to answer that question for me. I wish for answers to all kinds of questions, like why sometimes I can get answers and sometimes can't. Why were you yelling all day? Why are you crying out in your sleep? Lost party invitation for Ben is making me nuts but I won't know how he feels until he is so disappointed, or not. Kiera has been up twice just to tell me she loves me after going to sleep so sad. And she is just your typical wreck of a six year old.
So, how ya doing, because I have no idea. It's all good but just a bit of a mess. Or is it all a mess but still good? Tomorrow(today) is Monday and my lovely madness will get on the bus and I will try to write a couple of papers and channel some super mom powers of let it be what it is. Now please, let me sleep.
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