It was in the 50's today and I decided that it would be a good idea to take down the Christmas lights while we still had a chance before bad weather strikes again. We're expecting pretty bad storms and then a drop back into the 30's tomorrow. This plan would have gone over better if our whole family wasn't sick.
The little ones are finally getting over the flu. MJ is down and out and I can feel the faintest tickle in the back of my throat, so I know my turn is coming. But weather like this is very rare in the middle of winter, so I told MJ I could take the lights down by myself. He objected. I pointed to the couch and out the door I went.
All was going well. I figured I would leave the icicle lights for MJ, but I could get all of the bushes and trees done. I was working on the last tree and I quickly figured I was going to need something to help me untangle the lights from the upper branches. I went back to the garage to look around. I knew when MJ put them up, he had used a special hook on the end of a pole, but if we still had it, it wasn't in here. Something caught my eye and I turned and decided that this would work instead- a paint roller attached to a long pole- perfect!
I gently raised the end with the paint roller through the branches and looped it around the light strand. I gave a gentle tug and...nothing. The branch had a tight hold on them and they were wedged in a comfy little fork. I looped through the lights again and tried lifting them up. The branches moved, the lights didn't. I decided to try going for the end of the lights strand at the top of the tree. I couldn't unwrap my roller from the lights. I twisted and turned and pulled.
Crap.
I let go of the pole and took a step back. The roller and the lights were hanging from the tree. Just as I was about to go back and try again, a hoarse voice from behind said,
"You're kidding me, right?"
I began laughing and asked MJ, "How long have you been standing there?"
"Long enough," he said. He came over and within two minutes had the paint roller and lights out of the tree. I knew he wouldn't be able to let me take down the lights alone- it's a Man's Job, after all.
"My hero," I said, and dramatically batted my eyes with hands clasped under my chin. "Would you like me to help you with the ones on the roof?"
MJ looked from the tree to me and then to the two-story roof of our house. "That's okay, I think I can manage."
Thursday, December 30, 2010
Sunday, December 26, 2010
Anticlimactic Christmas
All of the presents are unwrapped and the tins that held cookies and fudge are already washed and stored away. For weeks I've run around getting presents for family and friends, planning the dinner menu, and enjoying parties at school and with friends. The big buildup that comes before Christmas is like taking a deep breath and holding it, then the day comes and it's over before you know it- very anti-climactic, and I sit on the couch and think, huh, why did I get so worked up over this? But it's the same every year.
The night before E had trouble getting to sleep- he was too excited. So MJ and I had to wait until 1am to put presents under the tree. Bright-eyed and bushy tailed both boys appeared at my bedside at 6am ready to rip into the bounty that "Santa" had left under the tree. What took hours to wrap took minutes to tear through. Afterward, the boys looked at us and asked, "Was that everything?"
I know two kids who will NOT be getting as much for Christmas next year.
Once we got past the ungratefulness, the day was very quiet and relaxing. MJ and I helped E and C put their new Lego sets together. We played more video games than we should have and ate way too much junk food. MJ and I cooked dinner together and it was just as good as the holiday meals we used to travel to WV for.
By the days end we had one son with a fever and one well on his way to joining his brother in Sickville, a Mom with a bellyache due to too much turkey and Hershey Kisses, and one husband who was winding up a marathon of zombie shooting on the X-Box 360.
With New Year's closing in and MJ's birthday arriving soon after, I'm reluctant to take down any decorations until then. Packing everything away makes me sad and cold weather isn't as much fun without a Christmas tree. I want to curl up on the couch with a blanket and my new layer of holiday fat and hibernate until spring.
The night before E had trouble getting to sleep- he was too excited. So MJ and I had to wait until 1am to put presents under the tree. Bright-eyed and bushy tailed both boys appeared at my bedside at 6am ready to rip into the bounty that "Santa" had left under the tree. What took hours to wrap took minutes to tear through. Afterward, the boys looked at us and asked, "Was that everything?"
I know two kids who will NOT be getting as much for Christmas next year.
Once we got past the ungratefulness, the day was very quiet and relaxing. MJ and I helped E and C put their new Lego sets together. We played more video games than we should have and ate way too much junk food. MJ and I cooked dinner together and it was just as good as the holiday meals we used to travel to WV for.
By the days end we had one son with a fever and one well on his way to joining his brother in Sickville, a Mom with a bellyache due to too much turkey and Hershey Kisses, and one husband who was winding up a marathon of zombie shooting on the X-Box 360.
With New Year's closing in and MJ's birthday arriving soon after, I'm reluctant to take down any decorations until then. Packing everything away makes me sad and cold weather isn't as much fun without a Christmas tree. I want to curl up on the couch with a blanket and my new layer of holiday fat and hibernate until spring.
Wednesday, December 15, 2010
Things We Learn From Peter Griffin
I remember being 8 years old and running around our neighborhood with no parents in sight. There was a great place we called the "Dirt Pile", and it was just that. A few empty lots in the back of our neighborhood where three huge piles of dirt had been bulldozed and left. Trees and brush had begun to take over the hills and they resembled an oasis in the middle of a desert. Of course we were forbidden to play there- and of course we played there anyway. That day, many years ago, there were three of us playing in the little valley: me, my brother, and his friend Mike. I had learned a new phrase recently and was trying to use it every chance I got. To every statement or question I would answer:
"No shit Sherlock."
I knew if my Dad caught wind of my potty mouth he would switch me until I couldn't sit down for a week. When my brother threatened to tell, I reminded him:
"You tell on me, I'll tell Dad I saw you and Mike setting fire to your GI Joes."
First rule in sparring with siblings: you always keep an inventory of dirt on them.
I was cursing, but I was smart enough not to do it in front of my parents because there would be consequences.
Fast forward to December 10, 2010. I picked the boys up from school and told them I needed to return a movie.
"Will it take long?" E whined in the back seat. he was in a hurry to get home to play X-Box.
"No, it will only take a few minutes," I said. "Need I remind you this is the movie we rented for you two."
"Can we stay in the car?" C asked.
"Yes," I answered, knowing I could park directly in front of the Redbox. (Movies for a buck? Seriously? Who uses Blockbuster anymore?)
"Thank Christ."
"What did you say?!" The children were scared. As I repeated the question, giving them no time to respond, my voice had reached a pitch that only dogs could hear.
"Where did you hear that?"
Silence from the backseat.
E finally piped up, "We heard it on Family Guy Star Wars."
Oh, crap. The Family Guy Star Wars episode. It was my idea to let them watch it on the way to WV over Thanksgiving. MJ had objected, but I'd watched it before and assured him that there was nothing really bad in it. If he got wind of this little gem the kids picked up, I'd never hear the end of it. Already when he would catch me watching Family Guy after the kids were in bed, I would feel ashamed as he rolled his eyes and sighed. I'd resorted to quickly changing the channel when he came into the room to HGTV.
When we got home, I had a long talk with the boys about appropriate language and told them they would not be allowed to watch the Star Wars episode of Family Guy again. Later that night, once the whining died down, I heard the boys snickering in the living room.
"What's so funny?" I asked.
E immediately pointed at C, "C said a dirty word!"
I was livid. We had literally just talked about this. I would have been smacked in the mouth for saying dirty words. My Dad jumped all over me at the mall once for saying 'freakin' -and I was 13, not 6. I told C, "That is it. Go to your room and bring me a dollar from your bank and we're going to put it in a Swear Jar. Every time you say a bad word, you are going to do this. If you have no money, you will have to write an IOU and whatever money you get-allowance, birthday, whatever- will go in the jar. Now go."
C stomped upstairs to retrieve the money.
While he was out of earshot, I asked E, "What did he say?"
E leaned close and whispered, "ASS- teroid."
Ah, Christ.
"No shit Sherlock."
I knew if my Dad caught wind of my potty mouth he would switch me until I couldn't sit down for a week. When my brother threatened to tell, I reminded him:
"You tell on me, I'll tell Dad I saw you and Mike setting fire to your GI Joes."
First rule in sparring with siblings: you always keep an inventory of dirt on them.
I was cursing, but I was smart enough not to do it in front of my parents because there would be consequences.
Fast forward to December 10, 2010. I picked the boys up from school and told them I needed to return a movie.
"Will it take long?" E whined in the back seat. he was in a hurry to get home to play X-Box.
"No, it will only take a few minutes," I said. "Need I remind you this is the movie we rented for you two."
"Can we stay in the car?" C asked.
"Yes," I answered, knowing I could park directly in front of the Redbox. (Movies for a buck? Seriously? Who uses Blockbuster anymore?)
"Thank Christ."
"What did you say?!" The children were scared. As I repeated the question, giving them no time to respond, my voice had reached a pitch that only dogs could hear.
"Where did you hear that?"
Silence from the backseat.
E finally piped up, "We heard it on Family Guy Star Wars."
Oh, crap. The Family Guy Star Wars episode. It was my idea to let them watch it on the way to WV over Thanksgiving. MJ had objected, but I'd watched it before and assured him that there was nothing really bad in it. If he got wind of this little gem the kids picked up, I'd never hear the end of it. Already when he would catch me watching Family Guy after the kids were in bed, I would feel ashamed as he rolled his eyes and sighed. I'd resorted to quickly changing the channel when he came into the room to HGTV.
When we got home, I had a long talk with the boys about appropriate language and told them they would not be allowed to watch the Star Wars episode of Family Guy again. Later that night, once the whining died down, I heard the boys snickering in the living room.
"What's so funny?" I asked.
E immediately pointed at C, "C said a dirty word!"
I was livid. We had literally just talked about this. I would have been smacked in the mouth for saying dirty words. My Dad jumped all over me at the mall once for saying 'freakin' -and I was 13, not 6. I told C, "That is it. Go to your room and bring me a dollar from your bank and we're going to put it in a Swear Jar. Every time you say a bad word, you are going to do this. If you have no money, you will have to write an IOU and whatever money you get-allowance, birthday, whatever- will go in the jar. Now go."
C stomped upstairs to retrieve the money.
While he was out of earshot, I asked E, "What did he say?"
E leaned close and whispered, "ASS- teroid."
Ah, Christ.
Tuesday, December 7, 2010
Away in a Manger
Christmas came early this year- for me anyway. My husband, wanting to make up for the Great Bath Towel Gift Debacle of 2009, or Towel-Gate, as I like to call it- was busting at the seams to surprise me with my present. He knew he had selected the perfect present this year, however.
MJ is a practical man who picks out practical presents. I should feel lucky after talking to friends, to get gifts at all, but it's hard to feel excited when your husband presents you with a pillow for your bed or pots and pans. Christmas is a time for wants not needs. Pile on top of that the fact that exactly 1 minute after he purchases my gift he is positively flitting around the house trying to make me guess what it is. I almost always do and instead of denying it or playing it off (MJ is a horrible liar) he stomps his foot, gets angry, and says, "You're no fun. You always ruin the surprise." To be fair- the bath towels were a complete surprise. Did I mention, BATH TOWELS?
This year was no different as I spied the Willow Tree boxes in his home office while searching for some scotch tape.
"Oh, ho, ho, what do we have here?" I asked pulling the box from under his desk.
"You can never let anything be a surprise." MJ huffed.
"So, let's see the rest of it!" I had been asking for the Willow Tree Nativity for years to no avail. MJ had finally come through with a completely impractical gift. As I unwrapped shepherds, wisemen, and Mary with Baby Jesus I wove tales of how this would be passed on in our family for generations. Then I got to the last box...
"Where's the manger?" Let it be known, along with my requests for the Nativity, I had printed pictures.
"You never showed me a manger!" MJ feigned shock. I knew that he knew that he had seen a picture of the exact set that included a friggen' manger.
"Where is baby Jesus going to rest his weary head?" I asked, holding Mary out for his inspection. "Her arms are going to get pretty tired lugging Christ around all day."
"I got the rest of the figures for you, just set them on top of the cabinet. It will be fine," MJ said rolling his eyes. "You're so dramatic."
"I'm dramatic?" I asked, "Well, let me clue you in, oh husband of mine. The song goes, "Away in a MANGER, not Away on a DESKTOP."
"Yeah, well, it also said he had no crib for a bed." MJ crossed his arms and looked mighty satisfied with himself. I'm glad he was happy, because he wasn't winning any sexy-time points.
"FINE- I will arrange my white trash nativity on the freaking cabinet and all will be MERRY AND BRIGHT." I stomped out on another Christmas song reference- hey, why stop now.
I knew I was being a brat, that was predictable. What was also predictable- MJ getting online and ordering that manger.
Sexy-time points reinstated.
MJ is a practical man who picks out practical presents. I should feel lucky after talking to friends, to get gifts at all, but it's hard to feel excited when your husband presents you with a pillow for your bed or pots and pans. Christmas is a time for wants not needs. Pile on top of that the fact that exactly 1 minute after he purchases my gift he is positively flitting around the house trying to make me guess what it is. I almost always do and instead of denying it or playing it off (MJ is a horrible liar) he stomps his foot, gets angry, and says, "You're no fun. You always ruin the surprise." To be fair- the bath towels were a complete surprise. Did I mention, BATH TOWELS?
This year was no different as I spied the Willow Tree boxes in his home office while searching for some scotch tape.
"Oh, ho, ho, what do we have here?" I asked pulling the box from under his desk.
"You can never let anything be a surprise." MJ huffed.
"So, let's see the rest of it!" I had been asking for the Willow Tree Nativity for years to no avail. MJ had finally come through with a completely impractical gift. As I unwrapped shepherds, wisemen, and Mary with Baby Jesus I wove tales of how this would be passed on in our family for generations. Then I got to the last box...
"Where's the manger?" Let it be known, along with my requests for the Nativity, I had printed pictures.
"You never showed me a manger!" MJ feigned shock. I knew that he knew that he had seen a picture of the exact set that included a friggen' manger.
"Where is baby Jesus going to rest his weary head?" I asked, holding Mary out for his inspection. "Her arms are going to get pretty tired lugging Christ around all day."
"I got the rest of the figures for you, just set them on top of the cabinet. It will be fine," MJ said rolling his eyes. "You're so dramatic."
"I'm dramatic?" I asked, "Well, let me clue you in, oh husband of mine. The song goes, "Away in a MANGER, not Away on a DESKTOP."
"Yeah, well, it also said he had no crib for a bed." MJ crossed his arms and looked mighty satisfied with himself. I'm glad he was happy, because he wasn't winning any sexy-time points.
"FINE- I will arrange my white trash nativity on the freaking cabinet and all will be MERRY AND BRIGHT." I stomped out on another Christmas song reference- hey, why stop now.
I knew I was being a brat, that was predictable. What was also predictable- MJ getting online and ordering that manger.
Sexy-time points reinstated.
Tuesday, November 30, 2010
Let's Give Thanks
Ah, Thanksgiving. A time to get together with friends and loved ones and be thankful for what you have whether it be your health, your home, food on the table, or all of the above. I love this time of year. Traveling to my parents house, getting up early on Thanksgiving morning and helping put together casseroles and pies, getting the turkey to the oven...
But dontcha just know it? A few weeks ago, my brother and I got into an argument that was so blown out of proportion our trip was nearly canceled and I ended up staying a night with my in-laws- which is an indicator of just how bad things were: I never stay there. (*See side note) There is drama in every family, I'm just usually not at the center of it. I'd much rather watch the sideshow from the bleachers, not while in the center ring.
After surviving lunch with the in-laws (surviving being no exaggeration), MJ and I headed out to have dinner with my family. My youngest brother and his wife hosted at their new home this year. It was very ambitious- I never would have had the cahonas at 21 to cook for 10 on a major holiday. But she is an excellent cook and she and my baby brother could make an Eskimo at home in hell.
The evening went much better than expected, but a little alcohol can make everyone more agreeable. Being back in West Virginia reminds me just how much I miss my family. Even if one of them behaves like a complete jackass, family get-togethers really are not the same unless we're all together. My grandmother passed away two years ago in October. She was the glue that held the family together. Every Thanksgiving, relatives near and far would travel to spend the day, laughing, talking, reminiscing...
I'm married with my own children. I want them to remember the trips to their Grandma's as full of love and family and fun- not their mother chucking a bowl of peas at their Uncle's head. As it stands, nothing was thrown- peas or insults- and it was a pretty relaxing holiday. And even if the ceasefire was only for Thanksgiving weekend- I am thankful.
** Prior to the Wed. before Thanksgiving, I have not stayed the night at my inlaws since the great temperature debate of 2001. I asked if we could turn the heat up in a guest bedroom where my husband and I would be sleeping with our one month old son. She replied that it wasn't cold in there and proceeded to place a thermometer in the room to prove her point. That same night she also asked me if I would like to blow dry my hair before bed, she would hate for me to catch cold. When I declined, she brought a towel in to put over the bed pillow, so my wet hair would not cause the pillow to mildew. She a peach.
But dontcha just know it? A few weeks ago, my brother and I got into an argument that was so blown out of proportion our trip was nearly canceled and I ended up staying a night with my in-laws- which is an indicator of just how bad things were: I never stay there. (*See side note) There is drama in every family, I'm just usually not at the center of it. I'd much rather watch the sideshow from the bleachers, not while in the center ring.
After surviving lunch with the in-laws (surviving being no exaggeration), MJ and I headed out to have dinner with my family. My youngest brother and his wife hosted at their new home this year. It was very ambitious- I never would have had the cahonas at 21 to cook for 10 on a major holiday. But she is an excellent cook and she and my baby brother could make an Eskimo at home in hell.
The evening went much better than expected, but a little alcohol can make everyone more agreeable. Being back in West Virginia reminds me just how much I miss my family. Even if one of them behaves like a complete jackass, family get-togethers really are not the same unless we're all together. My grandmother passed away two years ago in October. She was the glue that held the family together. Every Thanksgiving, relatives near and far would travel to spend the day, laughing, talking, reminiscing...
I'm married with my own children. I want them to remember the trips to their Grandma's as full of love and family and fun- not their mother chucking a bowl of peas at their Uncle's head. As it stands, nothing was thrown- peas or insults- and it was a pretty relaxing holiday. And even if the ceasefire was only for Thanksgiving weekend- I am thankful.
** Prior to the Wed. before Thanksgiving, I have not stayed the night at my inlaws since the great temperature debate of 2001. I asked if we could turn the heat up in a guest bedroom where my husband and I would be sleeping with our one month old son. She replied that it wasn't cold in there and proceeded to place a thermometer in the room to prove her point. That same night she also asked me if I would like to blow dry my hair before bed, she would hate for me to catch cold. When I declined, she brought a towel in to put over the bed pillow, so my wet hair would not cause the pillow to mildew. She a peach.
Tuesday, November 16, 2010
Full of Surprises
Sitting at the kitchen table with a steaming cup of coffee and the newspaper is one of my favorite ways to spend a Sunday morning. My husband and I like to share the stories that catch our attention and just chat in general all in the comfy, flannel warmth of our PJ's. MJ is my best friend and I feel I know him better than anyone. Sometimes, though, he surprises me. Looking through the sales papers this weekend he looked up at me and said, "I think I would like to make myself a belt."
I waited for the punchline. When it didn't come, I asked, "Like, out of leather?" I knew he needed a belt and that is why I had bought him two hidden in bags upstairs with other Christmas gifts. But maybe he wanted to be crafty and hey, leather-working may be interesting...
"No, not out of leather," MJ said, grinning, "Out of chain."
"Like a braided leather?" I asked, still not getting it.
"No, like a silver chain. I could use a D-ring to bring it all together." He sat back in his chair with a look that could only be described, by me, as confident lunacy.
Wanting to not stifle my husbands creativity or bruise his ego, I asked, "Do you think that would go with your khakis and polos?"
MJ sat for a moment and a light bulb all but appeared over his head, "I could wear it with jeans."
In my mind I saw MJ and our two boys, who want to emulate him in every way, hiking up jeans being drug down by heavy metal chains and D-rings. I gathered the paper and my coffee and started for the sofa. Behind me MJ called out, "Hey, where are you going? What do you think?"
"I think," I said, "I'm going to pretend this conversation never happened."
I waited for the punchline. When it didn't come, I asked, "Like, out of leather?" I knew he needed a belt and that is why I had bought him two hidden in bags upstairs with other Christmas gifts. But maybe he wanted to be crafty and hey, leather-working may be interesting...
"No, not out of leather," MJ said, grinning, "Out of chain."
"Like a braided leather?" I asked, still not getting it.
"No, like a silver chain. I could use a D-ring to bring it all together." He sat back in his chair with a look that could only be described, by me, as confident lunacy.
Wanting to not stifle my husbands creativity or bruise his ego, I asked, "Do you think that would go with your khakis and polos?"
MJ sat for a moment and a light bulb all but appeared over his head, "I could wear it with jeans."
In my mind I saw MJ and our two boys, who want to emulate him in every way, hiking up jeans being drug down by heavy metal chains and D-rings. I gathered the paper and my coffee and started for the sofa. Behind me MJ called out, "Hey, where are you going? What do you think?"
"I think," I said, "I'm going to pretend this conversation never happened."
Friday, October 1, 2010
Visiting the Neighbors
I'm a responsible pet owner. What that means to me is: I do not let my dog roam the neighborhood, he's always on a leash when not in our yard, and when we go out for a walk or run, I always clean up after him.
Today we went for our normal walk/run combo. The course I take when I run alone is along main streets and through neighborhoods where there are always people around. It's safe. Or safer anyway. It's pretty convenient when my running partner, Dan, decides to let go about halfway into our jog because it is right behind our house. That was the case today. So, I bagged up the poo, knotted the bag, and pitched it over the privacy fence into our backyard where I would retrieve it after I finished exercising.
I brought Dan inside and searched the backyard. I couldn't find the black bag anywhere. I even looked in the trees. That's when I realized I must have thrown it into a neighbors yard by mistake. Crap. I walked next door and rang the bell. The couple had only moved in a few weeks before and while I had exchanged a few words with the husband, I had never met the wife.
When she came to the door I introduced myself and told her that I may have thrown dog poo in her backyard and would like to go back to collect it. After all, I didn't want to be caught slinking around their backyard poking around their trees. She was very sweet to someone that air-raided her home with doggy-doo. I went to the backyard, but the bag was nowhere to be seen. Crap. I locked their gate and went to the next house and rang the bell. This was the home of my good friend Teri and her husband, Chris. Their house is almost identical to ours, especially in the back, and when I told Teri what happened she laughed. Chris popped up behind her and said, "I thought I saw a black bag out there. I told Teri that someone threw a bag of dog shit in our backyard." I said, "Yep, that was me! And I have been tracking it down for about 20 minutes now." I entered their perfectly landscaped yard and grabbed the elusive black bag.
NOT the way I wanted to visit with the neighbors. I much prefer block parties or leisurely talking over the fence, or congregating in the cul-de-sac with drinks- not searching for shit through backyards. It's nice to know everyone has a good sense of humor.
Today we went for our normal walk/run combo. The course I take when I run alone is along main streets and through neighborhoods where there are always people around. It's safe. Or safer anyway. It's pretty convenient when my running partner, Dan, decides to let go about halfway into our jog because it is right behind our house. That was the case today. So, I bagged up the poo, knotted the bag, and pitched it over the privacy fence into our backyard where I would retrieve it after I finished exercising.
I brought Dan inside and searched the backyard. I couldn't find the black bag anywhere. I even looked in the trees. That's when I realized I must have thrown it into a neighbors yard by mistake. Crap. I walked next door and rang the bell. The couple had only moved in a few weeks before and while I had exchanged a few words with the husband, I had never met the wife.
When she came to the door I introduced myself and told her that I may have thrown dog poo in her backyard and would like to go back to collect it. After all, I didn't want to be caught slinking around their backyard poking around their trees. She was very sweet to someone that air-raided her home with doggy-doo. I went to the backyard, but the bag was nowhere to be seen. Crap. I locked their gate and went to the next house and rang the bell. This was the home of my good friend Teri and her husband, Chris. Their house is almost identical to ours, especially in the back, and when I told Teri what happened she laughed. Chris popped up behind her and said, "I thought I saw a black bag out there. I told Teri that someone threw a bag of dog shit in our backyard." I said, "Yep, that was me! And I have been tracking it down for about 20 minutes now." I entered their perfectly landscaped yard and grabbed the elusive black bag.
NOT the way I wanted to visit with the neighbors. I much prefer block parties or leisurely talking over the fence, or congregating in the cul-de-sac with drinks- not searching for shit through backyards. It's nice to know everyone has a good sense of humor.
Thursday, September 30, 2010
Wednesday, September 8, 2010
Drowning
If you have a friend or know someone with a child who has a disability, developmental delay, or behavioral problems, you're probably all up to date on that child's therapies, medications, issue of the day...and you're also probably tired of listening if that's all she talks about. It probably puts a strain on your friendship- even if you never want to admit it. I am that mother. I talk about it because it's consuming my life, has consumed my life. I'm sick of hearing myself talk about it.
I am struggling. I am a mother who loves both of her children with all her heart, but feel I am failing them. Dealing with my oldest is a challenge. It's a challenge I have faced every day for the past 8 years- daycares, pediatricians, specialists, counselors, psychiatrists, schools, principals- it all starts to run together. While I searched desperately, trying to put a name on what was happening, relatives and my own husband kept telling me "there is nothing wrong", "he's fine", "he's just a boy". It's only been in the past couple of years that they have finally joined the party and name/names got stamped into the medical chart. I thought naming it would help me know how to "fix" it- it doesn't. Hell, it doesn't even help with the insurance.
My youngest is an overachiever. He's a mender, a peace-keeper. He sees when I'm sad and says, "Mom, I was so good today. Does that make you happy, Mom?" And this breaks my heart. He asks why he can't go to group therapy too. He doesn't understand, even when I try to explain it in ways I hope he can comprehend, that it's not a reward, it's not something we're letting his older brother do. He brings home perfect papers, writes stories about happy lions and makes up songs and he looks to make sure it's making me smile. So much time and attention is spent trying to help our oldest, I feel I am not providing my little guy enough of what he needs.
My husband wonders why I am so exhausted at the end of the day I fall asleep on the couch soon after the kids go to bed. He wants to spend time together, but he never seems to understand, I am drained emotionally as well as physically. The guilt and stress are 100lb weights strapped to my back and I feel like I have been dropped in the middle of an ocean and I'm having a hard time keeping my head above water. Everyone needs me, every ounce of my energy goes to my family. There are plenty of times when I've stared out my patio doors and thought, I could get in the car and just drive away. But I don't, I couldn't. They need me. I resent it, and I hate myself for feeling this way. I feel I am standing in a crowded room screaming and no one hears me.
I like having a plan. I like having a goal, an end point. There is nothing more satisfying to me than identifying a problem, mapping out a plan and fixing it. But with this problem, there is no quick fix, or even a fix at all. Just a slow, plodding guessing game with hurdles that are jumped one day just to be tripped over the next. Someone told me this is not a sprint, it's a marathon. I've got miles to go, and I am so damned tired.
I am struggling. I am a mother who loves both of her children with all her heart, but feel I am failing them. Dealing with my oldest is a challenge. It's a challenge I have faced every day for the past 8 years- daycares, pediatricians, specialists, counselors, psychiatrists, schools, principals- it all starts to run together. While I searched desperately, trying to put a name on what was happening, relatives and my own husband kept telling me "there is nothing wrong", "he's fine", "he's just a boy". It's only been in the past couple of years that they have finally joined the party and name/names got stamped into the medical chart. I thought naming it would help me know how to "fix" it- it doesn't. Hell, it doesn't even help with the insurance.
My youngest is an overachiever. He's a mender, a peace-keeper. He sees when I'm sad and says, "Mom, I was so good today. Does that make you happy, Mom?" And this breaks my heart. He asks why he can't go to group therapy too. He doesn't understand, even when I try to explain it in ways I hope he can comprehend, that it's not a reward, it's not something we're letting his older brother do. He brings home perfect papers, writes stories about happy lions and makes up songs and he looks to make sure it's making me smile. So much time and attention is spent trying to help our oldest, I feel I am not providing my little guy enough of what he needs.
My husband wonders why I am so exhausted at the end of the day I fall asleep on the couch soon after the kids go to bed. He wants to spend time together, but he never seems to understand, I am drained emotionally as well as physically. The guilt and stress are 100lb weights strapped to my back and I feel like I have been dropped in the middle of an ocean and I'm having a hard time keeping my head above water. Everyone needs me, every ounce of my energy goes to my family. There are plenty of times when I've stared out my patio doors and thought, I could get in the car and just drive away. But I don't, I couldn't. They need me. I resent it, and I hate myself for feeling this way. I feel I am standing in a crowded room screaming and no one hears me.
I like having a plan. I like having a goal, an end point. There is nothing more satisfying to me than identifying a problem, mapping out a plan and fixing it. But with this problem, there is no quick fix, or even a fix at all. Just a slow, plodding guessing game with hurdles that are jumped one day just to be tripped over the next. Someone told me this is not a sprint, it's a marathon. I've got miles to go, and I am so damned tired.
Sunday, September 5, 2010
Happiness = No Painting
Thursday: 3 Miles Walking with Dan and Husband
2 Miles Running
Friday: 3 miles Walking
6-7 Miles Cycling
Saturday: Painting, Oh My Gawd, the Painting
2 Miles Running
Friday: 3 miles Walking
6-7 Miles Cycling
Saturday: Painting, Oh My Gawd, the Painting
I don't know what I was thinking when I let my then 5-year-old decide what color he wanted his room painted. It was his room and I honestly thought that no matter what color he picked, we could make it work. He reeeaaally wanted black (!) but he settled on "Midnight Sky" which is about as close to black as you can get. But I assured my husband that we could add glow-in-the-dark stars to the ceiling and give him a space theme. For the past 6 months, my youngest son has been sleeping in the black hole of man-caves. The color sucks all light from every source. It's even dim in the middle of a sunny afternoon. I haven't said a word about changing it, after all, it's his room and as long as he's happy, I'll happily look the other way.
We were running errands yesterday when Little Man pipes up and says, "I don't like the color of my room, can we change it?" Hallelujah! We made a beeline for Lowes and quickly selected a boy-ish green (with the pansy name "Green Tea Leaves") before he could change his mind. The husband was skeptical we could do this in a weekend- he had 16 trees to plant and landscape in the backyard. It's a 3 day weekend, I reminded him. Besides, we would help each other and get it done.
Three hours later...I had my painters tape up and the primer mixed and I was ready to go! I attempted to get started on Little Man's room, but the primer was just not sticking to the blue paint. I had stepped off the ladder and into the paint tray, cracking it down the side, and had gotten drops of white paint on his blue bedspread. I threw the roller in the pan and went out back to sulk. The Husband was almost done planting and preparing to put down landscaping tarp when he saw me with my bottom lip hanging out and my brow furrowed.
T.H. and I will never have our own show on HGTV. Home repair and remodel brings out the worst in us. Even something as simple as hanging pictures could end up being a cause for divorce- at the very least, we settle for not speaking to each other for the rest of the day. But, T.H. is a Good Guy, and Good Guys can see when a lady(albeit a bitchy one) is in distress. So he put down his shovel and helped me fix the mess I'd made.
Up at 6:45 with one stuffy kiddo and one stuffy self, T.H. and I have several hours of painting in front of us. We had plans to paint our laundry room and dining room. I think for the sake of our marriage, we'll let professionals take care of it.
We were running errands yesterday when Little Man pipes up and says, "I don't like the color of my room, can we change it?" Hallelujah! We made a beeline for Lowes and quickly selected a boy-ish green (with the pansy name "Green Tea Leaves") before he could change his mind. The husband was skeptical we could do this in a weekend- he had 16 trees to plant and landscape in the backyard. It's a 3 day weekend, I reminded him. Besides, we would help each other and get it done.
Three hours later...I had my painters tape up and the primer mixed and I was ready to go! I attempted to get started on Little Man's room, but the primer was just not sticking to the blue paint. I had stepped off the ladder and into the paint tray, cracking it down the side, and had gotten drops of white paint on his blue bedspread. I threw the roller in the pan and went out back to sulk. The Husband was almost done planting and preparing to put down landscaping tarp when he saw me with my bottom lip hanging out and my brow furrowed.
T.H. and I will never have our own show on HGTV. Home repair and remodel brings out the worst in us. Even something as simple as hanging pictures could end up being a cause for divorce- at the very least, we settle for not speaking to each other for the rest of the day. But, T.H. is a Good Guy, and Good Guys can see when a lady(albeit a bitchy one) is in distress. So he put down his shovel and helped me fix the mess I'd made.
Up at 6:45 with one stuffy kiddo and one stuffy self, T.H. and I have several hours of painting in front of us. We had plans to paint our laundry room and dining room. I think for the sake of our marriage, we'll let professionals take care of it.
Wednesday, September 1, 2010
Getting Back Into the Swing of It
Sunday Night: 2 Miles Running with Dan
Monday: Weights (Chest and Triceps)
3 Miles Walking with Husband and Dan
Tuesday: 2 Miles Running with Dan the Man
3 miles Walking with Husband and a very tired Dan
Wednesday: Weights (Back, Biceps, and Legs)
3 miles Walking with Husband and Dog- in the rain.
Monday: Weights (Chest and Triceps)
3 Miles Walking with Husband and Dan
Tuesday: 2 Miles Running with Dan the Man
3 miles Walking with Husband and a very tired Dan
Wednesday: Weights (Back, Biceps, and Legs)
3 miles Walking with Husband and Dog- in the rain.
I took the opportunity to go for a quick run Sunday night. I sorely needed it after the previous week. The husband was busy with the boys planting the trees we bought from Costco- 20 bucks a pop for 6 foot tall Arbor Vitaes (?)-total steal. The trees are phase 1 of Operation: Get Husband To Put in a Pool. Right now they will serve to block the unfriendly new neighbors from view while we're enjoying the backyard.
I haven't been running much lately. I was out of commission for nearly two weeks with a raging head cold and didn't have the energy to get off the couch. I needed the exercise and when I finally got Dan into his harness Sunday evening, it was long overdue. I left the guys digging holes in the back yard and headed out. I've been on many runs where it feels I could go forever. I savor the feeling of each muscle working as I run up hills and the easy stride when gliding down them (One of the few moments in life where I feel graceful). But for every good run, there's a bad one...and Sunday was bad. My legs felt like lead. Each step took tremendous effort and I wanted to stop and walk the entire time. Instead of rejuvenating me, it sapped what little energy I had left and I came through the back gate of our house tired, thirsty, and completely drained. I've been biking more, and it definitely works different muscle groups than running. After a long bike ride, I feel it more in my butt and thighs (Yea! Target area!). Those rides definitely had an impact on my run. Determined to remain unfazed, Tuesday I went out to run again. I still felt slow, heavy- but it wasn't nearly as bad as Sunday.
The plan is to get back to enjoying my runs. Once I'm back in the zone again, I can start to increase my distance. I want to keep biking. It's always good to change up your exercise routine and I think this will provide a nice break and give me a reason to get out for a bit on the weekends. I'll also be volunteering at my son's school for the next few weeks and I think I'll ride my bike instead of driving. Tomorrow is the test run...we'll see how it goes!
I haven't been running much lately. I was out of commission for nearly two weeks with a raging head cold and didn't have the energy to get off the couch. I needed the exercise and when I finally got Dan into his harness Sunday evening, it was long overdue. I left the guys digging holes in the back yard and headed out. I've been on many runs where it feels I could go forever. I savor the feeling of each muscle working as I run up hills and the easy stride when gliding down them (One of the few moments in life where I feel graceful). But for every good run, there's a bad one...and Sunday was bad. My legs felt like lead. Each step took tremendous effort and I wanted to stop and walk the entire time. Instead of rejuvenating me, it sapped what little energy I had left and I came through the back gate of our house tired, thirsty, and completely drained. I've been biking more, and it definitely works different muscle groups than running. After a long bike ride, I feel it more in my butt and thighs (Yea! Target area!). Those rides definitely had an impact on my run. Determined to remain unfazed, Tuesday I went out to run again. I still felt slow, heavy- but it wasn't nearly as bad as Sunday.
The plan is to get back to enjoying my runs. Once I'm back in the zone again, I can start to increase my distance. I want to keep biking. It's always good to change up your exercise routine and I think this will provide a nice break and give me a reason to get out for a bit on the weekends. I'll also be volunteering at my son's school for the next few weeks and I think I'll ride my bike instead of driving. Tomorrow is the test run...we'll see how it goes!
Sunday, August 29, 2010
Exercise Therapy
1 Tear and Share Bag of M&M's Later
(Which were not shared...)
(Which were not shared...)
I mentioned in a previous post that exercise is a form of therapy for me. As the mother of a child with moderate/severe ADHD and mild Aspberger's syndrome, every day is full of new challenges. Some days are handled well- I am full of patience and feel capable of handling anything my son can throw at me- sometimes literally. Other days I find myself locked in the pantry, bawling my eyes out, shoving anything remotely chocolate into my mouth with reckless abandon. Add to that emotional roller coaster the guilt you feel when you have a second son who is just as in need of your love, time, attention, and emotional stability and a husband who you always feel you're failing because you're so drained you just have absolutely nothing left to give. Falling asleep on the couch by 9pm does nothing for your love life, let me tell you.
I generally don't go out for a run or bike or lift weights on the weekends. I like to spend time with my family since the Husband is working or traveling and the boys are in school during the week. The thing is, exercise is my pressure relief valve. I can literally feel the stress melting away the further I go, the harder I work...but without it, I feel that the high pressure sensor arrow is all the way in the red, just moments away from a 3-mile-island meltdown. I can't control the situation we find ourselves in, but I can at least control my workouts.
This weekend, my oldest son went to his first sleepover. The house was peaceful and quiet. Even so, I was worried sick the entire night. Before leaving to pick him up, I called and the friends mom filled me in on the things that happened throughout the night. I had such high hopes for him. I reminded him to behave and follow their rules, I talked to the mother of the child whose home he was staying at, let her know about my sons issues, was reassured that it would be fine...all was not fine. She wasn't at fault, and I know we're not either, but it doesn't make the guilt go away. The sick worry that my son will hurt himself or someone else. It's always there. His impulsivity is off the charts and he reacts without thinking. As he gets older, bigger, stronger, I'm struggling to know how to handle his behavior as nothing seems to be working.
I need some time to myself. Time to think, reflect, reassess. I may have to break my "no workouts on weekends" rule.
I generally don't go out for a run or bike or lift weights on the weekends. I like to spend time with my family since the Husband is working or traveling and the boys are in school during the week. The thing is, exercise is my pressure relief valve. I can literally feel the stress melting away the further I go, the harder I work...but without it, I feel that the high pressure sensor arrow is all the way in the red, just moments away from a 3-mile-island meltdown. I can't control the situation we find ourselves in, but I can at least control my workouts.
This weekend, my oldest son went to his first sleepover. The house was peaceful and quiet. Even so, I was worried sick the entire night. Before leaving to pick him up, I called and the friends mom filled me in on the things that happened throughout the night. I had such high hopes for him. I reminded him to behave and follow their rules, I talked to the mother of the child whose home he was staying at, let her know about my sons issues, was reassured that it would be fine...all was not fine. She wasn't at fault, and I know we're not either, but it doesn't make the guilt go away. The sick worry that my son will hurt himself or someone else. It's always there. His impulsivity is off the charts and he reacts without thinking. As he gets older, bigger, stronger, I'm struggling to know how to handle his behavior as nothing seems to be working.
I need some time to myself. Time to think, reflect, reassess. I may have to break my "no workouts on weekends" rule.
Wednesday, August 25, 2010
Cycling 101
3 miles with Dog
Weight Training- Back/Bi's/Legs
Weight Training- Back/Bi's/Legs
Yesterday I found myself doing something I had not done in 10 years- I went for a bike ride. Way back before we had children, my husband and I lived in a 700 sq ft apartment in Hampton Roads. It had the most scenic view- a 7-11 and a bar (could get a slushy or a shot, depending on your preference), and we met the most colorful people (the young man rolling joints in the stairwell was always super polite...or just stoned-in any case, he was easy to get along with as long as you didn't call the cops). Running around our neighborhood just wasn't an option, unless you wanted to end up on the nightly news, so we had to jump in the car and go to better neighborhoods or parks. It made us get out and explore new places and we found many trails to run- and to bike.
The Husband decided it was time to get ourselves a couple of bikes. Mountain bikes that we would pay more for than all of our furniture combined, seeing as at that time, all we had were hand-me-downs- mismatched pieces of furniture from living and bedroom sets that no one wanted anymore. Between rides, those bikes took up half of our tiny living room. As jobs changed and we moved, then the babies came, the bikes collected dust throughout the years. Since we've moved to Missouri in 2007, the same bike I've had since 1999 has been hanging on the wall in our garage. A few weeks ago, my husband dusted his off, had it serviced at a nearby bike shop and started riding again. Yesterday, as he was heading out the door for a ride, I decided to join him.
I had to borrow my son's helmet, seeing as mine had been left/lost only God knows where. The Husband had to disconnect the front brakes since the front wheel rim had been bent ever so slightly and the brakes rubbed with a very annoying thwomp thwomp thwomp. I was reminded to only use my back brakes. I didn't tell him that trying to brake and seeing that I wasn't slowing down was probably going to be reminder enough, but seeing as nobody likes a smartass, I kept it to myself. We started out and it was surprisingly fun. The wind felt great, my husband was yelling back at me over his shoulder instructions on how to switch gears for going up hills and which way we were turning next. Even though I felt like I was slowing him down, everytime I looked back, he had a grin on his face. It could have been my awesome skull and crossbones helmet, but I think it was for the same reason I had a goofy grin spread across my own- we were having alot of fun together. Riding a bike takes me back to when I had my purple Huffy with the unicorn banana seat and purple streamers on the handlebars. I would ride all over the small town I grew up in whizzing by houses and coasting down hills with my bare feet up on the handlebars.
I was almost sorry to see the ride end, until I got off my bike. I hurt in places I didn't know could hurt. But when the Husband asked if I wanted him to hang my bike back on the garage wall, I told him no, it would make it hard for me to get it down to ride again. And surprisingly to me, sore muscles and all- I can't wait to go again.
The Husband decided it was time to get ourselves a couple of bikes. Mountain bikes that we would pay more for than all of our furniture combined, seeing as at that time, all we had were hand-me-downs- mismatched pieces of furniture from living and bedroom sets that no one wanted anymore. Between rides, those bikes took up half of our tiny living room. As jobs changed and we moved, then the babies came, the bikes collected dust throughout the years. Since we've moved to Missouri in 2007, the same bike I've had since 1999 has been hanging on the wall in our garage. A few weeks ago, my husband dusted his off, had it serviced at a nearby bike shop and started riding again. Yesterday, as he was heading out the door for a ride, I decided to join him.
I had to borrow my son's helmet, seeing as mine had been left/lost only God knows where. The Husband had to disconnect the front brakes since the front wheel rim had been bent ever so slightly and the brakes rubbed with a very annoying thwomp thwomp thwomp. I was reminded to only use my back brakes. I didn't tell him that trying to brake and seeing that I wasn't slowing down was probably going to be reminder enough, but seeing as nobody likes a smartass, I kept it to myself. We started out and it was surprisingly fun. The wind felt great, my husband was yelling back at me over his shoulder instructions on how to switch gears for going up hills and which way we were turning next. Even though I felt like I was slowing him down, everytime I looked back, he had a grin on his face. It could have been my awesome skull and crossbones helmet, but I think it was for the same reason I had a goofy grin spread across my own- we were having alot of fun together. Riding a bike takes me back to when I had my purple Huffy with the unicorn banana seat and purple streamers on the handlebars. I would ride all over the small town I grew up in whizzing by houses and coasting down hills with my bare feet up on the handlebars.
I was almost sorry to see the ride end, until I got off my bike. I hurt in places I didn't know could hurt. But when the Husband asked if I wanted him to hang my bike back on the garage wall, I told him no, it would make it hard for me to get it down to ride again. And surprisingly to me, sore muscles and all- I can't wait to go again.
Tuesday, August 24, 2010
Beginnings
3 miles (walking) with Husband and Dog
I've always been thin and I could always eat whatever I wanted (thanks youth and fast metabolism!). I've always been active in sports- softball, volleyball, track, cross country- throughout most of my pre-20 life. My first foray into long distance running was to impress a boy. He ran and so I joined the Cross Country team hoping our mutual adoration of the sport would bring us together. Although it's hard to impress anyone after a 5k (3.1 miles) race through the woods when the only thing you yearn for more than said boy is a long, hot shower. In addition to hooking myself a future husband (going on 13 wonderful years), I also discovered a love for running. Cross Country was so different than track. No running around in circles, no leaping over hurdles, or passing batons. No starting blocks. Cross Country was open fields and thin wooded trails, about setting a pace, getting in a groove, and just rolling with it.
I've stayed a runner. It's been my anti-depressant, my cure for writers block, my insomnia solution, a time to think and reflect, my alone time. Before we had kids, the husband and I would run together. Between not completely unsexy panting, we would talk about our days and how we would spend our nights. After the kids came along, we supported each other and he urged me to get out from under toddlers and diapers and laundry and just go run. The only other thing I've found more therapeutic is writing.
This year I turn 34. I've been a runner for more than 15 years. The longest distance I've ever ran is 6 miles, which was 3 years ago. My distance varies each day according to how I feel, but the farthest I usually go is 3 miles. I would like to complete a marathon before I'm 40. I believe it's a goal that many people say they have, but few ever actually get up, go out, and do. I want to do something for me. Something that does not revolve around my children or my husband. I love them dearly and it's not that I want to run away, I just want to run.
I've stayed a runner. It's been my anti-depressant, my cure for writers block, my insomnia solution, a time to think and reflect, my alone time. Before we had kids, the husband and I would run together. Between not completely unsexy panting, we would talk about our days and how we would spend our nights. After the kids came along, we supported each other and he urged me to get out from under toddlers and diapers and laundry and just go run. The only other thing I've found more therapeutic is writing.
This year I turn 34. I've been a runner for more than 15 years. The longest distance I've ever ran is 6 miles, which was 3 years ago. My distance varies each day according to how I feel, but the farthest I usually go is 3 miles. I would like to complete a marathon before I'm 40. I believe it's a goal that many people say they have, but few ever actually get up, go out, and do. I want to do something for me. Something that does not revolve around my children or my husband. I love them dearly and it's not that I want to run away, I just want to run.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)