Five Minute Friday -Rhythm

Five Minute Friday: the word is rhythm

Five Minute Friday

Our rhythm is ebbed and flowed at the whim of the 2 year old's desires to be outside, inside, outside, inside. The 1 year old's naptime, milk-time, cuddletime, playtime. The little duck-like walk he has adopted as he learns his walking power. 

Rhythm is the way we structure our days and our lives, and when the rhythm changes out on the road it is refreshing to hear a new beat- but also unsettling for a new momma. I think most of my confidence comes from that rhythm at home. I have pride in my rhythm. My children thrive and I am happy, or at least satisfied, knowing they've eaten well and I've exercised and they've played and we've all enjoyed the yard and caring for it. ON the road I can't count on any of these things, and I feel unsure of myself as a mother. I watch in horror as the disruption of their rhythm suddenly makes their baby behavior magnified. The screaming is louder in other people's homes, suddenly not eating what's on their plate seems rude instead of a symptom of just not being hungry or being too tired. 

Looking forward to our home rhythm- vacation is nice, but home will be a welcome and reassuring treat.

Stop!

Resisting the bar

This post is seriously bugging me. I know what I want to say- and I have in some measure said it below- but its not coming out exactly right. But I've spent more than a week staring at the stupid thing and I'm just going to send it out, mediocre and incomplete. bleh.


I know what you're thinking, but not that kind of bar. I mean resisting the bar of perfection. I mean resisting the allure of looking like Superwoman while raising children, taking care of your house, your health, your husband, your friends. I just read this and felt every word this brilliant lady was saying. She puts her guilt in a backpack, but I am trying not to carry it at ALL. It can live in my notebooks and Ipad and blog entries.

Guilt when you do something wrong is a healthy reaction that helps you improve behavior.

Guilt that you lug around, bound to you by perfectionism or others' expectations or others' PERCEIVED expectations is just extraneous baggage and its HEAVY. Shed it.

I am taking up the song of the new mom revolution. We don't live in a carefully cultivated Pinterest-worthy universe. We don't live where the dishes are always done, the makeup is always on, the children are always dressed. (I'm lucky if the grownups are dressed) Our food isn't organic all the time, our plates don't always have vegetables, and I give my kids cow's milk because its full fat and has all the vitamins.  I used leftover party decorations for my son's first birthday, and not only did I not have party favors for the kids who came, I didn't plan any games, either. (We had bitchin' cupcakes from a local bakery, though.) We may choose public, private or charter schools for the kids, and any of those choices are perfectly fine. I may still be 20 pounds overweight this time next year, OR I may lose all the weight and it will be because I was able to put my health on the priority list- some mommies can't and they know why. Its their business and the rest of us should stay out of it.

That's just a small list of the things that I allow to eat me up with useless guilt. Once I make peace with some of those decisions, others pop up to leave me uncertain and guilty. But if I am still for a few moments, if I take the time to turn inward for a bit and listen, I know I am doing a good job. I know my kids are happy and pleasant and creative and amazing. I know that I am happy and pleasant and creative and amazing. Hopefully by treating myself with gentleness I can become an example for other mommies and make it okay for them to do the same.

My earliest memory

My earliest memory is the dawning of a lifelong habit. I am probably 3  years old, although I may have been 2 1/2. I couldn't fall asleep. My sister, in the bed across the room, is fast asleep. She fell sleep probably before my dad finished closing the door and is snoring lightly. I listen to the crickets sing in the muggy Florida night and tell myself stories. Then, from out in the living room, I hear my mother laugh.  My mother laughs easily and often. Hearing her laugh makes me miss her, makes me lonely and left out. I creep out of my bed and tiptoe to the door. Its never latched, and I inch it open carefully. I know I will likely be spanked if I am caught, but I want to be with my parents so badly. I make my way into the hallway silently and carefully. Then I lose my nerve and lay down on the floor. I know they wont be happy to see me. I know they will just be angry that I am awake. I content myself with laying on the linoleum hallway, cheek cold against the smooth floor, and listen to them chuckle at the television show. They are probably watching Johnny Carson, but I don't remember the content of the show, just the talking and laughing. The memory ends with my cheek on the floor, looking at the baseboards and the white wall of the hallway. I probably fell asleep there. I still have trouble falling asleep, to this day. My mind never shuts up! I can blame caffeine, tv, a good book, but the truth is, my earliest memory is of wondering what else is going on in the world that I might be missing while I lay there wasting time sleeping.

A little disclaimer.

I feel the need to say something. I started this blog because I am trying to conquer fear. I have lived a great deal of my life afraid of being out there. I've been afraid to fail, and when I fail I generally say 'well, that isn't something I'm good at' and I move on. This applies to relationships, jobs, hobbies, passions, and even cities. In some ways this ability to 'move on' has been a real asset- but in others it has not. I have missed opportunities to grow, opportunities to discover hidden parts of myself.

So, now, this blog. I struggled last year with many things, some of them covered in this blog, some of them not. But the number one reason I woke up one day and wrote that first post was because I was afraid to. Writing is something I want to fail at. I want to fail so that I can grow my writing and hone in on my voice and develop a discipline. The only other thing I've ever been disciplined at is yoga, pre-baby. Oh, and that time I put myself through college. But that was more out of need for gainful employment with benefits than conquering any fear- plus I kicked ass at it.

Sometimes these blog posts will be funny and about the children and my struggle to maintain a household with two toddlers. Sometimes they will be sad because I will need to write about my depression or my anger or my DIY failures. Fine, DIY failures are funny, too.

Right now my big boy is sleeping in and my little boy is happily scarfing down homemade oatmeal pancakes and banana. I feel a little bit like supermom. I've lost 14 pounds and tried hot yoga for the first time this last week. Despite desperately trying to fit most of my body on top of my block for the last fifteen minutes (picture an elephant on a little circus ball) in order to get away from the heated floor, I STAYED IN THE ROOM and actually participated for about 60 out of the 90 minutes. OKay, 50 of the 90. It was a triumph. I had no idea I had that much fluid in my body to sweat out, and I've been chugging water for the last two days. I feel like a million bucks.

I totally lost focus there with my yoga story. My POINT that I was getting too- life is really good today. Some might say idyllic. Especially the way Ben just said 'hi, mommy! Ben is awake!' from the stop of the stairs just now.

But there is still lurking depression, anxiety, anger. They are put to bed now, and I always hope they are gone, but life is life, and there will be good and bad. In fact, I just got done changing two of the grossest, giantest, ooziest, impressive poops I've ever seen, and around here that's saying something. While it didn't knock me off the cliffs of despair, it sure wasn't super fun.

If you can stick with me through the tough (and stinky) there will be sweet. Much like being my friend. I will stick with you, too.

A few changes around the house.

Greg and I are redoing our breakfast nook. It was serving as a playroom, then a wet room for art projects, now an eating/playing/desk area. My father-in-law has made beautiful benches with storage to replace the high chairs and accommodate more people. I ordered fabric yesterday to make cushions for the benches, curtains, and to add a little pizazz to the back of my desk. I still hope we can do art projects in here- but I don't really want them flinging goop on my computer, so we may be moving the wetworks outside. 

Thrift store table find- painted it white immediately. The chairs are from my parents' beautiful old dining room table they gave us when we moved in here. Its in the dining space in the main room still- it expands out into a giant 10 person table, much too big for this little room. 

Sometimes I look around my house and get all panicky with all the builder's beige and plain angles. Then I breathe and remember: one corner at a time. A house isn't occupied immediately, it takes time and planning and lots of breathing. I will probably never be finished, either, and that's okay, too. I am really looking forward to what the fabric and the benches look like in our little breakfast room. My goal is to have it all finished by July when my mom comes to visit- an ambitious deadline considering we'll be gone most of June. But Greg is really motivated since his dad worked so hard on building the benches. Cross your fingers- going to try to convince him to paint all the kitchen and front room walls white to open the space more while the boys and I are gone. 

Gotta go- quiet toddler with cell phone. I have a feeling he is calling China.

Gray Days

I wish I knew why the gray day brings me cascading, descending, like someone holding my head underwater, and the angst bubbles up like fizz in my tummy
why the gray day sags my face and I look like a sad clown, an old grumpy lady, hair sticking up like wires , nose wrinkled, lips on my chin.
The gray day crusts up my eyes and my shoulders slump to my hips, sliding, sinking, and I think how can my children recognize me. Gray days depress my voice and prevent my smiles and even my toes are depressed. I lay prostrate and wait for the sun.

Here is what the sun looks like:

Hello, Mommy. I am your sunshine, your only (except Benjamin, too) Sunshine, I make you happy when skies are gray!

You'll never know, dear, how much I love you...

And this little lovebug, too

Still posing as he watches Elmo

Some Mother's Day humoring of mom by sitting in silly little chairs and taking photos while staring into the sun.

He's giving me the lowdown on the proper care of goats. he's so excited about his dissertation he is drooling.

I just can't. This picture is so stinking cute. 

more stinking cuteness

His joy and delight at the crowds' joy and delight.

The accomplished grad and her littles. Plus Uncle. May is such an exciting time!

With all the of the wonderfulness in the world, it seems silly to let a little grayness get in the way. Especially since the sun has shone every day since the day I started writing about gray days. Thankful for sunny Albuquerque. Thankful for sunny babies. Thankful for husband who doesn't up and leave when I am grumpy. He has the patience of a saint. The anti-depressant is helping, and every day is a little easier. Besides, there isn't anything better than summer with little kids. Kiddie pools, road trips, long walks in the early morning, and long naps in the hot afternoons. Its going to be amazing.

We're going to Disneyland!

We are taking the boys to Disneyland in October. As soon as I made this announcement to friends and family, I knew I was going to hear the negative comments. I have heard many arguments against taking such young children to Disneyland, and have in fact witnessed firsthand the nightmare that can be toddlers who are over-stimulated and exhausted, but stuck in the middle of a theme park where the sights and sounds never end.  I expect each day we are there to have to deal with at least one temper tantrum. Its likely there will be more than that. Benjamin actually gets very hyper and over-emotional in situations where there are crowds and exciting things to see. (Some folks might remember a recent trip to the zoo where he tried to get lost not once, but three times. A child’s leash is in his near future.)

We are still going.

I am especially bugged by the comment ‘well, its for you and don’t pretend its for the kids’. God forbid Greg and I do something for us. We certainly don’t deserve it after working our butts off keeping our home nice and comfortable and the children clothed, fed, entertained, and thriving. Oh. Wait. Maybe we do deserve that. Maybe we deserve to have our family enjoy a vacation together, one that doesn’t involve a family-obligated holiday or wedding or funeral. (Yes, we treat funerals like family vacations. We are celebrating a life and coming together as a family. Don’t judge.)

Maybe we deserve to stay in a hotel and eat out and ride silly rides. Maybe our children deserve to experience some of the magic my sisters and I were exposed to from toddler-hood. We lived 15 minutes away from Disney World when I was age 2- 4 years, and went there often. I had mouse ears before I was 4. My sister Jessica has literally been going to Disney World since she was born. I don’t know exactly what I got out of those pre-memory experiences there, but I will tell you this: I believed in magic until I was over 10 years old, and parts of my heart still does. I find it easy to access wonder and awe at the workings of artists’ imaginations, natures’ miracles, and the power of love in people’s lives. I am not easily jaded or cynical.  I can’t tell you if my early experiences watching magic come to life in front of me as a young young child influenced my way of looking at the world or not- but it certainly didn’t hurt.

Its gonna be all dressed up for Halloween, Greg's favorite holiday. bonus!!

I understand they won’t remember it. I hope in my heart that Benjamin will have some impressions he carries to adulthood because my earliest memories are from about 2 and half years of age, but I know its not super likely. Still, I can’t wait to see the look on their faces. As long as I keep the giant character heads away from Peter, I think he’ll have a really (dare I say) magical time. I can’t wait take them to my favorite places there, and ride the rides I haven’t been on since I was Ben’s size. (not age, he’s like twice the size I was at 2 years old) . Benjamin has never once failed to deliver an amazing reaction to new and exciting experiences (before he freaks out and runs away). He’s actually hilarious when he’s discovered something- it truly is as if no one on earth had ever seen or heard what he’s just seen and heard.

And even though just-turned 2 year old triplets were pretty miserable in the boiling hot June afternoons of Disney World in Florida, and I vowed to never bring a child under 5 into those conditions, I am going to listen to the two women I know who have brought their babies and toddlers to California’s Disneyland. They had a blast. Maybe it’s the difference in climate, who knows. Maybe it’s a difference in attitude. Regardless.

We are going to Disneyland. WOOOOOOOOOOO HOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!

Possibly terrifying for Peter. Will have to take evasive maneuvers, for Peter's sake and also for the sake of the characters should Benjamin decide to add them to his  rabbit/dog/meow meow obsession.