Today is one of those days I'm truly grateful for.
Ron and I went to the doctor's this morning for my post-op follow up ... the appointment I was simultaneously anxiously waiting for and hating the idea of going to since the day I called to schedule it. I think I hated the idea of going because I was so afraid there would be no answers.
But that's not what happened.
There were answers. A few. Enough to make the pain even more bearable; enough to guide me through the oncoming waves of grief. I know they're coming ashore again. They're going to wash over me once all of this sinks in a little more.
Showing posts with label relationships. Show all posts
Showing posts with label relationships. Show all posts
Wednesday, December 31, 2014
Thursday, July 10, 2014
'Mawage. Mawage is wot bwings us togeder tooday'
Marriage is amazing. My husband and I have been together a little more than 11 years, married for six, and there are a lot of days when we do everything together all in fluid motions. It's like a ballet of housework and yard work and parenting. Or we hardly see one another and I'm stuck dancing alone through the daily grind. Or I punk out entirely and don't go do things on my own because I'm a giant chickenshit and want to phone a friend in the game of Life, and he's the one I call. What do you mean I'm an adult? Psh.
Since we are individuals and, despite my sometimes neurotic tendencies, I like being an individual, there are some things I don't share with my husband, at least not always in their entirety. Not Earth shattering "I'm hiding bodies in the woods" kinds of secrets, but little tricks of the momming trade that help me get through the money/emotionally overwhelmed/too much going on struggle that I deal with constantly.
Like the fact I haven't used laundry detergent in any of the wash loads for three days. I wash a lot of laundry. Instead I've been tearing through the box of baking soda that I also use for cookies and on occasion in the kids' bath. Our clothes smell like cotton and the washer doesn't stink. I think that counts as a win. Unless he reads this, he's not going to have a clue!
 |
| June 21, 2008: Oh hey, we got hitched. |
Like the fact I haven't used laundry detergent in any of the wash loads for three days. I wash a lot of laundry. Instead I've been tearing through the box of baking soda that I also use for cookies and on occasion in the kids' bath. Our clothes smell like cotton and the washer doesn't stink. I think that counts as a win. Unless he reads this, he's not going to have a clue!
Monday, June 16, 2014
Hand picked perfect fathers
It's nearing midnight and I'm just getting around to this (and posting just after midnight because I suck) - not because I feel like I have to or am obligated to post something on Father's Day, but because I'm surrounded by some pretty amazing dads and I want them to know how loved they are.
Around Mother's Day I was all "oh my fucking Lord I just want a few hours to myself and please oh please can we just have one night where the kids aren't crawling into bed with us? Please?"
And, you know what? I deserve that.
But, so does he.
And neither one of us got it for our Hallmark holidays this year.
Around Mother's Day I was all "oh my fucking Lord I just want a few hours to myself and please oh please can we just have one night where the kids aren't crawling into bed with us? Please?"
And, you know what? I deserve that.
But, so does he.
And neither one of us got it for our Hallmark holidays this year.
Wednesday, April 30, 2014
Connections, connections, connections
I love my Internet mom friends. I love them to the moon and back because I can post shit like this in one of our online groups:
When my parents first got the Internet, I would greatly anticipate evenings after my homework was done when I could hear that squealing high pitched sound followed by a solid connection and the persistent blinking computer icon in the computer taskbar showing I was finally connected to the world outside of Lyndonville. It was scary standing there on the precipice of the technological revolution that was dial-up, particularly in a small town. It was scarier still that I was introducing myself to new people every day and was totally addicted to chatrooms and AIM by the time I left for college.
I'm sure all of us in my age group can recall the whole "a/s/l" and "What's your screen name?" phases of our lives. They were ... confusing. But for some, it was allowing us to find people whom we otherwise would never have met. I met some of my best friends online because of a common love for a single musician and was totally blown away when I realized last fall we've been friends for 10 years now and our lives are completely different than when we virtually met - I'm married and have kids, Christian is teaching in Korea, Kris and Xander are slowly going to achieve world domination through graduate studies and PhD programs, and Ryan is like the world's most amazing masseuse (I'm sure, though haven't had the pleasure of one of those massages).
Don't get ahead of me; this isn't going to turn into a piece on Internet safety, though I have enough experience meeting strangers from the web that I could definitely write a well informed article on the matter.
No, really, this one is purely about connecting, on some level, with others in my situation.
Sometimes I want to stab my husband for completely irrational reasons, like he hung his dress shirts up facing the wrong way. Feel free to unfriend the crazy girl. o_OAnd I'm met with stories so similar that I feel a little bit emotional over the connection I have with these other crazy chicks. *wipes eyes* It was my allergies. *sniff*
When my parents first got the Internet, I would greatly anticipate evenings after my homework was done when I could hear that squealing high pitched sound followed by a solid connection and the persistent blinking computer icon in the computer taskbar showing I was finally connected to the world outside of Lyndonville. It was scary standing there on the precipice of the technological revolution that was dial-up, particularly in a small town. It was scarier still that I was introducing myself to new people every day and was totally addicted to chatrooms and AIM by the time I left for college.
I'm sure all of us in my age group can recall the whole "a/s/l" and "What's your screen name?" phases of our lives. They were ... confusing. But for some, it was allowing us to find people whom we otherwise would never have met. I met some of my best friends online because of a common love for a single musician and was totally blown away when I realized last fall we've been friends for 10 years now and our lives are completely different than when we virtually met - I'm married and have kids, Christian is teaching in Korea, Kris and Xander are slowly going to achieve world domination through graduate studies and PhD programs, and Ryan is like the world's most amazing masseuse (I'm sure, though haven't had the pleasure of one of those massages).
Don't get ahead of me; this isn't going to turn into a piece on Internet safety, though I have enough experience meeting strangers from the web that I could definitely write a well informed article on the matter.
No, really, this one is purely about connecting, on some level, with others in my situation.
Sunday, April 13, 2014
Dear Mom at Aldi ...
Dear Mom at Aldi,
I ran into you this afternoon. Actually, it's more like I purposely was put in your path and you in mine. I watched you with your little boy as he struggled to get out of the cart as you and your husband looked at the prunes and other baking supplies. I didn't pay much attention at the time, but recognized the struggle - a defiant "I want don't want to sit down" toddler-in-training desperately seeking freedom from that shopping cart while you, also desperately, tried to hold a conversation and reign him in.
I didn't pay much attention until I was standing in the same aisle glancing at the spices and saw you and your children, sans husband, at the other end of the row. I didn't pay attention until I saw that defiant little boy with the fearlessness of an independent child topple from the cart. You'll never know the panic that hit my chest or how I had to mentally grab hold of myself so I didn't rush down the aisle to help you. You won't know, because I didn't tell you and you will likely never read this. Instead, I meandered. Instead of rushing to aid another mom, I watched from the corner of my eye as you gathered your son in your arms, pulled your daughter close to you, and you sat on the floor of Aldi beside a stack of sports drinks and other beverages.
I know I didn't shock you when I asked quietly, "Is he OK?" Because that's what at least a small population of people would do when they see a small child crying inconsolably in their mother's arms. A larger population would have given you a sad smile and thought something like, "Oh that poor woman."
And then there's me.
I ran into you this afternoon. Actually, it's more like I purposely was put in your path and you in mine. I watched you with your little boy as he struggled to get out of the cart as you and your husband looked at the prunes and other baking supplies. I didn't pay much attention at the time, but recognized the struggle - a defiant "I want don't want to sit down" toddler-in-training desperately seeking freedom from that shopping cart while you, also desperately, tried to hold a conversation and reign him in.
I didn't pay much attention until I was standing in the same aisle glancing at the spices and saw you and your children, sans husband, at the other end of the row. I didn't pay attention until I saw that defiant little boy with the fearlessness of an independent child topple from the cart. You'll never know the panic that hit my chest or how I had to mentally grab hold of myself so I didn't rush down the aisle to help you. You won't know, because I didn't tell you and you will likely never read this. Instead, I meandered. Instead of rushing to aid another mom, I watched from the corner of my eye as you gathered your son in your arms, pulled your daughter close to you, and you sat on the floor of Aldi beside a stack of sports drinks and other beverages.
I know I didn't shock you when I asked quietly, "Is he OK?" Because that's what at least a small population of people would do when they see a small child crying inconsolably in their mother's arms. A larger population would have given you a sad smile and thought something like, "Oh that poor woman."
And then there's me.
Tuesday, April 8, 2014
Everyday struggles: Make yourself a priority
I have multiple posts started that remain in draft form. The topics range from society thinking parents should love all sorts of things that I just don't love all the time to how sucky my Friday was to a giant rant about the crap said about the Mets' second baseman Daniel Murphy taking three whole days of paternity leave. O.M.G. Three days!? How dare he!
And that's where those posts are going to die. Right there in the draft folder. Because I was passionate in that moment and now, even though I still care about those topics, I've simply lost steam where they are concerned. I may revisit the love/hate post, but right now it's at a standstill.
Instead, I asked my friend Kristin what she thought about the topics and what one I should go with for the next post, and aside from loving the idea of a post on Murphy's paternity leave she gave me this:
It's the everyday struggle to not forget yourself - we're mothers/fathers, husbands/wives, coworkers and for a lot of people trying to juggle all of that there's no time to just be. Be yourself, be alone, be content. If there isn't a sport or activity going on, there's laundry and dishes needing your attention, there's another paper to grade or another page to edit or another system study to look over. Me Time is a thing of the past for a lot of us and we've lost ourselves in the hustle and bustle of married life and parenting.
Who were you before all of this?
I was adventurous and independent and fun loving. I would spend way too many hours at the office and then too many beers at the Legion. I was careless and reckless and stubborn. I'm still stubborn. But I'm in need of adventures and so co-dependent it's alarming and I still love to have fun, but instead of drinking my friends under a table, I'm ecstatic to go meet up for a play date at the mall because fun is also watching my kids have fun. I spend too many hours in front of the computer because it seems a majority of my social life lives here and I never have enough beer to dull the ache of missing all those things that have changed. I'm careful to a fault now and reckless is staying up past 10 most nights. I take less risks, unless you count totally blowing this week's grocery budget because I just couldn't leave that top round roast at Wegmans ... it was reduced price for quick sale. Man, I'm a fucking rebel to spend $25 on a cut of meat that will make four or more meals for my family. Just call me James Dean.
I try really hard not to miss the old me. The me who was skinny and flirty and had no responsibility other than getting a paper out every night. But that's all I did. I worked. My recklessness was writing a story I was scared to death to publish because it would definitely piss someone off. My independence was because I didn't want someone to hold my hand, or hold me back.
I can look back at all of that - the pre-marriage and pre-babies me - and at the very least know I learned something about myself. I'm capable. I can do all that. I can be successful. Success like that now would come at a very steep price. I can't juggle all I used to do with all I do now. I have trouble keeping up with laundry and cleaning and I'm here most days in the thick of the suburban jungle wading through the muck and the mire of parenthood, toddler years, pre-K prep, wifery and ... I lose myself.
Me Time.
How do we find time for us? How, when so many people or things depend on us to do all that stuff too, do we take a few hours to go out to dinner with friends sans children or hit up a movie with our significant other (again, sans kids) or take time to read quietly?
The juggling is the struggling in this life, the life we're living now and when you throw so many balls up in the air at once you're bound to drop a few. Or more than a few. And if you're like me, sometimes you toss them all up in the air at once, step back and let them all fall. Unlike Humpty Dumpty, the pieces can all be glued back together, and you're stronger for it. Anyone who read my depression piece is aware of that. I fall apart and I scream and I cry and I hate and I pick up every last piece and glue me back together ... and remember myself in the process. That's what it is. A process.
Last Friday I needed a break. I needed the Me Time like I needed air and water and wine. I was pissy and moody and just plain tired of how shitty the day had been. I brushed my teeth at 7:30 p.m. along with the kids. I gave them kisses. I walked down the hall to my bedroom, walked in, shut the door and climbed into bed with a book. A real book with pages and the smell of ink and no "low battery" notification popping up in the middle of a chapter. I didn't intentionally make my husband put the kids to bed alone, but that's what happened. I'm a better mom for doing that.
I lost myself between the pages.
I needed to get lost in someone else's story.
This is the struggle in the suburban jungle. The fight to be better than everyone else isn't worth the things we lose in the process because the biggest thing we lose is who we are at the base level. We need others but we need ourselves more because once you lose that, once you forget who you are, there's nothing left to give the ones who want a piece of you and you can't be a social creature if you don't recharge your batteries once in a while.
Is this why so many women are in need of a spa day or anything other than grocery shopping alone? Is this why men want to go watch the game at a bar with their buddies or hit the links and golf a round with a close friend? I'm not even being sarcastic. I've wanted for so long to go do things like get my hair cut all by myself because I remember how I used to feel when I did that before marriage and kids. I haven't gone to get my hair cut professionally since I was pregnant with Josie (or maybe she was an infant? I might have been pregnant with Charlotte. That two years just sort of blended together in my head.). I've pretty much cut my own hair for four years now, and I don't even pamper myself leading up to the hack'n'whack - I take a shower, wash my hair, brush it, flip upside down and cut. I could at least buy myself dinner after a quickie like that, but no, I'm usually running out of the bathroom playing "What was that crashing noise!?" as I go.
My husband is an introvert, big time - in college he usually would go to the dining hall alone to eat; I couldn't leave my room for food unless I had at least one friend with me because eating alone was such a foreign concept to me - so he doesn't see why others have a need for time alone after being home all day doing the housewife/childrearer jobs or why some people want to be with someone but without responsibility (i.e. go out and have fun without worrying, or sit and watch a movie without having to get up to wipe a child's tush). He just doesn't see the problem that we face when we can't separate ourselves from the roles we're stuck in. I'm the mom and the wife, but I can't always just be the wife or just be the mom. I'm the mom and the writer, but while I've sat at the kitchen table writing this I've been interrupted to help someone brush her teeth and get dressed, make multiple peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, search for a pacifier and put dinner in the slow cooker. I rarely get the chance to just be a writer. Unless the kids are in a really deep sleep, I'm never just the wife. I don't go out with friends. I'm never just someone's friend because all my other selves are part of that since my friends have kids and it's never just the adults doing something. The kids are always there. ALWAYS.
I adore my children, but there are times I want to remember who I am. That's where the guilt and exhaustion rear their ugly heads the most. When I take time for me, I feel such remorse for not taking that time with my kids because, as everyone likes to remind the parents of young children, they are only little once. Taking time for myself helps to alleviate that exhaustion, but that's the double-edged sword of it all: guilt cuts as deep as the exhaustion. It's the same when we wear our spouse hat. Then put the spouse hat on with the parent hat and the coworker hat and it's a combustible situation because of that guilt/exhaustion/who am I cycle.
Nuclear. Meltdown.
It doesn't matter which self we're trying to be, if we attempt to be one or all of them at once, we feel guilty because we aren't able to juggle it all. And then we're guilty because we've spent so much time being exhausted by trying to be too many people all at once that there is nothing left.
All the same, though, let yourself get exhausted once in a while. Step back and let the balls fall down around you. Pick up your purse, walk out the door and go get your hair done. Make plans with coworkers for a happy hour once a week to blow off steam. Give up bath time and bedtime one night a week to go grab coffee with a friend or sit in a quiet corner of a cafe to work on the novel you've started writing but never have time to work on. Remember who you are, because you're not doing your children, your husband, your wife, your coworkers any good by being too exhausted to give a shit anymore. It only makes you a liability to yourself and those around you.
Make time. Make Me Time. Make yourself a priority once in a while.
The struggle isn't going away, but figuring out how to step back once in a while and worry about yourself is the most important thing some of us can do. Last Friday it was the most important thing for me to do. And in a week I'm going to need a break like that again. It might come before then. It might take longer.
When it comes time, though, I plan to know what to do, even if it is just throwing my running shoes on and leaving the house for an hour (to hide in the car and write part of that novel using my phone as a computer).
And that's where those posts are going to die. Right there in the draft folder. Because I was passionate in that moment and now, even though I still care about those topics, I've simply lost steam where they are concerned. I may revisit the love/hate post, but right now it's at a standstill.
Instead, I asked my friend Kristin what she thought about the topics and what one I should go with for the next post, and aside from loving the idea of a post on Murphy's paternity leave she gave me this:
I'd love to see more on the marriage versus mommy perspective, because I feel like that all the time...the mommy versus working girl versus wife struggle is another that sends me over the edge from exhaustion and guilt, too. At the end of the day, I miss being social with friends...we haven't gone out in a long time and I wish I had a hobby I could balance with my life and hang out with people outside of work.Sorry to throw our conversation out there for the masses, Love, but sometimes you give me something that is way too good not to share, so I'm going to talk about the struggle.
It's the everyday struggle to not forget yourself - we're mothers/fathers, husbands/wives, coworkers and for a lot of people trying to juggle all of that there's no time to just be. Be yourself, be alone, be content. If there isn't a sport or activity going on, there's laundry and dishes needing your attention, there's another paper to grade or another page to edit or another system study to look over. Me Time is a thing of the past for a lot of us and we've lost ourselves in the hustle and bustle of married life and parenting.
Who were you before all of this?
I was adventurous and independent and fun loving. I would spend way too many hours at the office and then too many beers at the Legion. I was careless and reckless and stubborn. I'm still stubborn. But I'm in need of adventures and so co-dependent it's alarming and I still love to have fun, but instead of drinking my friends under a table, I'm ecstatic to go meet up for a play date at the mall because fun is also watching my kids have fun. I spend too many hours in front of the computer because it seems a majority of my social life lives here and I never have enough beer to dull the ache of missing all those things that have changed. I'm careful to a fault now and reckless is staying up past 10 most nights. I take less risks, unless you count totally blowing this week's grocery budget because I just couldn't leave that top round roast at Wegmans ... it was reduced price for quick sale. Man, I'm a fucking rebel to spend $25 on a cut of meat that will make four or more meals for my family. Just call me James Dean.
I try really hard not to miss the old me. The me who was skinny and flirty and had no responsibility other than getting a paper out every night. But that's all I did. I worked. My recklessness was writing a story I was scared to death to publish because it would definitely piss someone off. My independence was because I didn't want someone to hold my hand, or hold me back.
I can look back at all of that - the pre-marriage and pre-babies me - and at the very least know I learned something about myself. I'm capable. I can do all that. I can be successful. Success like that now would come at a very steep price. I can't juggle all I used to do with all I do now. I have trouble keeping up with laundry and cleaning and I'm here most days in the thick of the suburban jungle wading through the muck and the mire of parenthood, toddler years, pre-K prep, wifery and ... I lose myself.
Me Time.
How do we find time for us? How, when so many people or things depend on us to do all that stuff too, do we take a few hours to go out to dinner with friends sans children or hit up a movie with our significant other (again, sans kids) or take time to read quietly?
The juggling is the struggling in this life, the life we're living now and when you throw so many balls up in the air at once you're bound to drop a few. Or more than a few. And if you're like me, sometimes you toss them all up in the air at once, step back and let them all fall. Unlike Humpty Dumpty, the pieces can all be glued back together, and you're stronger for it. Anyone who read my depression piece is aware of that. I fall apart and I scream and I cry and I hate and I pick up every last piece and glue me back together ... and remember myself in the process. That's what it is. A process.
Last Friday I needed a break. I needed the Me Time like I needed air and water and wine. I was pissy and moody and just plain tired of how shitty the day had been. I brushed my teeth at 7:30 p.m. along with the kids. I gave them kisses. I walked down the hall to my bedroom, walked in, shut the door and climbed into bed with a book. A real book with pages and the smell of ink and no "low battery" notification popping up in the middle of a chapter. I didn't intentionally make my husband put the kids to bed alone, but that's what happened. I'm a better mom for doing that.
I lost myself between the pages.
I needed to get lost in someone else's story.
This is the struggle in the suburban jungle. The fight to be better than everyone else isn't worth the things we lose in the process because the biggest thing we lose is who we are at the base level. We need others but we need ourselves more because once you lose that, once you forget who you are, there's nothing left to give the ones who want a piece of you and you can't be a social creature if you don't recharge your batteries once in a while.
Is this why so many women are in need of a spa day or anything other than grocery shopping alone? Is this why men want to go watch the game at a bar with their buddies or hit the links and golf a round with a close friend? I'm not even being sarcastic. I've wanted for so long to go do things like get my hair cut all by myself because I remember how I used to feel when I did that before marriage and kids. I haven't gone to get my hair cut professionally since I was pregnant with Josie (or maybe she was an infant? I might have been pregnant with Charlotte. That two years just sort of blended together in my head.). I've pretty much cut my own hair for four years now, and I don't even pamper myself leading up to the hack'n'whack - I take a shower, wash my hair, brush it, flip upside down and cut. I could at least buy myself dinner after a quickie like that, but no, I'm usually running out of the bathroom playing "What was that crashing noise!?" as I go.
My husband is an introvert, big time - in college he usually would go to the dining hall alone to eat; I couldn't leave my room for food unless I had at least one friend with me because eating alone was such a foreign concept to me - so he doesn't see why others have a need for time alone after being home all day doing the housewife/childrearer jobs or why some people want to be with someone but without responsibility (i.e. go out and have fun without worrying, or sit and watch a movie without having to get up to wipe a child's tush). He just doesn't see the problem that we face when we can't separate ourselves from the roles we're stuck in. I'm the mom and the wife, but I can't always just be the wife or just be the mom. I'm the mom and the writer, but while I've sat at the kitchen table writing this I've been interrupted to help someone brush her teeth and get dressed, make multiple peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, search for a pacifier and put dinner in the slow cooker. I rarely get the chance to just be a writer. Unless the kids are in a really deep sleep, I'm never just the wife. I don't go out with friends. I'm never just someone's friend because all my other selves are part of that since my friends have kids and it's never just the adults doing something. The kids are always there. ALWAYS.
I adore my children, but there are times I want to remember who I am. That's where the guilt and exhaustion rear their ugly heads the most. When I take time for me, I feel such remorse for not taking that time with my kids because, as everyone likes to remind the parents of young children, they are only little once. Taking time for myself helps to alleviate that exhaustion, but that's the double-edged sword of it all: guilt cuts as deep as the exhaustion. It's the same when we wear our spouse hat. Then put the spouse hat on with the parent hat and the coworker hat and it's a combustible situation because of that guilt/exhaustion/who am I cycle.
Nuclear. Meltdown.
It doesn't matter which self we're trying to be, if we attempt to be one or all of them at once, we feel guilty because we aren't able to juggle it all. And then we're guilty because we've spent so much time being exhausted by trying to be too many people all at once that there is nothing left.
All the same, though, let yourself get exhausted once in a while. Step back and let the balls fall down around you. Pick up your purse, walk out the door and go get your hair done. Make plans with coworkers for a happy hour once a week to blow off steam. Give up bath time and bedtime one night a week to go grab coffee with a friend or sit in a quiet corner of a cafe to work on the novel you've started writing but never have time to work on. Remember who you are, because you're not doing your children, your husband, your wife, your coworkers any good by being too exhausted to give a shit anymore. It only makes you a liability to yourself and those around you.
Make time. Make Me Time. Make yourself a priority once in a while.
The struggle isn't going away, but figuring out how to step back once in a while and worry about yourself is the most important thing some of us can do. Last Friday it was the most important thing for me to do. And in a week I'm going to need a break like that again. It might come before then. It might take longer.
When it comes time, though, I plan to know what to do, even if it is just throwing my running shoes on and leaving the house for an hour (to hide in the car and write part of that novel using my phone as a computer).
Tuesday, March 18, 2014
Be kind; rewind (my life to better days)
Forgive me, Father readers, for I have sinned been in a slump.
My last confession was 13 days ago. I shared with you how disastrous I felt my house was. I even showed you a picture or two. And made some of you giggle with the "Let it Go" video. Thanks for validating me.
I don't expect to get a lot of uplifting remarks, nor is this a cry for help in any way. I am simply one of thousands who battle daily to find their place and be comfortable in it.
The other day I posted on my Facebook page asking for blog topics. A former columnist of mine popped in with the suggestion I write about "being kind to yourself." I was in the frame of mind yesterday where that post would have been completely uplifting - I'd started my morning by doing a guided meditation on a new Roku channel I found and had my half a pot of coffee and the kids were relatively calm. Yesterday was pretty decent on all fronts.
But that was yesterday. Today was a different story - I slept late, needed to grocery shop, we ran out of coffee and I thought that alone would kill me, the kids fought with each other, the kids fought with me, the dog keeps trying to dig under the back porch, the hustle and bustle of dance class during the dinner hour, realizing my kids were eating yogurt for dinner at almost 7 p.m. and then a near argument with the Boy over this very blog entry (because he doesn't understand it).
Today reminded me of all the reasons I'm not nice to myself. Why I'm bitter and pissed off a lot. Why I sometimes want to pack a bag and tell my husband it's all his responsibility for three days while I go hide in the woods somewhere. This is basically the antithesis of my friend's request for a post about "being kind to yourself." Sorry 'bout that.
My last confession was 13 days ago. I shared with you how disastrous I felt my house was. I even showed you a picture or two. And made some of you giggle with the "Let it Go" video. Thanks for validating me.
I don't expect to get a lot of uplifting remarks, nor is this a cry for help in any way. I am simply one of thousands who battle daily to find their place and be comfortable in it.
The other day I posted on my Facebook page asking for blog topics. A former columnist of mine popped in with the suggestion I write about "being kind to yourself." I was in the frame of mind yesterday where that post would have been completely uplifting - I'd started my morning by doing a guided meditation on a new Roku channel I found and had my half a pot of coffee and the kids were relatively calm. Yesterday was pretty decent on all fronts.
But that was yesterday. Today was a different story - I slept late, needed to grocery shop, we ran out of coffee and I thought that alone would kill me, the kids fought with each other, the kids fought with me, the dog keeps trying to dig under the back porch, the hustle and bustle of dance class during the dinner hour, realizing my kids were eating yogurt for dinner at almost 7 p.m. and then a near argument with the Boy over this very blog entry (because he doesn't understand it).
Today reminded me of all the reasons I'm not nice to myself. Why I'm bitter and pissed off a lot. Why I sometimes want to pack a bag and tell my husband it's all his responsibility for three days while I go hide in the woods somewhere. This is basically the antithesis of my friend's request for a post about "being kind to yourself." Sorry 'bout that.
Sunday, January 5, 2014
Giving credit to the daddy movement
Dads. At home. Stay-at-home dads.
I'm pretty sure I've seen some of them at the gym. They're like a mythical creature to me - I believe in my heart of hearts they do exist, but I've yet to have the opportunity to walk up and introduce myself to one. No, that's not true. I'm fairly certain I know at least one.
That's one more than I knew last year.
When my friend Matt asked me about my thoughts on this whole gender role shift phenomenon I decided I needed to do a little reading because despite how awesome I think the SAHD deal is, I know little about it. With the exception of a Facebook group I'm in, there are relatively few dads I know of who are home full-time with their children, whether that means they work nights, are laid off, have made the conscious decision not to work because of finances doesn't matter.
What matters? They made a decision that was the best decision for their family. They're taking on an active role with their kids. No, this isn't something new by any means, nor am I attempting to make it sound like it's a virgin concept that fathers spend quality time with their children. Dads the world over have taken notice of their children or opted to spend more time with them for years, decades, maybe even centuries. We really don't know. The idea this is a trending concept is a little misleading ... it's only trending because the media has shone its spotlight on the concept and that is mostly just in the last 12 months, or so I gather from my handy dandy Google search.
Let me get to the heart of this: The Atlantic piece I read about this very topic thorough irritated me and is not worth the Internet it's printed on; all hail Chris Routly & Co. (I don't know and haven't read stuff by all daddy bloggers or met a lot of SAHDs, so I'm lumping you all together just like us SAHMs usually are).
I'm pretty sure I've seen some of them at the gym. They're like a mythical creature to me - I believe in my heart of hearts they do exist, but I've yet to have the opportunity to walk up and introduce myself to one. No, that's not true. I'm fairly certain I know at least one.
That's one more than I knew last year.
When my friend Matt asked me about my thoughts on this whole gender role shift phenomenon I decided I needed to do a little reading because despite how awesome I think the SAHD deal is, I know little about it. With the exception of a Facebook group I'm in, there are relatively few dads I know of who are home full-time with their children, whether that means they work nights, are laid off, have made the conscious decision not to work because of finances doesn't matter.
What matters? They made a decision that was the best decision for their family. They're taking on an active role with their kids. No, this isn't something new by any means, nor am I attempting to make it sound like it's a virgin concept that fathers spend quality time with their children. Dads the world over have taken notice of their children or opted to spend more time with them for years, decades, maybe even centuries. We really don't know. The idea this is a trending concept is a little misleading ... it's only trending because the media has shone its spotlight on the concept and that is mostly just in the last 12 months, or so I gather from my handy dandy Google search.
Let me get to the heart of this: The Atlantic piece I read about this very topic thorough irritated me and is not worth the Internet it's printed on; all hail Chris Routly & Co. (I don't know and haven't read stuff by all daddy bloggers or met a lot of SAHDs, so I'm lumping you all together just like us SAHMs usually are).
Tuesday, December 17, 2013
30 reasons this relationship works
The Boy and I have been married for five and a half years this month, and while it's not that long in the grand scheme of things (my parents have been married 38 years next July) it's an accomplishment in this day and age. That's not to say I haven't learned a few things in our nearly 11 years together, because the lessons are there on a daily basis.
Things marriage has taught me:
Things marriage has taught me:
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