Time Marches On

This month I'll be celebrating my 48th birthday. Wow. It's a little overwhelming when I think about it. Here I am, almost 48 years old, with three children under 8. I don't feel 48, but the reality is I am. I think about the realities of aging with small children. Will I be that mom that keeps going no matter how old I am? Or will I be the mom that's too tired to take the boys to games or watch games?

My hope, my plan is to be the mom who's there for everything. That's why it's important to me that I accomplish the goals I've set. I want my boys to see that nothing can hold you back if you want to be successful. I have made mistakes in my life. So many mistakes. But my babies are so right, so good. They are three of the best things that have ever happened.

They'll all be in school this year. I'm glad to see them start school. It's the way things are supposed to be. But truly, I'll miss having them around. It'll give me the time I need to accomplish my goals. But letting my youngest two go, seeing them walk into that big building, that's going to be hard.

I watch them as they grow from the chubby little babies they were to the little boys who're all arms and legs. When they were small, I could hold them in my lap--yes, all three at the same time. Now, they don't want to be held often. But how I cherish the times they do. Soon, all to soon, they won't want me as much. But this too shall pass. Their friends will become more important than their parents. As they age, our intelligence will decrease (in their eyes). But one day it'll come full circle and they'll be in our position. In the meantime, I'll keep praying I make the right decisions.

So, as I get ready to celebrate my 48th birthday, I give thanks for my husband and children, for all the many blessings we have. And I pray I find a way to make a difference. Life is change. Life is only going to get more interesting.

God bless.

Summer

The summer is almost at an end, at least for the children. School starts in 9 days, 19 hours and 14 minutes--not that I'm counting. The twins are excited to be starting kindergarten. The oldest is excited to be a second grader. I'm just excited to have my days back. I've enjoyed having them home, but it's time for them to go back to their routine. And for me to get back to mine. And even better, no daycare expenses!

We had a great summer full of activities. The boys all played ball and took swim lessons. The twins were in summer school for a month. And we went on a family vacation with my in-laws. We spent a week in Branson, MO. We got back last week, thoroughly exhausted. We all had a blast!

So, my plans for the school year are to work on my blog, set up my website and start selling jewelry, get involved with the United Methodist Women's group again, and to study in earnest for my family therapy license. I had planned to go back to work full-time as soon as the boys started school, but have decided to wait until we see how two of my three do in school this year. I may end up substitute teaching for a while so I can have the same schedule as the boys.

For now it's school supplies and clothes, registration and open house, and the organized chaos of the new school year. Hoping for fewer teacher conferences and fewer notes from school (of the negative variety). Until next time, stay safe and God bless!

The Guilt Button

How many of you parents have a very active guilt button? I do. I always worry about the choices I make for my boys. If I choose to ignore a behavior and it gets worse, is he going to end up in jail? If I ignore a tummy ache and it's really appendicitis, will it rupture and cause massive infection or death? If I take the training wheels off too soon and he falls, will he break every bone in his body? You know, the "normal" parent concerns.

A few days ago, my 5 year old told me his mouth hurt, I assumed (never assume!) that it was a molar coming in because I vaguely remembered the dentist commenting at last checkup about his molar coming in early. I put topical pain medicine on it. This went on for several days. Then he woke me up every hour night before last. I got irritated, thinking he was being a drama king. (Guilt button activated in 10,9,8, ...) I phoned the dentist the next morning, swearing to my child if he was faking he would be minus several dozen toys. (Guilt button countdown continues 7, 6, 5...) I took him into the dentist, driving about an hour to get there, with three fighting boys, almost hitting a deer. I reminded him he better not be faking. (Guilt button countdown 4, 3....) We arrive at the dentist office, the boys go back to play video games (we have a really cool dentist). Then the assistant comes out to get me. I walk back and hear the dentist mutter under his breath "we have a real problem here". Oh, shit. He looks at me and smiles, says "No wonder his tooth hurt, he has a broken molar." (guilt button countdown 2, 1.....WARNING WARNING! MASSIVE GUILT ATTACK!) No infection shows up on the xray. This is good. Filling or pulpotomy (baby root canal) and crown. (Pony? Dog? Anything you want, sweetie.) It ends up being a pulpotomy and crown and massive infection in the tooth. Prescribed two rounds of antibiotics.

My baby cried all the way home, all through the drugstore, and the old guilt button was pinging like crazy. If he'd asked for the dog, rabbit, cat, bird, fish tank, gerbil, guinea pig, etc. that he's asked for time again, he'd have gotten it. Good thing he didn't know that!

I know many parents who've done similar things, but it never makes it feel any better when I'm the one who did it. So, do I vow to never doubt my child when he tells me he's in pain, do I bubble wrap him and refuse to let him play with other children? No, I'll do what every other parent does. I'll keep doing what I can to protect him and try not to screw up. (Guilt button reset.)

My Perspective on Creativity

I started getting more interested in creative nonfiction after a writing group a couple of months ago. A group member shared a story about her life and it touched me. One of the other members started talking about a recent conference he'd attended and mentioned creative nonfiction. I'd always wondered what you'd call my writings about my boys and my life. Creative nonfiction.

Isn't that a great way to describe one's life? I'd never thought about it, but it makes sense. When I tell a story about my boys, my quirky sense of humor kicks in. The way I talk about the escapades is completely different than what I was thinking and feeling at the time. Okay, most of the time anyway. But I think you get my point. Each of us has a point of view. It's not right or wrong, it just IS. My writings are simply MY perspective on life.

I've been reading memoirs lately. It's so amazing how these people put themselves out there. I read one about a poet's struggle with alcoholism; a former football player who went out for a fishing trip with three friends and was the only one who survived when the boat capsized; a man who was sentenced to prison at a leper colony not too long ago (I had no idea such things still existed in the United States). All of these people, from different walks of life, told their stories. Is that courage, or what?

The creative soul is fragile. Each time you put your work out there, no matter what your niche is, it takes courage. You know someone won't understand your quirky sense of humor, or your cynical perspective, or (fill in the blank). But does it really matter if some people don't get you? Don't like you? Probably not. Does it still feel "wrong"? Maybe. Do you stop creating? No more than you can stop breathing. I tried. (to stop creating, not breathing) I was miserable. I'm happy when I create. I'm at peace with myself.

For the first time, I put my occupation as a writer on a form at the doctor's office. Now, that may not seem like a big deal to some people, but for those of you who've struggled with who or what you are, it is a HUGE deal. Go, me!

Until next time, blessings.

Who Says Dragons Don't Exist Anymore

The evening was as still as a hunter waiting for his prey. The wind wasn’t stirring. The animals were quiet. As I walked to the door, I sensed an evil presence. I took a deep, calming breath and pushed open the door. Immediately, I felt the penetrating gaze. I searched the room for the source. It was hiding in the shadows. I could smell the decay. I could feel the fire of its anger. I could taste the bitterness, like that of a quince picked from the tree in my backyard. My awareness heightened, as I slowly moved through the thick swamp. Dread slowing my steps even more, I turned and saw it. It was cleverly disguised, but I knew. It’s gaze briefly brushed over me as I continued to watch. It was waiting for the perfect moment to pounce.
I watched as it mesmerized the others with its words. It had them in a trance. I knew not to fall into that trap. I’d done that too many times in the past. Wisdom, it seems, does come with age and experience. I wondered what it hoped to accomplish. It certainly knew that most of those present were of little consequence. At least to it, they were. Then again, it enjoyed the torture process so much that it didn’t care who the victim was.
I walked towards it slowly, so as not to frighten it away or give it reason to attack. As I came closer, it set its sights on me. Cold eyes, burning like frostbite. A flash of fangs before it reigned in its anger. Knowing I’d done nothing to rouse the beast, I stopped in front of it. I spoke to it.
“Are you avoiding me?” I asked.
“I’m trying,” it said.
As it walked away, I pondered this creature. Who says dragons don’t exist any more?

School Days

School has been in session for a little over a month for one of mine and a couple of weeks for the other two. So far we've spent almost $200 on fundraiser items so my little guy can go to a magic show and get VIP treatment. We've bought almost $150 worth of books from one and had to ignore the order forms for the other two. We've had notes sent home from school at least once a week due to inattentive or overactive behavior from one, but the other two are doing well. (knock wood) We have homework every night that takes twice as long as it should due to noncompliance. We've had parents' nights, open houses, and we have parties coming up soon.
I'm glad school has started back up so I have some down time! I have around two hours in the mornings when the youngest ones are at preschool. I do my shopping, errands, and all that fun stuff then. I'm still trying to organize my time so I can get the grunt work done and have time for my writing and jewelry-making while everyone is gone. Hoping to get it all ironed out so that I can post on a more regular basis. Until next time, stay safe and be blessed!

Storms, Vampires and Things That Go Bump In the Night

I got off the bus at a neighborhood daycare when I was in first grade. I was a chubby, clumsy little girl. I was afraid of the big kids on the bus, but never told my parents that. I stayed with a lady in our neighborhood who had a dozen or so kids she took care of. She watched a soap about vampires. The kids all were allowed to watch it too--by her, not our parents. I had nightmares about vampires quite often which confused my parents, I'm sure. I was also terrified of storms. Every time there was a hurricane, my grandparents would come up from Louisiana -- just outside New Orleans. The adults would always watch the weather and talk about hurricanes and the tornadoes that we would get as a result of the Gulf storms.

I was so afraid that I would get a box, fill it with my favorite canned goods, gather my dolls and my box of treasures, and hide in my closet. I remember sitting in there for hours terrified that we'd all die. Or that my parents would die and leave me alone.

I recently went in to check on my six year old and found him under his train table. It was stormy and he woke up afraid. I crawled under the table and put my arms around him. As I held him in my arms, I told him everything would be okay. I assured him we were safe and the storm was only a lot of noise and lights, kind of like fireworks. We climbed out from under the table. I sat on him bed and held him in my lap, all too conscious that in a few years he wouldn't want me to hold him. As I looked down at his sweet little face, I was overcome with love. I hoped that he was comforted by my words. I hoped that 40 years from now he wouldn't remember the fear, only the comfort. I laid him down and covered him up. As I leaned down to kiss him softly on the forehead, he smiled. What a beautiful child.