After Wednesday

I meant to write….I really did.  I wrote on Wednesday about promises of a new day.  I had such hopes for Thursday.  Something happened to get in the way.  Thursday was a good day.  It lived up to my expectations of what should happen during the day….right up until my youngest got sick.  I meant to write…I really did.  But as I sat down to write about how much better my day had gone, “Mommy” as he ran out of his room.  My youngest was sick and that was more important.

I meant to write….I really did.  I was going to write about our newest project.  I was going to share how you don’t need to go to the gym and lift weights when you are moving millions of wheelbarrows of stone (probably only 100, but I think a million is a good estimate). I was going to write about getting a tan in 40 degree weather because I was hot and sweaty from moving all the stone.  I meant to write….I really did.  But as I sat down to write, my youngest spiked a fever and needed extra cuddles.  And that is more important.

I meant to write…I really did.  I like to write at the end of the day. To recapture a moment, or share my goings on.  But today I can already tell will be busy.  So I mean to write right now.   Today, I will teach 3 karate classes.  Today, I will go to Target and try my hardest not to stay for hours on end. I have a list and I will try to have the fastest shopping trip ever.  Today, all the stone we moved will be painstakingly covered up by brick pavers and then the side entry of our house will be mostly done.  Today, we will color Easter eggs and laugh and giggle and share.  Today, I will make seven layer salad…minus a layer because I don’t like peas.  Today will be a busy day with my family because that is more important.  I meant to write….I really did.  So I wrote before they all awoke, those most important people in my house.

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Such Promise

Today held such promise.  Warm this morning.  Meeting with a good friend.  Good breakfast.  Fabulous talk.  Wonderful planning.  Ordering the patio to put in over spring break.  Today held such promise….and then….

Something happened between lunch and 2:30.  The weather turned colder.  The sky grew cloudy.  The kids arrived ready for spring break, even though we still have one more day. Ears were lost. Respectfulness was forgotten.  Everyone was more interested in those around them, instead of worrying about themselves and doing what was necessary.  Patience was hung onto by a thread.  Anger.  Frustration.  Helplessness. Trying for uplifting.  Trying for positivity.  Trying and failing after everyone had left.

Today held such promise.  Tomorrow does too.  Meanwhile, I will eat my dinner and practice being mindful.  Live in the moment and savor my wine and remember that tomorrow holds the promise that today did not live up too.

Yesterday

Yesterday my son turned eight, and yes we did celebrate it.  Earlier he insisted that his birthday would not count due to it falling on a Monday.  He woke up and saw presents and was happy he was having a birthday.  Apparently presents trump Mondays for birthday countage.

He has always been my prankster, my jokester, my old before his time little man.  From the moment he decided to make his entrance into the world, he laughed, made faces, and took it by storm.  He just has a way of saying things that make you laugh, yet he is serious.

Yesterday, taking toys to the car.  “I thought about what you said about taking responsibility.  I’m taking the toys so you don’t forget them.”

Yesterday during karate when asked to do a different form: “I want to practice this one to get down the little details. They are important.” (what 8 year old boy says that!?!)

He wears “tall” socks and they are usually black.

He watches Mythbusters and MacGyver.  He loves to drink “Jack Punch” (hawaiian punch, 7up and sherbert).

He starts his day with “Good Morning Mom,” and ends his day with stories and “don’t let the bed bugs bite.”  He is my talker, my socializer, my friendly little boy.  He mispronounces words like backpack (“backcack”).  Last night he told me “I know it is backpack, I just like how I say it.” I like how you say it too Jack. And when you no longer say it your way, I will mourn the loss of “backcack.”

Yesterday my son turned 8.

Surprise

We decided as a district to all write about the same word.  I have been reading lots of different viewpoints on the word surprise today.  From pregnancy, to flowers, to parties, all are wonderfully awesome surprises. But…

What do you do when you hate surprises?  Not just deal with them, but go out of your way to avoid them.  That is me.  Most people enjoy unwrapping gifts, tearing into the paper to find out what is below.  Not me.  It fills me with dread.  It could be too many years of my family getting me gifts they thought I would like because they thought I was “really into” NKOTB, or Wizard of Oz, or _____ (insert some other type passing interest or one brief comment about how i enjoyed something).  It could be too many years of having to “fake” how much I love it, and then I get more of the same theme for the next year or 2.  I hate presents.  I go out and buy my own.  I wrap them myself.  I open them with excitement because I finally get to use, or wear, or watch whatever it was that I bought myself.

Most people enjoy surprise parties.  Not me.  Just let me get together with my closest friends without all the hooplah. Let me sit back and enjoy a glass of wine.  When I am the host, or guest of honor, there is too much pressure for me to enjoy the party.  I don’t want that.  I just want to be me.  And if I don’t clean up the mess right away, or talk to that one person at the party because I got to talking to someone else, I don’t want the emotional upheaval such a faux paux may indeed place upon my family.  Just let me hang with some friends and enjoy my life.  It is, after all, my birthday, or my anniversary, or my wedding.

Most people enjoy surprises. Instead, this word fills me with dread.  I want to know my plants are returning.  I look forward to when they bloom and become anxious if they have not.  Anxious that it is still winter, anxious that I may indeed have to replant and I really liked the ones I picked out and now I can’t remember what they were in the first place.  Everything has a place, everything has a job, and if it doesn’t then I have to deal with it and I really don’t have time for that.

Most people enjoy surprises.  This post may make you believe that I am inflexible, or unable to roll with unplanned events.  This is just the opposite.  I teach small children, everyday is full of surprises, and I can adapt to the joys they bring.  But those surprises don’t make me anxious and I don’t have to please anyone when they happen.  I just smile and praise and thank and those fabulous students of mine love it.  I can handle day to day things and put out problems that I am surprised have occurred.  I can jump into a situation that I have no experience with and learn along the way and don’t become anxious because I am in some way removed from things.  It is only when I am in the spotlight, or have to give the “proper” reaction that surprises are the most dreaded moment in my life.

A Memory

I was looking through my drafts from ideas discarded, ideas that needed to be remembered, ideas that never were posted.  This is one of those ideas.  Reading it, I vividly recall that conversation.  The way Becca (his sister) kept starting every sentence and question with “Mommy.”  The way he kept interrupting with a “Mommy.”  How frustrated and annoyed I had begun to feel at the ping pong of conversations between the two kids and me.  And now that frustration and annoyance has been replaced with nostalgia and peace.  I love these two crazy kids, and their ability to understand things around them amazes me.  Here is that idea from 2 years ago:

There he sits. Tucked into his booster seat, smiling at me in the rear view mirror. Thoughts bouncing in his head as he listens to me and his sister talking about what we will do today. Suddenly:
“Mommy, how many days until Thanksgiving?”
“2 weeks” I responded.
And back I go to my conversation with Becca. Yes we will be at Gabba’s. We will pick you up later today. No there is no play practice.
“Mommy, what is 7+7?”
“If you have 7, what is 7 more?”
“14!”
“Great.” Back to the conversation with Becca. Nothing like multi-tasking conversations back and forth with children. Yes I know you want Monster High for Christmas. I think your stomach is fine.
“Thanksgiving is in 14 days!”
“What Jack? How did you know it was 14 days?”
“I don’t know. I just did.”
So smart and yet, missing the bigger picture. He knew how to figure it out, he just doesn’t know that he does.

Becca

She is bright, shining like a star, finding joy in small things.

She is drama, both on the stage and off.

She is creative, writing stories, playing music, drawing pictures and scenes.

She is thoughtful, always (almost) thinking of those around her.

She is caring, watching out for her dogs, hugs for everyone.

She is messy, needing to always clean her room or fix her handwriting.

She is stubborn, having a backbone and sticking to it.

She is whiny, only when tired, or doesn’t get her way.

She is social, making friends wherever she goes.

She is watchful, taking care of those around her, fixing problems that she sees.

She is my favorite oldest daughter.

She turned 11 today.

No Celebrating Here

The next 3 days are filled with birthdays.  At least they are suppose to be.  Saturday is my daughter’s 11th and Monday is my son’s 8th.  She is super excited.  We are having friends over for a sleepover on Saturday and a family party for both of them on Sunday.  It is 3 days of birthday celebrations, except on Monday.

My son has decided to boycott his birthday this year.  He has been crying, whining, screaming, ranting, and raving like a lunatic since Wednesday.  It has been so horrendous that we have threatened to take away his birthday presents.  And then this morning he comes down the stairs and tells us “I don’t get a birthday this year.  I’m not celebrating it.  It is on a Monday and it doesn’t count.”  Wait…What?!?   I stopped counting birthdays since I turned 29.  If I had known that Mondays don’t count as celebration days for birthdays I may, in fact, still be 10.  Woo Hoo!!  But back to my fantastically wonderful about to stay 7 until his birthday comes on a weekend son.  He has decided to remain 7.  No birthday for this guy, he is thoroughly convinced that birthdays don’t happen during the week.  And then…

We are driving to pick up his sister tonight.  I nicely inform him that we will celebrate his birthday Monday morning, over breakfast.  He can open his presents before leaving for school.  He can start the celebration early and enjoy his day.  He responds with “Mondays are not birthday day but at least I get presents.”

I think he can be 7 for the time being.  We’ll see what happens on Monday.

Frustration

Frustration rears its ugly head.  I know what I am trying to do, but the computer won’t let me do it.  In all my years of teaching and karating, I have used the basics of all the programs.  Excel, pretty good, Word, got it down, Publisher, I draw a mean textbox.  I have the basics within the program.

Now that I am piloting Access and trying to make it “talk” with excel, it is not so easy.  I received this program from our headquarters.  They use it.  “It’s easy” they said as he talked we through everything on the phone.  An hour and a half later I am finally done. Now here I sit, trying to recreate that phone call from 2 weeks ago.  Here I sit with function keys, program malfunctions, error messages as my friends today.  Here I sit trying not to throw the computer out the window.  Thank God I have a month until our tournament to figure this out.  Thank God blogging is easy.   Meanwhile, frustration rears its ugly head and I am quitting until later tonight.  With a clearer head, and a different light, maybe, just maybe I can figure this out.

Hello Sun

Today was a summer day, at least in my car.  Running around on all of my errands the coat was off in the car.  I am dressed for the first day of summer: flip flops, light pants, and tank top.  No heat is on in the car, no air conditioning either.  Just warm sunshine pouring through the windows, warming the interior, warming my soul.  Warmth beats down on my bare arms, waking up my pores for the coming months of darker skin, fresh air, and more sunshine.  Warmth beats down on my soul, becoming aware that plants are blooming, the fog is lifting, the sun stays out a little bit longer.  Yes a cold front moved through last night, making it windy and cold outside.  But inside my car it is summer, and I can enjoy the warmth of the sun.

The Waking Up Book

The sun is up and shining bright

Now everybody avoids the light

To find the snooze and hit it -plop

To keep the peace- stop , stop, stop.

They stumble from their beds at last

And find their clothes, quick, hurry, fast.

Breakfast comes all too soon

Kids are hoping it is noon.

And when the clock shows 8:08

They all run out or they’ll be late

Then in once more, forgot something

Their on the way to beat the ring

The day begins,

Good morning class

Bags unpacked, homework passed

The day begun, announcements done

They work and play and learn all day.

 

We all have that favorite book.  My husband and I read the Going to Bed Book to our kids so many times that we have it memorized.  We would even go back and forth and finish each other’s lines.  I wanted to rewrite it as a glimpse into morning time.  I love that book, and, not being a frequent writer of poems, I used it to help form this one.  I shared this poem with my oldest and she gave me the “your so weird mom” look.  Can’t win them all. 🙂