I love that line from "Pee Wee’s Big Adventure." That’s how I felt in the first years of my marriage to Pat.
Being a professional musician, Pat traveled a lot and was sometimes gone for up to 3 weeks. Being the “loner” I am, it didn’t bother me. Well…the 2 and 3 week trips were difficult, but the long weekends apart didn’t usually phase me. That was my time to recharge and regroup, which basically meant I ate a lot of salt and sugar, watched a buttload of chick flicks, and managed a little shoe shopping in between.
When Savannah came along I still snuck in my recharging ritual, it was just scaled down quite a bit and happened after she went to bed. Then Sarah came along, the music business took a dive, and Pat stopped going out on the road. We became a regular family of four and I had to let go of my rebel spirit. But, oh, how I looked forward to those evenings when Pat was invited to meet up with some friends for a jam session. I’d walk him out with blessings for a great night, wear out the girls so they’d go to bed early, and pull out a favorite movie, a great pint of ice cream, and a little pink polish for my toe nails. Would I be showing my selfishness if I said I lived for those times?
So tonight Pat has a gig. As he walked out the door I got really excited because I haven’t had one of those loner nights in ages. Then I walked back into the living room and saw my evening sitting in front of me. It was Savannah sitting on the couch, her eyes glued to the Wii game while she yelled at Sarah to quit jumping on her; Sarah giggling in response and continuing to jump. Pace was lying in his swing crying to be held. I then remembered that Sarah’s not falling asleep until late at night since we’ve moved her into a big bed and Pace is wide awake until at least 11:00, at which time I fall on the bed and shut my eyes whether or not I’ve had time to take a shower or brush my teeth.
As I stood at the door listening to the crying, the yelling, and the giggling, I realized that my sugar eating, movie watching, toe painting night wasn’t going to happen. Maybe in a year or two I’ll be able to recharge again. Just think of me when you’re watching "Eat, Pray, Love" on DVD in a few months; maybe with a glass of vino and some cheese or the latest Ben & Jerry’s flavor, but never both because that would just be overkill (wink, wink).
I’ll stick with my 30 second YouTube videos for entertainment.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mKLizztikRk
Thursday, August 12, 2010
Wednesday, August 11, 2010
The Heavenliest "Wip-Thick"
Sarah likes to go through my makeup while I'm getting ready. She rubs my blush brush on her cheeks and combs her eyebrows. Then she likes to top it all off with a little lipstick, or "wip-thick" as she calls it, and looks in the mirror and says, "That's Sarah!"
Tonight she was going through lipsticks I have stashed away and never use. The first one she showcased was really beautiful with her skin and hair. If she was older, I would have told her to start wearing it every day. Or if she was a beauty pageant toddler, to wear it for the big competitions. But instead I thought Hey! I bet that would look good on me!
I looked at the name on the tube and realized why it looked so good on Sarah and that there was no way it would look half as good on my foul lips. The name?...
"Angelic"
All at once now....
Awwwww!!!
Tonight she was going through lipsticks I have stashed away and never use. The first one she showcased was really beautiful with her skin and hair. If she was older, I would have told her to start wearing it every day. Or if she was a beauty pageant toddler, to wear it for the big competitions. But instead I thought Hey! I bet that would look good on me!
I looked at the name on the tube and realized why it looked so good on Sarah and that there was no way it would look half as good on my foul lips. The name?...
"Angelic"
All at once now....
Awwwww!!!
Monday, August 9, 2010
Tale of the Projectile Poop
Yes, that's right.
I got hit.
With poop.
All down my shirt.
It was that lovely, stinky, runny breastmilk poop.
Yeah, so, um....Happy Breastfeeding Awareness month. I know I'm certainly more aware.
And, no, this isn't really a tale. It's more.....let's call it sharing an experience.
So Mommyhood really CAN be the shits sometimes.
I got hit.
With poop.
All down my shirt.
It was that lovely, stinky, runny breastmilk poop.
Yeah, so, um....Happy Breastfeeding Awareness month. I know I'm certainly more aware.
And, no, this isn't really a tale. It's more.....let's call it sharing an experience.
So Mommyhood really CAN be the shits sometimes.
Friday, August 6, 2010
Guest Blog
My Aunt Peggy (You can read about her here.) sent me an email about my weight gain post. It reminded me so much of the weekly column she wrote for more than 30 years, I asked her to be a guest blogger. Enjoy!
Your mother read me your blog about your post-Pace weight gain including the comment from one of your Facebook friends about how having babies ruins one's body. It reminded me of my friend, Dora in Baytown, in the 70s. We worked at Good Will together.
I was from East Texas and she was from New Jersey,and although she was about 40 years my senior with a bit of dementia setting in, we became very good friends. We talked a lot as we worked, often bemoaning our fate: I was a recent TCU grad and she was an uppity lady from the east coast; how had we landed here?
We'd be elbow-deep in bin work, sorting through someone else's discarded clothing when suddenly she'd look up at me and ask, "Pegs, did I ever tell you I could have been a Rockette?"
I would want to reply, "Yes, about 400 times." But I didn't. I would try to work my voice up to a surprised and interested level and respond, "Oh?"
"Yes," she'd say, enthusiastically. "It was back when I was young. About the time I married, and before. From my home in New Jersey, I went over to New York City a lot. It was just across the river. You know, I was married to the man who was the staff organist at the Waldorf-Astoria Hotel. I was very pretty with a lovely figure -- just the kind they wanted for the Rockettes."
There would be a pause then and she would sigh and say, "But I got pregnant and had those kids and it ruined my figure."
Her head and shoulders dropped low as she remembered. So low, her face was buried in the clothes she was sorting. It sounded like she was sobbing. In a few seconds, though, her head came upright. She'd have a blouse or a similar article of clothing in her hand. Shaking it like a Shih-Tzu with a chew toy, she would say, "Two of them I had, a boy and a girl, and where are they now?" (Her son she lived with was at work and her daughter was in New Jersey being a mom herself.)
She would go up the aisle muttering, "I coulda been a Rockette...."
Some years later after I had come home to Crawford Creek and was out of touch with Dora, I was watching the evening news around Christmas time. They said this would be the last season for the Radio City Rockettes. But there they were then: shapely legs kicking. Off to one side, a woman stood by herself watching the show. She was wrapped in warm winter clothes as an old woman would be. I imagined it was Dora taking one last look, mumbling to herself, "I coulda been, I coulda been."
At 5:30, when her middle-age son came to pick her up, from the enthusiasm with which they greeted each other, you would never know he was one of the kids who had spoiled her future.
"Ma, you look like a million dollahs," in his suave east coast accent.
I hope her son or daughter was there to take her home from that last Rockette show.
Your mother read me your blog about your post-Pace weight gain including the comment from one of your Facebook friends about how having babies ruins one's body. It reminded me of my friend, Dora in Baytown, in the 70s. We worked at Good Will together.
I was from East Texas and she was from New Jersey,and although she was about 40 years my senior with a bit of dementia setting in, we became very good friends. We talked a lot as we worked, often bemoaning our fate: I was a recent TCU grad and she was an uppity lady from the east coast; how had we landed here?
We'd be elbow-deep in bin work, sorting through someone else's discarded clothing when suddenly she'd look up at me and ask, "Pegs, did I ever tell you I could have been a Rockette?"
I would want to reply, "Yes, about 400 times." But I didn't. I would try to work my voice up to a surprised and interested level and respond, "Oh?"
"Yes," she'd say, enthusiastically. "It was back when I was young. About the time I married, and before. From my home in New Jersey, I went over to New York City a lot. It was just across the river. You know, I was married to the man who was the staff organist at the Waldorf-Astoria Hotel. I was very pretty with a lovely figure -- just the kind they wanted for the Rockettes."
There would be a pause then and she would sigh and say, "But I got pregnant and had those kids and it ruined my figure."
Her head and shoulders dropped low as she remembered. So low, her face was buried in the clothes she was sorting. It sounded like she was sobbing. In a few seconds, though, her head came upright. She'd have a blouse or a similar article of clothing in her hand. Shaking it like a Shih-Tzu with a chew toy, she would say, "Two of them I had, a boy and a girl, and where are they now?" (Her son she lived with was at work and her daughter was in New Jersey being a mom herself.)
She would go up the aisle muttering, "I coulda been a Rockette...."
Some years later after I had come home to Crawford Creek and was out of touch with Dora, I was watching the evening news around Christmas time. They said this would be the last season for the Radio City Rockettes. But there they were then: shapely legs kicking. Off to one side, a woman stood by herself watching the show. She was wrapped in warm winter clothes as an old woman would be. I imagined it was Dora taking one last look, mumbling to herself, "I coulda been, I coulda been."
At 5:30, when her middle-age son came to pick her up, from the enthusiasm with which they greeted each other, you would never know he was one of the kids who had spoiled her future.
"Ma, you look like a million dollahs," in his suave east coast accent.
I hope her son or daughter was there to take her home from that last Rockette show.
Thursday, August 5, 2010
A Mother's Lullaby
I wanted to share a song with all of you today. Though I’ve never been the biggest fan of her music, I’ve always liked Sheryl Crow, especially as we’ve aged. I try to forget that she once dated Kid Rock. We all have questionable taste at times.
I was checking out tunes from her latest CD on You Tube when I found this one from a prior album. It’s a song she wrote for her son.
“Lullaby for Wyatt”
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oHZi9qJsxvw&feature=av2e
The lyrics, the music; it’s all beautiful. The third verse is what really jumped out at me and made me stop everything to write this piece:
I have held you close
And breathed your name, my dear
I was with you then
And will remain, my dear
As I listened to those lines I had visions of holding Pace late in the night while the rest of the house slept.
All is quiet.
It’s just me and Pace.
I hold him close while he eats or I breathe in his scent while his sleeping head lies on my shoulder. I whisper in his ear, “Mommy loves you,” and I snuggle a little closer.
I had this experience with all three of my kids and I will always cherish the warmth of those memories, no matter how far they may roam.
How do I keep you from losing your way
Hope you will find love like I did some day
But love is letting go
And this I'll know
Cause you were mine
For a time
I think that’s every mother’s unsung lullaby.
I was checking out tunes from her latest CD on You Tube when I found this one from a prior album. It’s a song she wrote for her son.
“Lullaby for Wyatt”
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oHZi9qJsxvw&feature=av2e
The lyrics, the music; it’s all beautiful. The third verse is what really jumped out at me and made me stop everything to write this piece:
I have held you close
And breathed your name, my dear
I was with you then
And will remain, my dear
As I listened to those lines I had visions of holding Pace late in the night while the rest of the house slept.
All is quiet.
It’s just me and Pace.
I hold him close while he eats or I breathe in his scent while his sleeping head lies on my shoulder. I whisper in his ear, “Mommy loves you,” and I snuggle a little closer.
I had this experience with all three of my kids and I will always cherish the warmth of those memories, no matter how far they may roam.
How do I keep you from losing your way
Hope you will find love like I did some day
But love is letting go
And this I'll know
Cause you were mine
For a time
I think that’s every mother’s unsung lullaby.
Wednesday, August 4, 2010
A Breastfeeding Story
Happy Breastfeeding Awareness Month!
And Phhttttttttttttttt! to all those people who shot me looks whenever I fed my babies in public.
(I have no idea who this baby is. I found it on the web.)
I ask you people: Would you rather listen to a crying baby or see feet sticking out from under a blanket and maybe hear a little contented gurgle? That's what I thought.
I thought I’d share a funny breastfeeding moment with you guys today in honor of Breastfeeding Awareness. There may be more to come throughout the month, but who knows. I'm spontaneous like that.
When Pace was just a few days old I was feeding him on our bed, one of my favorite spots. It provided direct cold air for the hot flashes I was having and lots of pillows to keep me propped up when I wanted to sleep. Sarah climbed up next to me and noticed that I had a baby attached to me. Out of curiosity she leaned in close, investigating the scene. She looked up at me with a confused look.
“Juice?”
“It’s milk for the baby,” I replied.
She tilted her head and gave me her best you-can’t-resist-me-look and said, “Weeth?” Translation: Please?
Luckily I was too tired to laugh, although I did manage a chuckle.
Watching me feed Pace has become boring for her now, but she still loves it when I break out the pump. She likes to watch the milk shoot out and sometimes hits my boob like a ball to help it come out. She gives a whole new meaning to word the dribble.
She's Mommy’s little helper!
And Phhttttttttttttttt! to all those people who shot me looks whenever I fed my babies in public.
(I have no idea who this baby is. I found it on the web.)
I ask you people: Would you rather listen to a crying baby or see feet sticking out from under a blanket and maybe hear a little contented gurgle? That's what I thought.
I thought I’d share a funny breastfeeding moment with you guys today in honor of Breastfeeding Awareness. There may be more to come throughout the month, but who knows. I'm spontaneous like that.
When Pace was just a few days old I was feeding him on our bed, one of my favorite spots. It provided direct cold air for the hot flashes I was having and lots of pillows to keep me propped up when I wanted to sleep. Sarah climbed up next to me and noticed that I had a baby attached to me. Out of curiosity she leaned in close, investigating the scene. She looked up at me with a confused look.
“Juice?”
“It’s milk for the baby,” I replied.
She tilted her head and gave me her best you-can’t-resist-me-look and said, “Weeth?” Translation: Please?
Luckily I was too tired to laugh, although I did manage a chuckle.
Watching me feed Pace has become boring for her now, but she still loves it when I break out the pump. She likes to watch the milk shoot out and sometimes hits my boob like a ball to help it come out. She gives a whole new meaning to word the dribble.
She's Mommy’s little helper!
Monday, August 2, 2010
Out of the Mouths of Babes
There is a quote by Kelly Ripa of “Live with Regis and Kelly” that has stuck with me for a couple years. In an interview with Fitness magazine she said, “I never want my daughter to hear me say ‘Do I look fat in this?’” This came back to haunt me yesterday in a dressing room at Target, except it had a different angle.
I took Savannah clothes shopping. I was also trying on a few things myself in an effort to cover up my “post baby bump.” I was a little frustrated that the items I liked didn’t fit in a size I was comfortable with and made my boobs look like I’m the ice cream replacement at the local Dairy Queen. I kept telling myself that the sizes ran small and the next store would be better.
But while we tried on clothes together at Target Savannah hit me with something that I needed…a dose of reality.
“Wow, Mom. You’ve got a lot of fat now.” She was completely stunned to see me this way. When she saw the look on my face, which was probably mortification, she quickly said, “But you just had a baby and it’s empty in there, so it just looks fat.” No, Sweetie, it doesn’t look fat. It IS fat. I was so embarrassed. I've always wanted to be a role model for my kids, especially my girls, but there I was struggling to button some pants with my daughter staring at my belly. What a great role model, huh?
Yes, I realize I just had a baby nine weeks ago and I know it’s too soon to be back to my pre-pregnancy weight, but the scale has gone up the last three weeks while I validate my extra snacking with breastfeeding and my lack of exercise with fatigue and needy kids. So I’ve decided to put it all out there, despite the embarrassment.
You see, I feel this is worse than all the other bad habits I’ve admitted to on this blog. This involves my health and confidence, which affects my family, and kids learn by what you do, not what you say.
My blog won’t turn into a diet and fitness blog, but I will keep you posted on how I’m doing through my tears, frustration, and, hopefully, my accomplishments. Maybe this, and Savannah's occasional slips, will hold me accountable.
I took Savannah clothes shopping. I was also trying on a few things myself in an effort to cover up my “post baby bump.” I was a little frustrated that the items I liked didn’t fit in a size I was comfortable with and made my boobs look like I’m the ice cream replacement at the local Dairy Queen. I kept telling myself that the sizes ran small and the next store would be better.
But while we tried on clothes together at Target Savannah hit me with something that I needed…a dose of reality.
“Wow, Mom. You’ve got a lot of fat now.” She was completely stunned to see me this way. When she saw the look on my face, which was probably mortification, she quickly said, “But you just had a baby and it’s empty in there, so it just looks fat.” No, Sweetie, it doesn’t look fat. It IS fat. I was so embarrassed. I've always wanted to be a role model for my kids, especially my girls, but there I was struggling to button some pants with my daughter staring at my belly. What a great role model, huh?
Yes, I realize I just had a baby nine weeks ago and I know it’s too soon to be back to my pre-pregnancy weight, but the scale has gone up the last three weeks while I validate my extra snacking with breastfeeding and my lack of exercise with fatigue and needy kids. So I’ve decided to put it all out there, despite the embarrassment.
You see, I feel this is worse than all the other bad habits I’ve admitted to on this blog. This involves my health and confidence, which affects my family, and kids learn by what you do, not what you say.
My blog won’t turn into a diet and fitness blog, but I will keep you posted on how I’m doing through my tears, frustration, and, hopefully, my accomplishments. Maybe this, and Savannah's occasional slips, will hold me accountable.
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