Tuesday, December 23, 2014
Monthly Musings: December, 2014
Thursday, December 18, 2014
Three's A Crowd. Four's What? A Bobsled Team?
With my first, no one had ever been as anxious, as regimented, as exhausted, and as nauseated as I was. Everything I craved was on the forbidden list. I couldn't control my mood swings, and couldn't sleep enough to feel rested. Every twinge or bulge sent me in a panic to the doctor's phone exchange or to my dog-earred copy of What to Expect When You're Expecting. I was a complete basket case. And guess what? That was all totally ok. Normal, even. This time around, I'm still a basket case, but now I know I can (and will) survive it. Also, instead of fighting it, I take comfort in the knowledge that it's all completely out of my control--the feelings, the cravings, all of it. It's the same for everybody. It'll likely only last a few months, and really it could be worse. I could be having my period.
Part of the anxiety I felt the first time around was because I had no grid for all the physical and emotional changes I was going through, and had always taken new or unusual to mean pathological. Now, I've survived one traumatic birth experience. I'm the mother of a threenager, and I haven't killed him, yet (premeditated or otherwise). And according to the
Finally. I've been Bad Cop with The Buddy since he got mobile. Remember Fun Bobby from Friends? That's been W. He's the life of the party who plays ball in the house and lets him have chocolate before dinner. Now, I've been too tired and sick to lay down the law, so W has figured out that if our household isn't to descend into total anarchy, he has to hold down the rules. In The Buddy's eyes, this makes me the favorite. It's a cheap victory, but I'll take it. #rolereversal
When I was skinny and stupid, I valued a flat stomach over big jugs. I've since learned that they are basically interchangeable in their effectiveness. And since I'm not a Kardasian, or otherwise genetically predisposed to having them at the same time...pregnancy is my chosen path to top heavy and to the benefits thereof. #dontknocktheknockers
God love it. Nutritionists have long counseled the health benefits of small, frequent meals, but I'd always done just fine with breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Now, the worm has turned. If I don't want to be reduced to a jittery, dizzy, fish oil burpy, hangry mess by 10 am, I must eat breakfast, second breakfast, elevensies, lunch, afternoon snack, dinner, an after dinner apertif, and a "little something" before bed. It's a Hobbits life, but somebody's gotta live it. #survival
Oh, man...I am so tired...When I was pregnant with The Bud, the worst it ever got was the day I took a 20 minute nap on the ladies' room floor at work. I was mortified and fretted every time I had to give in to my desperate need for sleep. Now, I see my enforced siestas as radical self-care. And when the alternative is loading the dishwasher or sitting through another episode of Dinosaur Train, a nap you can't fight off can become a blessing in disguise.
In spite of my complaining, I'm thrilled and hopeful that I will see the light at the end of the tunnel soon. I've already begun to notice some relief from the perpetual nausea ("morning" sickness can suck it), and certain scents are losing their gross-out factor, so things are looking up. Oh, and in another 28 weeks or so, I'll get to cuddle up with a tiny grunter with his/her brother's eyes.
Totally worth it.
Saturday, November 22, 2014
Monthly Musings: November 2014
Sunday, November 16, 2014
Frankenbass
On Halloween, W bought a new bass guitar. I wish I'd taken a picture of this thing, because you'd have to see it to believe me when I say that it had a face (and form) that only a mother could love. And love it, he did. In spite of its dime store paint job and cheap looking hardware, when I looked into his eyes, I saw nothing but excitement and pride over this find. To him, it was a prize.
If you know W at all, you'll know that he's a passionate man, and never is his passion more evident than when he's engaged musically. That's why, when he started talking about why on earth he'd bought this lemon, I paid attention. He'd played it, and was pleased with the sound, even with its cheap hardware and shop class paint job. All it needed was some extreme TLC to be a respectable instrument and he was the man to provide it. He was evangelical in his zeal and I bought it like a church lady at a tent revival. Chaaaange! Was on the horizon. He was a man with a vision.
Dr. Frankenbass.
In the two weeks since, he's pored over guitar catalogs and websites, searching for the perfect pick guards and tuners and knobs. He's debated the relative benefits of stain vs. paint, and agonized over color choices. It's worth it to him, all because he believes in the integrity of this instrument and wants its outside to match its insides.
Of course, watching all this go down has me thinking of God and Gungor.
God is the God of the Bible. Creator of heaven and earth, the great instigator of this crazy mishegoss we call life. Gungor is a husband/wife duo who has written several of my favorite worship songs, including one called Beautiful Things. The lyrics go like this:
All this pain
I wonder if I’ll ever find my way
I wonder if my life could really change at all
All this earth
Could all that is lost ever be found
Could a garden come up from this ground at all
You make beautiful things
You make beautiful things out of the dust
You make beautiful things
You make beautiful things out of us
All around
Hope is springing up from this old ground
Out of chaos life is being found in You
You make beautiful things
You make beautiful things out of the dust
You make beautiful things
You make beautiful things out of us
You make me new, You are making me new
You make me new, You are making me new
You make beautiful things
You make beautiful things out of the dust
You make beautiful things
You make beautiful things out of us
Watching W with Frankenbass, I find myself humming this tune over and over again. He's taking that guitar through a pretty rigorous refining process, and I'm starting to see what he sees in it. First, all the hardware had to come off and what was underneath examined for fitness. What worked well and could be salvaged was set safely aside and the rest, discarded. Next, the gnarly paint job was painstakingly sanded and stripped, revealing the bare wood grain beneath. After days of this, a virgin grade of maple was left. Even there, W found broken things--holes, pits, and patched places that cheap, black spray paint had covered. None of those discoveries has stopped him. He has a vision of something beautiful, so he presses on joyfully toward it, even on days when his hands go numb from the sanding, his back aches from bending over for hours, and the paint thinner and wood stain fumes probably cause cancer.
And isn't that so like our refining process with God? If we let him, He takes us through our life's journey, bent over us, stripping away the outer layers and shoddy craftmanship we've built up over time, determined to expose the pristine wood grain underneath. He knows it's there, because He put it there. He knows it's uncomfortable for us. It is for Him too, but He only allows and applies what is absolutely necessary to bring us to a fine polish. He takes joy in the entire process because He sees how gorgeous we are, pits, cracks, patched places and all, and He believes the finished product--once our outsides match our insides--will be breathtaking.
And the balm He will apply after all the sanding and stripping and rubbing is done will be unlike any healing touch we've ever felt.
Saturday, November 15, 2014
Conversation Between The Bud and Me, Today
The Bud [watching me clean the kitchen]: "Mommy, what you doing?"
Me: "Sweeping the floor, Bud."
The Bud: "Oh...I see. You vewy tired?"
Me [marveling over how I'm raising the most sensitive and empathetic child on the planet]: "Oh, yes, I'm very tired, Buddy. But the job's gotta be done. Thank you for asking!"
The Bud: "..."
Seconds later, I replayed our interaction and realized my three year old pronounces the word sleep, like sweep, and rarely uses prepositions without prompting. This probably meant that when I'd said "I'm sweeping the floor," he'd translated that to "I'm sleeping on the floor." I dove back in to repair the damage.
Me: "Oh, Buddy, I didn't mean I was going to sleep, I meant I was using the broom to clean the floor. That's called sweeping."
The Bud [turning his attention back to his snack]: "..."
Note to self: pull out my Toddler to English Dictionary before assuming I know what my kid is saying. #languagedevelopment
Monday, October 27, 2014
If Mama Ain't Happy, Ain't Nobody Happy...
As a mom, a partner who works outside the home, and a fixer, a regular frustration of my daily life is seeing something in myself that needs tweaking, but feeling absolutely unequal to the challenge of doing anything about it. There's always something else that needs to be done to distract me from the hard work of being human. It's one of the reasons this blog is such a gift to me. I can write down my impressions, chew on them for months, and they'll still be there to remind me of my journey when I have the [insert: time/energy/attention span/faith/balls] to deal with them.
Yes, I did say faith-slash-balls. You heard it here, folks. Ya'll come back now, ya hear?!
Anyway, I'm up in the middle of the night to write this because it finally feels important enough that I'm willing to drop a ball (the sleep ball, not one of the aforementioned balls), to get it down. Things to note: this is not Gospel, science, or a panacea for the world's ills. Nor am I the first person ever to have a personal revelation. I hope and pray that nothing I put out here ever comes off as if I think that way. My goal is simply to come to terms with said world and my place in it, in hopes of becoming who I believe God intends me to be on this side of Heaven--fits, starts, warts, forks in the road, and all.
Ok, I'm done laying the ground work. Thank you for waiting so patiently.
As I said, I work outside the home. I'm also a mom, a sister, a friend, a woman with interests and an identity, and a partner to another human being, with his own list of stuff to manage, too. And this shit is hard. Hard, like I didn't even know, hard. On a good day, I feel like I'm constantly playing catch up and serving up leftovers to my entire life. On a bad day? It's takeout all the way, baby.
It rarely feels like I'm giving my best anywhere, but some moments stand out more than others. At one point last week I looked around and discovered that it had been days since W and I had connected in a meaningful way. The Bud was particularly clingy and defiant. I realize at 3 that it's part of his job description to be that way in general, but this was to the level that showed me he wasn't getting enough attention. There were takeout cartons and frozen pizza boxes everywhere, dinosaurs and guitar picks on the floor, and a pair of poopy Justice League undies was soaking in the bathroom sink. For hours? For days? Had we been brushing our teeth with the sink like that??? I don't even care. I had worked late every night and it wasn't safe to walk to the bathroom to pee in the dark. I was pissed about it and looking for something, someone, to blame. And when I found them, heads would roll.
That's when I realized, I'd found my culprit. As per usual, it was me all along. I hadn't practiced any type of self-care so I got overwhelmed by the things that didn't matter. You see, I believe the only important detail in my tale of woe is that my crappy attitude about the hand I was dealt last week had affected the quality of my interaction with my loved ones. I forgot that taking a moment of silence--to regroup, to unwind, and to remember that my family and friends aren't items to check off on my To Do list--is so important. Not just for me, but for them, too. If I haven't decompressed from the rigors of the day, that's going to spill over negatively into my home life. Now, I had my reasons to be on edge all week and yes, they are all valid. Please, oh please, you gorgeous SAHMs, and WAHMs, and WOTHMs (Lord, save us from our acronyms!), and any other blessed female who has ever drunk the you-are-less-than-and-must-try-harder Koolaid, know that I do not judge you if you struggle in this way, too. I believe that you're doing your best, and I'm damned proud of you. You give it all out every day and you do it beautifully. You don't need to be anything more than you are to those who love and need you right now. You are enough. I'm saying, that on this day, on my journey, I need to be careful about what I bring home to my people.
So I did an experiment. I took deep, cleansing breaths on my drive home. I stopped slamming doors and sighing over messes. I led with hugs and kisses, and howwasyourdayImissedyous. I made eye contact and said with those same eyes, "You matter. I'm so lucky to love you, and all this hard work? It's for you." I read twenty thousand stories and tickled and cuddled. I watched Godzilla and A Million Ways to Die in the West (sort of). I went to laugh with friends and to dance at our church picnic. Nothing got done. The house is still a wreck. I have to get back on the hamster wheel tomorrow. But it mattered. We laughed and loved a lot this weekend amid the chaos, and it was so good. Because, like it says in the country song we all know and maybe wish we didn't, and as dirty as it makes me feel to quote it, when mama ain't happy? Ain't nobody happy.
Who I bring home matters. It matters a lot.
Tuesday, October 7, 2014
The Best Gift I Never Wanted
Wednesday, October 1, 2014
Monthly Musings, The Penis Edition: September 2014
I started 6 posts in September that I couldn't find the words to finish. The fog is lifting, so I'm hopeful that as I revisit each one, I'll be able to work through what my heart wants to say and that there will be something worth sharing with you all in this shiny, new month of October. The following post from the September archives has no depth or eternal value whatsoever, which is why I'm posting it, first. Enjoy!
______________________________________
Disclosure: This post is almost entirely about penises or people who have them. If you are in any way squeamish about the word penis or discussions thereof, do not read any further. If, out of morbid curiosity, you decide to ignore your better judgement and continue reading, only to find yourself disgusted, repulsed, shocked, and dismayed, remember that I did warn you. You have only yourself to blame for whatever sleep you lose after this moment. Xoxoxo!
Saturday, September 13, 2014
Foiled Again
Recently, I sat W down for what I thought was a much-needed discussion about what would be an equitable division of labor around the house. (Shut up; I didn't use those exact words...)
Going into it, I acknowledged that I had a couple obstacles working against me:
1. The game was on. W is a baseball fan. An insane one. Don’t misunderstand me; I enjoy a good game as much as the next girl. I do live in #CardinalNation, after all. But when I say I like baseball, I mean I like it literally as much as the next girl. W is a baseball fan as only a man can be. I do not understand his single minded determination to bear personal witness to every, single minute of the MLB season, from spring training in April to the World Series in October. That's seven whole months of baseball. You'd think that the sheer number of opportunities to attend and/or watch games, combined with access to a DVR for recording, pausing, and rewinding of key moments, would lessen his anxiety over missing even a single second of action on the field. It does not.
2. I said, "can we talk?" Hell hath no fury like a man forced to have a conversation against his will. No matter that I was smiling when I asked. No matter that we hadn't had an argument in weeks and there were no current peas under our relational mattress, he alway thinks he's in trouble when I ask to talk, and he will fight to the death to avoid a conversation. Especially if there's a game on (see #1).
3. It was a day ending in 'Y.' (See #2).
Anyway, call me naive but I waded in, regardless of the stacked deck. I thought we could have a quick convo about this tiny issue, then he could go back to baseball. We'd talk it over, pound out a short list of daily and weekly chores that needed to be done, and divide them up like civilized human beings. Equitably. (Shut UP.)
Instead, W interrupted to register his conscientious objection to the word chores. Distracted, I spent 10 minutes arguing with him over WTF other word would be better than chores to describe CHORES (!), until I gave up in disgust and went to fold the laundry. Never did get those chores lined out.
Well played, my rainbeau. Well played.
Thursday, August 28, 2014
Monthly Musings, August 2014
• Grooming is an epic struggle and if you ask me, I'm not entirely sure it's worth the drama. If I come near The Bud with soap, a comb, or a set of nail clippers, he looks at me like I'm wearing a leather mask and carrying a chainsaw. And really, at this point in his life I'm only doing this stuff to keep DFS from my doorstep, anyway. It's not like he's prepping for job interviews or anything...#rationalizations
Tuesday, August 26, 2014
Buckwheat Spice Pancakes
1/3 c whole wheat flour
2 tsp baking powder
1 Tbsp sugar
2 tsp cinnamon (W: "use more. It's better.")
1 tsp cardamom
1/4 tsp salt
*Ground ginger
*Nutmeg
2 eggs
1 Tbsp melted coconut oil
1 cup milk
1 over ripe banana
Friday, August 15, 2014
Everything We Thought We Knew About Them Is Wrong
Sunday, August 10, 2014
Review--People I Want to Punch in the Throat, by Jen Mann
My first read from NetGalley was People I Want to Punch in the Throat, by Jen Mann, and the title alone was worth a look. I'm so glad I picked it up. The book is so funny! It's a compilation of short stories and essays from her blog of the same name. I got a bird's eye view of the life and times of a reluctant suburban housewife/mother/PTA president/real estate agent, who is having some trouble navigating it all. The book touches on a lot--online dating before it was cool, the landmines of interracial coupling, the mommy wars, and holiday parties hosted by coworkers (they are, in a word, weird)--and all of it the snarky view from behind the curtain. Jen, The Hubs, and their kids, Gomer and Adolpha (I'm kind of afraid those really are their names) are just the type of family that I want to live next door to someday, if for no other reason than to make me feel just a tiny bit better about my household.
Jen said all the things I'm just starting to think about this whole parenting-thing and I hope that I can make old yoga pants and store-bought cookies look as graceless and real as she does, someday. At this stage of the mommy game, I need laughter in hard, fast doses. This book delivers.
Releasing from Random House Publishing Group--Ballantine, September 9, 2014
Books, You Guys...
I love to read, always have. Reading opened up new worlds for me as a child. I used to sit alone in my room, laughing, gasping, and crying out loud over the characters' lives in the books I was reading. My mom would check on me, totally confused (freaked out?), when she would hear me emoting from a room away, about nothing that she could put her finger on. If you asked me what book I was reading, I always had at least one that I was excited to talk about.
Then, I became a mom. Now, My List of Reasons I Don't Read is longer than the list of books I've actually read this year...
1. There aren't enough hours in a day to make room for sitting down for an hour of uninterrupted reading. I can't sit in one place for 5 minutes without wiping a nose/bottom, building a train track, riding a beep-beep, making a snack, or answering "Mommy, what are you doing?" for the eleventy-thousandth time.
2. At night, after all of the kid-wrangling is done, I'm tired, so I fall asleep 10 minutes into any book I might pick up, which makes it hard to comprehend a plot, let alone enjoy it. And remembering titles or authors' names? Fuggedaboutit.
3. Since my time is so scarce, I've lost all tolerance for a bad read. Before, when I was reading 10 books or more a year, a couple of turds in there wouldn't phase me. One bad apple don't spoil the whole bunch, you say? If you only eat three a year, it does! Stinkers piss me clean off these days. (and the puns just keep on comin...) I've said it before and I'll say it again: Ain't nobody got time for that, son! If I'm going to commit to a 6 to 10 hour time suck over 2 to 4 weeks of my life (low estimates), I want an engraved guarantee that the book I choose will be good! You can imagine how well this is going for me. It's become a vicious, whining cycle of no reading.
4. And finally, a caveat to #3. It's expensive. If you've read my blog before, you already know that I don't buy a whole lot of books. I got to the library, which should be free, but since I'm an airhead now, that's rarely the case for me. Besides, time is money. The act of going to the places where books are to get them takes a certain amount of sweat equity that, frankly, I'm unwilling to invest. I'm just sayin'...
Thank you for listening, I feel much better. Now that you've
NetGalley.com. This site is so cool! I discovered it on another blog that I follow and checked it out for myself. What I found was this:
Do you love to discover new books? Do you review and recommend books online, in print, for your bookstore, library patrons, blog readers, or classroom? Then you are what we call a "professional reader," and NetGalley is for you. Registration is FREE, and allows you to request or be invited to read titles, often advance reading copies, on your favorite device.
Yes, yes, and YES! I'm a professional reader! Sign me up! In layman's terms, I created a profile that outlined the type of reader I am, what genres of books I typically enjoy, and my online presence--basically, I told them who and where I would tell about the books they let me read. Now that my profile is complete, I browse titles of galleys pending release that are recommended to me or that I search out myself, request the ones that look interesting to me, and wait for approval from NetGalley to download the title(s) to my Kindle. After I read a title, I review it on the NetGalley site (and my own social media, as I choose), and mark it as read. Lather, rinse, repeat.
Seriously, this is solving most of my current reading problems.
Hard to find uninterrupted time when I'm not exhausted? There is no time limit to finishing a title I choose, nor am I obligated to do so. I have a smart phone, so my Kindle app is not just on the main device, but also on my phone. I can read a chapter while I sit at the bank, at the DMV, or even pop it up while I'm having lunch at work.
Smell a stinker? Stop reading it, immediately! If I start reading a book that's not doing it for me, I feel no obligation to finish it when I didn't lose any money, time, or effort to find it.
Tired of spending money on books or library late fees for books you rarely finish? This is completely FREE! I can read pre-released books all year and, technically, not spend a dime. The only danger I forsee is that I'll fall in love with a title here and there and decide it must become part of my home library. And by that, I mean hard copy. Kindle and other readers are great and progressive, but nothing beats the smell of ink on paper for me. Love me some books. YIPPEEE!!!
Check back here from time to time for reviews on the fun titles I'm reading. I'm working on a review right now, and have two, unread titles waiting for me on my digital "shelf." Now I make no promises on the number of regular postings I might make (Remember me? The chick with no time?), but now that I have convenient access to what's new on the literary front, I cannot WAIT to exceed my own expectations.
If you're a social media guru and reader on a time crunch, check out NetGalley.com for yourself. You might like it.
Happy reading!
Thursday, July 31, 2014
Monthly Musings, July 2014
Friday, July 25, 2014
I Give Until It Hurts; It's My Cross to Bear
Thursday, July 10, 2014
#tbt
Wednesday, July 9, 2014
Don't Poke the Sleeping Bear
Monday, June 30, 2014
Monthly Musings, June 2014
While watching me fold his big-boy underwear, The Bud pointed at them, saying, "Mama, a poopin' diaper!" #pottytrainingfail #dammit
For the last 3 days, I've been telling every person I talk to that The Buddy went poop in the potty, instead of on my floor. Everyone. Friends, relatives, co-workers, the poor lady next to me in line at the grocery store... #cantstopwontstop
The Bud inexplicably started calling shadows (from trees, specifically) 'scary monsters' about a month ago. We soothed him and tell him what they were and talk about why trees were good things, but neither of us knew where the fear came from. Recently, I watched an episode of Carebears with him where one of the characters was afraid of monsters, which turned out to be, you guessed it, shadows from tree limbs. Carebears. What's supposed to be the most un-scary show in the world, is scaring my kid. Really, Carebears? Geez...#whocanyoutrust
Tuesday, June 24, 2014
To-Die-For Grilled Chicken Salad + Paleo Double Dark Chocolate Brownies
From time to time, I'll share some of my faves here on the ol' blog so that you can partake if you're so inclined, and so I'll remember to put it on a note card for later. (We'll see if that actually happens).
To-Die-For Grilled Chicken Salad
I whipped up this salad to use some leftover chicken that we'd grilled. We loved it so much, it's a on our list as a summer time fave!
Yield: 4 Servings
Ingredients
2 lbs chicken breasts (4 large, 6 or 7 small), grilled and diced
1/2 c Newman's Own Italian Dressing
2 stalks of celery, washed and diced
4 green onions, washed and diced
10 red grapes, seeded and sliced in half or quarters
2 Tbsp mayonnaise
1/2 tsp dried dill
1/2 tsp rosemary
1/4 c crushed cashews
Instructions
I typically work with leftovers that have been in the fridge overnight, but if you're doing this from scratch, it'll still work fine. Marinate thawed chicken breasts in italian dressing marinade for a minimum of a half hour (the length of time it takes for me to light a fire in the grill and for the fire to calm down to glowing embers). You don't have to use Newman's Own, but we love it. It's delicious, there's no high-fructose corn syrup and they donate the proceeds from their products to charity. Win-Win-Win. But really, it's up to you. I also think a jerk or tabasco marinade would be yummy, too. Spice it up a bit.
For the uninitiated chicken-cooker, grill breasts 3 to 5 minutes on each , then give them a good poke. If it's done, the flesh should give easily. Also, take a look at the fluid that oozes out. If it's clear, they're done and still juicy. That's what you want. If they still ooze a bit pink, flip them again and cook another 2 minutes on each side. Cool them, dice them and set them aside.
Combine chicken with celery, grapes, green onions, mayonnaise, herbs and cashews. Mix, chill if you prefer, and serve. I serve it on a bed of mixed greens, but it's also great on toast, or with tortilla chips.
Paleo Dark Chocolate Brownies (or as I call them, So Good, Your Head Will Explode). To insure that you completely blow your caloric intake for the day, this little ditty I bit off the blog, Civilized Caveman. There's been a lot of talk about paleo cooking/eating lately and while I personally don't have any medical or moral concerns that keep grains and dairy out of my diet, some of the recipes I've seen make it look like a damned tasty option! We love chocolate, so when I saw this recipe I had to try it. Hope you like it, too, but be careful: grain-free or not, these things are NOT good for you, especially if you do what I did and have them with vanilla ice cream (eek!). Not paleo, but oh, so good!
Yield: 18 (or 1, if you're very motivated)
Ingredients
2 cups of almond butter (can use sun-butter, cashew, macadamia nut butter or a mixture to total 2 cups)