tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-81601407387909261902024-03-05T03:11:54.710-06:00The Desperate MomJessica Messengerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08404672267634741279noreply@blogger.comBlogger40125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8160140738790926190.post-62747934964568206492015-11-25T16:29:00.001-06:002015-11-25T18:13:14.953-06:00Thanksgiving (My feet are killing me.)Well, for you Americans out there, Thanksgiving is tomorrow. Which means that you are going to be spending the next day cooking your ass off. I never worry about the calories that are associated with Thanksgiving because I have spent every waking moment of the week before preparing the house for the holiday. Cleaning is a must. The house certainly cannot be a pigsty on Thanksgiving. No that is damned un-American.<br />
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I have been to the grocery store every day this week. It is incomprehensible. I could have sworn that I purchased everything for the Thanksgiving meal a week ago. Oh, I was so smug and self satisfied. I was completely ready. I did not realize that the powers that be were going to get their last laugh. SERIOUSLY I HAVE BEEN TO THE GROCERY STORE EVERY DAY THIS WEEK. Do you even know how fantastic that is? Because everyone in the entire town has gone to the grocery store every day this week. It is like they are conspiring against me. Do they know when I am headed that way? Is there some kind of internal alarm that tells everyone to go to the grocery store? And why does everyone have to walk SO DAMN SLOW? It isn't as if they rearranged every thing in the store the week before a major holiday. They especially wouldn't when that holiday is dedicated to seeing if you really can shoot a pants button across the room if you eat too much.<br />
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And do people not know how the aisles work? One side is for going down the aisle and the other is for, you guessed it, going up. But there is always that one guy. The guy that apparently has never shopped for his own food before. I appreciate your attempts to fly little bird. BUT STAY IN YOUR LANE. Talk to that person that you haven't seen since last Thanksgiving on your own time. I am guessing if they have to fill you in on a year's worth of gossip; y'all probably aren't that close anyway. Save everyone some time and stalk them on Facebook.<br />
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Can I tell all of you parents that had the Thanksgiving gift of their children being in school until Wednesday something? You are the luckiest damn bastards ever. I was once like you. I had three blissful days to prepare for the holidays without the children in the house. But oh no, not this year. The school district decided that a whole week off for Thanksgiving was the way it was going to be. Like Sisyphus, I am damned to hell. The time I should have had to clean the house and get everything just so is gone. In its place has been: separating my girls for the thousandth time, trying to figure out who made Charlotte cry this time, constantly reminding Adelyn to feed her lizard, yelling at Paige for the 653rd time to put her shoes in her room, telling the girls that it is November and they can't wear shorts and sandals, shoveling out the family room every day, looking for the remote (AGAIN), doing approximately 9000 loads of dishes and laundry, and. . .oh yes. . .GOING TO THE GROCERY STORE. Not that I mind having more time with my children. They are my kids and I love them (most of the time).<br />
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But every errand is a circus. "No, you can't get a candy." "No, you can't have a beef jerky." "I'm not buying marshmallows today." "Excuse us, sir. She wasn't watching where she was going." "WATCH WHERE YOU ARE GOING." "Where is your sister? No, not that one. The other one." "Oh, there you are." "Don't touch that." "I said don't touch stuff." "DO NOT TOUCH THAT." "No, I don't want cash back. Because I don't need any cash back. What do you need $20 for? No, that's not happening." "Hold onto the cart, please." "Hold onto the cart, Charlotte." "CHARLIE, hold onto the cart NOW." "Just get in the car." "Get in the car." "GET IN THE CAR." "Stop touching your sister." "Stop 'not touching' your sister." "No, that does not mean that you can touch her." "I swear. I made you. I can unmake you." "Go to your rooms." "Because I said so." "Your dad is NOT the boss." "In the hierarchy of this family it goes: mom, dad, the dog, the cat, and then you." "Yes, the dog is above you." "BECAUSE IT ACTUALLY LISTENS TO ME." "GO TO YOUR ROOM."<br />
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I know there are some of you that actually really enjoy your children. You love every second with them and would never look fondly towards the days that you can just show up on their doorstep for the holiday and have to do nothing. You never look forward to having them FaceTime with you and hearing your grandchildren giving them the kind of hell you experienced. I think you are all big, fat liars. But for the rest of us out there we get to look forward to Thanksgiving. We get to eat our fill of food. We can drink large amounts of alcoholic beverages in the afternoon on a Thursday and not have people surreptitiously mention AA meetings. Then we get to go beat the snot out of our kids in a no holds barred game of football or soccer in the front yard. And maybe, maybe you just trip the one who can't EVER seem to put their damned shoes away. (And sometimes that one is your husband.)Jessica Messengerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08404672267634741279noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8160140738790926190.post-10879736242017448612015-10-20T21:12:00.001-05:002015-10-20T21:13:34.501-05:00Halloween HorrorIt is that time of year again. I remember looking forward to Halloween when I was a child. It was so much fun. The costumes, the candy, and the general loosening of the rules were just the best. It was the one time of the year when it is entirely appropriate to knock on a stranger's door and demand free stuff. Who doesn't love that?<br />
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I will tell you who. Grownups. Halloween is just another holiday that is destined to end in exhaustion, my pocketbook being empty, and the large potential of me yelling at some asshole teenager that doesn't have the common sense to realize that he is just too old to be trick or treating and if he rushes ahead of my kid for the candy bowl ONE MORE DAMN TIME I WILL NOT HESITATE TO CUT A BITCH. There is also the high possibility that my episode of nearly psychotic rage will send me straight to my wine fridge to "calm my nerves". </div>
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When did Halloween stop being fun and start being a burden? I like to blame parenthood. (I don't blame my kids. I blame parenthood. There's a difference.) I remember a party that my newly wedded husband and I threw for Halloween. It was a blast. Everyone came in costume. We collected keys at the door because people were going to get trashed. (We were young, and most importantly not parents.) The old guy next door threatened to call in a noise complaint. Good times were had. </div>
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Fast forward ten years and I find myself looking at one of my favorite holidays with dread. These days you can't throw a sheet over your kid and say he is a ghost. Toilet paper mummies are a thing of the past. Now it is about who has the best costume. Who spent the most. Was your costume hand made? Did blind nuns make the lace for your daughter's Elsa costume? Does your yard look like a movie set from a horror flick? No. Well, maybe next year you will do better. (Did you see the Johnson's yard this year? It is like they didn't even TRY.) </div>
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Halloween has become a contest of the super moms. Last year I was up at midnight the night before Halloween trying to finish up costumes (Because yes I am the mom the makes all my kids' costume, but it is mostly because I can make them better for less than the bullshit ones at the store. I'm crafty but I am also cheap as hell.) and trying to make themed snacks and party favors for Charlotte's kindergarten class's party. (Because OF COURSE I WAS THE STUPID ROOM MOTHER TOO.) By the time we were ready to go trick or treating I was exhausted and absolutely did not want to walk around in the dark. Seriously, the thought of pilfering peanut butter cups didn't even brighten my time. (That's when you know things are just bad.) </div>
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This year I am taking a different approach to Halloween. Yes, we decorated the yard. BUT we decorated it as a family because we enjoy it. We did not wait to see what the neighbors put up so we could rush out and get better decorations. What is up, is up. I am not putting anymore effort into that. (Until I have to take it down....even then meh.) Yes, I am making my kids costumes. BUT I am making them because it is something special that I do for my kids every year. Am I going to freak out if the costume isn't exactly like what the character wore in the movie? No. This isn't comic con. My girls aren't going to care if the costume was perfect. They are going to care that their mom made it for them and that they got a shitload of candy. </div>
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I have decided to stop making Halloween into a contest with everyone around me. This year I just want to have some fun with my kids. (And steal some peanut butter cups.) This year I am rising above. When I get that inevitable snarky comment from another parent, I am just going to smile and move on. (And be stabbing them in my mind.) </div>
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But... that damn teenager better watch it. Some things you just can't rise above. (Better make a trip to the liquor store.) </div>
Jessica Messengerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08404672267634741279noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8160140738790926190.post-84646497833403631292015-10-03T17:04:00.001-05:002015-10-03T17:05:13.202-05:00Yoga Pants Mom We've all seen them. The moms that seem to rock yoga pants every day. It seems like they wear yoga pants for everything but doing yoga. In a world where your worth as a mother seems to be measured by the clothes you wear, the clothes your kids wear, the lunches you pack them, your weight, your hairstyle, your shoes, your kid's shoes.... I was going some where with this...<br />
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I want to tell you that I see you, Yoga Pants Mom. I see you. I know that your choice of clothing has nothing to do with your skills as a parent. Some days in my house I am lucky to take a shower and feed the kids. Let's not even talk about doing my hair or putting on makeup. There are days that it is 4:45 in the afternoon. My house is a mess. I haven't showered. The only concession that I have made to being a functioning member of society is putting a bra on. (And to be honest once I know that no one is coming over and we aren't going anywhere I might ditch that too.) Today is one of those days. It is Saturday. I just want to relax. I'm an adult. I do what I want. I can be a functioning member of society tomorrow.<br />
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Moms, we are judged so harshly by society, the media, and even each other. I have got to tell you. It is exhausting. I am so busy with my own life, why would I and why do I take the time to speculate about yours? Maybe you aren't feeling well. Maybe you have been deep cleaning your home and just took a break to get a coffee. Maybe you are chasing a toddler around and jeans just are NOT conducive to that. Maybe you feel your best when you are in yoga pants or sweat pants. Maybe you are dealing with issues within your home. Maybe you just didn't feel like the whole process of getting dressed, doing your hair, and plastering on some makeup was worth it today. Maybe you are battling depression and this is just the best you could do today. Or maybe you are actually on your way to the gym.<br />
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Maybe it is none of my business. And it isn't. Your reasons for anything you do are yours alone. You are the only one you have to answer to. Hold your head high, Yoga Pants Mom. You are rocking this today.<br />
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I see you, Yoga Pants Mom. And I promise that the next time I see you I will smile and nod. Because you are rocking this motherhood, wife, life partner, step-motherhood, life. Life is a hard road sometimes. And sometimes it calls for some damn yoga pants.Jessica Messengerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08404672267634741279noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8160140738790926190.post-67853550079462893102015-06-17T13:31:00.000-05:002015-06-17T13:31:40.545-05:00Kill It! Kill It With Fire!There are few things that mothers fear more than lice infestations. The mere thought of one can send us running for the shower to scald the image out of our brains. Some of you have been lucky enough to never have to deal with creepy crawlies on your precious progeny. You might look down on the mothers that have been in the trenches battling the demon scourge plaguing their wee ones. "She must not keep her house very clean." "Don't they ever bathe." "I mean, it isn't that hard to avoid something like that."<br />
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I was once like you. I looked down on those poor mothers, who are now my comrades in arms. I would like to apologize for every snide comment, every disgusted look, and every eye roll. I am so sorry. I had no idea. I was living in a fool's paradise. And to those mothers who are reading this and thinking that it won't or can't happen to them, you are wrong. Lice can happen to anyone, any where, any time. I should know. It just happened to me.<br />
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Say you are wrestling with your youngest daughter on the couch. Suddenly you pull back in horror as you see something moving in her golden locks. No! It can't be. As you pick her up and take her to the kitchen (holding her at arm's length because ew) you pray to every deity that you have ever heard of that this isn't really happening. But your prayers have been in vain. There are lice in your daughter's hair. FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCKITY FUCK FUCK. (Pardon the language. As I am sure the other veterans of the lice war can attest, there is really no other appropriate response.)<br />
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Let me tell you, the first thoughts you have are swear words, then the heeby jeebies, and then you just want to shave your head and set yourself on fire. But the best part is calling anyone your children had contact with recently to tell them of their impending doom. "Oh hi, this is Addy's mom. I have to come get her from the sleepover early. Yes, right now. Why? We have lice in the house. . . You might want to get yourself checked out." Or my personal favorite was getting to call my sister (who always seems to have her shit more together than me) because she had been up to visit the week before.<br />
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You have just got to be patient and tenacious. Eradicating the demon scourge of lice takes time, determination, and a fine toothed comb. If you find the little bastards on a weekday you can go to the doctor to get some prescription lice medicine. If you find them on a weekend, get thee to the nearest drug store and pick up some lice shampoo and one of the more expensive fine tooth combs. Make sure it has stainless steel teeth.<br />
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Once you get home CHECK EVERYONE AND THEN TREAT EVERYONE REGARDLESS OF THE PRESENCE OF LICE. They can be unbelievably hard to see. Comb through every person's hair with the comb. If you want to be super crazy you could do what I did and boil the comb between people. Then recheck and re-comb everyone every day for a week. If you don't see anymore of the little assholes, retreat according to the directions on your package. If you find a live one, RETREAT EVERYONE IMMEDIATELY. Boil your hairbrushes and combs. Wash everything with hot water regardless of color and care guidelines. Dry everything that can be dried without issue. (Don't dry your wool or silk items. Just don't.)<br />
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It really can happen to everyone. Lice can get transmitted through a friendly hug, sharing hair brushes, sharing a pillow or blanket, etc. Lice don't discriminate. They aren't choosy. You have hair and delicious blood pumping through your veins? Newsflash! You are a lice smorgasbord!<br />
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As to those suspicious looks you are giving to the parents have dealt with this, they are looking at you the same way. As far as they know your kid might have given the lice to their child. There is a healthy dose of paranoia that comes with lice. <i>Where did they come from?!?!? Who is responsible for this?!?!? </i>Assigning blame won't help though. Your kid still has lice no matter where they got it from. Odds are that parent and child are just as grossed out and embarrassed as you are. Since lice can't materialize out of thin air, someone had to have given it to the person that your kid got lice from.<br />
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The main thing I didn't expect from this particular parenting battle was the emotional issues that rise from it. My youngest daughter thought I didn't love her anymore because she had bugs in her hair. My middle daughter was in tears because she prides herself on her appearance. Her image of herself got shattered. My oldest daughter thought her best friend wasn't going to like her anymore because of the lice. There were a lot of tears. Some of them were mine. I felt like I had failed them somehow. I had failed the motherhood mission. I couldn't protect my children from this. Worse, I almost didn't want to hug or snuggle with my girls because I didn't want lice. (From what I understand that is pretty normal.) <br />
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Just remember that this too shall pass. There's going to be a lot of laundry, work, and tears. You aren't lepers. You just had something bad happen to you. You aren't a bad parent because lice happened. It is part of parenting. Everyone has had a lice scare at some point in their life. Hopefully, it is just a scare. But if it is not, it is going to be ok. You will get through this. I promise.<br />
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Here is a helpful link from the CDC on <a href="http://www.cdc.gov/parasites/lice/" target="_blank">lice</a>.Jessica Messengerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08404672267634741279noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8160140738790926190.post-24843835185008999312013-08-06T09:45:00.003-05:002013-08-06T09:46:16.922-05:00School SuppliesHello, dear friends. It has been a couple of weeks. My kids were at their grandparents' house, and I felt no blog posts were necessary. They are back now and I shall resume. It has been a busy first week of August. Our oldest daughter turned eight yesterday. Sometimes they grow so fast, you wish you had a remote that could rewind back to the baby days. Sometimes you think, ten more years until college.<br />
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School starts next Wednesday. Which means that school supplies must be purchased. How is it that I am always buying a new backpack every year? The only thing wrong with the old one is a little dirt. They need a new backpack or the elementary school gods will smite them. Although, I remember the fun of getting school supplies. I remember the new smell of crayons and notebooks, and how they could somehow dull the sting of the knowledge that summer was over.<br />
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The list wasn't as long as I remember them being. The items on it threw me for a bit of a loop. Why am I buying copier paper for the school? Has the funding for the educational system sunk so low? As Whitney Houston said, "I believe that children are our future. Teach them well, and let them lead the way." Not to get into a political rant, but our children will someday be running this country. We have to stop stealing from our children to fund our frivolity.<br />
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Their backpacks, loaded to the seams with supplies, are waiting by the door for the start of the new school year. I can't help but feel a little melancholy. Another summer is gone. Did they have fun? Did I spend enough time doing the things they wanted to do? Or did I use the words, "Not right now, I'm busy" too much?<br />
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Yet, as I sit here and watch them fly up and down the sidewalk on their scooters, I know they won't remember the times I had refused to leave the house due to high temperatures. This summer will be the summer of scooters and days at the pool. The summer they got a trampoline they rarely jump on. The summer they spent almost three weeks with their cousins. I will remember it as the summer when we got back on track. The summer we found an even keel again as a family. The summer Adelyn informed me she was entirely too old for Hello Kitty and wants her clothes to come from Justice.<br />
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It was the summer they started to really grow up. It makes me proud and sad at the same time. Jessica Messengerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08404672267634741279noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8160140738790926190.post-22934488813065344592013-07-12T15:59:00.000-05:002013-07-12T17:00:11.500-05:00Snarky Gandhi Cat I am not good at this whole blogging thing. I'm just not. I am cool with that. The last time I blogged my mother told me that it seemed like I was angry with the world. Well, that got me down. I quit blogging (Which I really enjoyed. Sorry, Mom, it is true.) and tried to figure out why I was so pissed at the world (if I was in fact pissed at the world). I have come to a few conclusions.<br />
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1. I am not pissed at the world. I simply suffer from a lot of extra time and I am EASILY irritated. If something annoys me, I have been known to fly off the handle and rant about it. Like ombre, for example. I hate it. That stuff is everywhere. Hair, clothing, shoes, makeup, FOOD. Who has time to dye twelve hundred shades of blue frosting for one freaking cake? Well, actually I probably would, but why in God's name would I want to? <br />
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2. This kind of goes hand in hand with being easily irritated. I'm cranky. I am like a cat. I am happy for short bursts of time. During these times, I bounce around and pounce on various things. I play and make things. The rest of the time I like to nap in a sunbeam and I will bite you if you bother me. I also can't be bothered to pretend that I am in a good mood. I am who I am. And who I am is cranky. Sometimes. Let's not forget the spontaneous bursts of incandescent happiness and joy. I think my husband lives in fear of these moments of glee because anything can happen. ANYTHING.<br />
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3. While I am cranky and easily irritated, I am really non-confrontational. I am like a snarky Gandhi. My basic domestic policy is "You all annoy me. Why can't we all just get along?". I dislike it when the kids fight because they are loud and fighting makes me nervous. I came from a big family. Big families have lots of disagreements because there are just so many people. Everyone is shouting and the parents are trying to keep people from killing each other. I just wanted to go to my room and read a book. I am still like this.<br />
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4. While I love my children, for the most part I just want some peace and quiet. Kids are so loud. Actually after spending some time at the pool with my girls this summer I have come to realize my kids aren't so bad. Kids are just loud, evil minions in general. I thank my lucky stars we didn't have three boys instead of three girls. My girls might be loud, but most of the boys I have met are loud and destructive. At least this is how I feel now. I will probably change my tone in about ten years. Three teenage girls will probably send me the rest of the way into psychosis. Won't those blog posts be fun?<br />
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5. If I see myself as a snarky Gandhi cat, imagine how other people see me. My husband and my girls spend a lot of time with me so they are used to my .... issues. Yeah, let's call them issues. I am pretty sure that most people think I am bat crap crazy. My mom must be like, "What have I loosed upon this earth?" And my siblings are probably thinking, "Kill it! Kill it with fire!!" I don't blame them for it. I blame me. I spend most of my time trying to fly under the radar, and then I get pissed when no one notices me except for when I show my snarky Gandhi catness.<br />
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6. I have a dark sense of humor. 70% of the things I say are sarcastic. They are specifically engineered to try and make someone laugh. Unfortunately, most people think I am being serious and a snarky pain in the rear. Sigh.... it is a real problem.<br />
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The whole thing has made me realize that people don't see you how you see yourself. I might not think I am that weird. Clearly, I am. I am cool with it. It took me almost seven months, but I am finally cool with it. I am sure there are more snarky Gandhi cats out there. I am sure they will read this and think, "Yes, yes, YES! That is it exactly!" Just like I am sure that there are some people who will get offended. (Probably my family.) I don't mean to offend you guys. Most of the time I don't get you either. That's okay. We're family. I don't have to get you. I love you despite your bat crap crazy ways. Just like I know you love me.<br />
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Sincerely,<br />
Snarky Ghandi CatJessica Messengerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08404672267634741279noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8160140738790926190.post-36245020271954004322012-12-28T17:20:00.000-06:002012-12-28T17:21:17.741-06:00Hairbands, Headaches, and Hell on WheelsMy head is killing me today. I probably should have put off this post until tomorrow, but I find that if I put it off one day nothing will stop me from putting it off tomorrow either. (And the next day... and the next day... you get the idea.) I am trying very hard to stick to a weekly posting schedule. (Look, at me!) I can't promise this will last. I procrastinate.... a lot.<br />
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The kids have been out of school for a week. God, help me. Today was/still is one of those days. I have a blazingly bad headache and the girls feel the need to run, squeal, fight, cry, and generally make as much noise as they can. As a result I have banished the little darlings upstairs. I can still hear them but the noise they are emitting is blissfully muffled. (Sometimes.) I love my children. (This has been my mantra today.) Do you ever want to say to your kids "If you loved mommy, you'd stuff a sock in it and take a nap"? Oh, this is me today.<br />
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It is like children have a way to detect when their parents are stressed or feeling ill. Beep. Beep. Beep. "Look, the MIOHLN (Mom Is On Her Last Nerve) sensor is going off. You know what we have to do, troops. Paige, play the cymbals with the lids to the pots. Charlotte, you run in circles and giggle incessantly. I will sing a Katy Perry song at the top of my lungs. Let's move, move, move." I swear this has to be the explanation.<br />
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I need some Tylenol. Since this means moving from the couch, it is probably not going to happen. I would go take a hot bath to help relax but this means two things would happen. One, I would have to get up. Two, I would get settled in the tub and someone will need to go potty. Then, someone will have pulled someone's hair. Then, I will have to settle a dispute about who gets to play with what toy and whether they should play library or Barbies. The end result would be that I will get frustrated by the gross lack of privacy in my home. I will get out of the bathtub more tense and cranky than when I got in.<br />
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It is on days like this that I am thankful for my husband. Once he gets home I will say, "Your turn" and head of the rest and get a better grasp on my patience and sanity. These are the days that I NEED my husband. These are the days that I have great respect for the single moms out there. I can barely hold it together some days by the time Brian gets home. Single moms don't (necessarily) get that break everyday. So even though I am having a "Poor, Pitiful Me" day, I am really one of the lucky ones. Jessica Messengerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08404672267634741279noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8160140738790926190.post-39236106706399057572012-12-21T19:42:00.000-06:002012-12-21T19:42:51.338-06:00All I want for Christmas...Hello, my dear friends! It has been a hectic week for me. I had to finish my Christmas shopping, bake cookies, clean the house, break up the first Christmas Break fight, and generally just wishing that I could hit the eggnog and drink myself into a stupor. It has been a hard week for us. The kids were a little afraid to go to school on Monday due to the events of last Friday. We don't shelter our children from news like that. We discuss it, and do our best to explain things and answer their questions. Our girls understand that not all people are good people. We feel knowledge is power. An ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure. So my first All I Want for Christmas is: I wish that the Sandy Hook event hadn't happened. In lieu of that, I wish that the families of Newtown find peace.<br />
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All I want for Christmas is for these &#%*#^#*@^ Christmas cookies to be done. I like to bake, but I absolutely detest Christmas baking. There is so much baking and decorating and dishes. Oh my God, the dishes! I hate these Pinterest moms with their perfect snowman cookies and reindeer cupcakes. The odds are that the cut out cookies will get made but those suckers are most likely not going to be frosted. I am certainly not going to take hours to pipe a smile on each one. Most of the time I can barely handle my rage against the cookies long enough to finish baking them. That's right. I feed my kids rage-laced cookies. I am told it doesn't affect the flavor.<br />
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All I want for Christmas is for my house to stay clean. When I pick up a room, I do not want to walk in five minutes later to find a bunch of junk on the floor. Heaven forbid that I find cookie crumbs all over. Heads will roll if I find a half-eaten cookie. (I worked hard on those damn things.) Newsflash family members! We have a trash can, toy boxes, laundry baskets, and lots of other places to put things. The only thing I should see on my floor is the rug.<br />
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All I want for Christmas is some peace and quiet. I want absolute silence. No television noise, no Christmas music, no fighting children (more on this later). I just want quiet. I want to be able to lay on the couch for fifteen minutes without anyone talking to me. I want to be able to hear my heartbeat. I can dream, can't I?<br />
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All I want for Christmas is for the kids to be in school again. They have been out for break since yesterday. I have already broken up fights, sent kids to their room, and locked myself in the bathroom. I have come to cherish that wonderful time of day when the house is quiet and peaceful. I can get things done. I can take a shower without anyone knocking on the door and telling me that they need something. Those hours are blissful. I need them. It is the only way I hang onto my sanity.<br />
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All I want for Christmas is a happy Christmas. I want to snuggle up with my girls and watch Christmas movies. I want to see their eyes light up when they open their gifts. I want to have an awesome dinner with my family, even if it means that I have to cook it. I want all of you to have a very happy holiday with your families. Thank you to everyone who reads my blog. I appreciate you sharing a bit of your time with me. I hope that I have made you laugh and made you think. I hope that I am one of the highlights of your week. Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays. Jessica Messengerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08404672267634741279noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8160140738790926190.post-11496001564715015872012-12-14T19:53:00.000-06:002012-12-14T19:53:49.291-06:00Shooting StarsSometimes I worry about the influences my daughters have in their life. They watch things on television, have different kids around them at school, hear things in songs on the radio, and of course they are influenced by me (the poor things). How do I know that the small amount of time that I have with them each day is being spent the right way? I am busy. They are busy. When they come home from school there is homework and chores, and before too long I have to begin supper preparations. I worry, and I know that a lot of other mothers have this worry too.<br />
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I don't want to take away television (I watched television when I was little, and I am okay, sort of.). I don't want to home school them because I would go insane and I want them to have social interaction with kids their age. (Not that I am saying anything negative about home schooling. I have great respect for parents who take on the responsibility of educating their kids.) I can control what they listen to on the radio, and I do for the most part. I can only listen to The Dirty Sock Funtime Band for so long before my ears start to bleed. As for my influence, I can only do my best and hope it is good enough.<br />
<br />Once in a blue moon, my daughters will do something that makes me feel like I am getting it right. Those are the days that every hard day feels worth the effort. I had one of those days yesterday. The girls decided not to watch their hour of television after school. Instead, they decided to play upstairs. I listened at the bottom of the stairs to make sure they were playing together and not excluding someone. The pretend game that they decided to play was "Library". They took turns being the librarian. They checked out books, and returned them on time. I felt so proud. We LOVE to read in our house. The kids deciding to play "Library" showed me that my husband and I are passing along our deep love of the written word.<br />
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We also watched the meteor shower last night. It was truly spectacular. The best part was getting to hear the astonishment in the girls' voices when they saw their first shooting stars. They didn't complain that they were cold or that they would rather be inside watching television. They laid next to me on the deck and giggled with glee at the light show.<br />
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Sometimes the best things in life are the little things. I would never trade the experience of hearing the girls play "Library" or being with them for their first meteor shower. Those are the little moments that I can hold in my heart for years to come. No matter where the girls go or what the future has in store for us I can pull those moments out and savor them. It is at those moments that I am truly blessed.<br />
<br />Jessica Messengerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08404672267634741279noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8160140738790926190.post-58094046816727270432012-12-07T17:52:00.000-06:002012-12-07T17:52:55.428-06:00Creative Creativity GenesToday I was out shopping (God I love shopping.) for Christmas decorations. I walked around Hobby Lobby, Big Lots, Target, and even (the dreaded) Walmart. I wasn't looking for anything too specific. I wanted a couple of big bows for the pillars by our front door, a wreath, and maybe some lights to string around for some sparkle. I couldn't find any lights that made me think, "I must have you!". So a no go on the lights. I scored the bows at half price. (Dadadadadadadada dum BARGAIN HUNTER!) But the item that frustrated me the most was the over abundance of ugly, ugly, UGLY wreaths. They weren't only UGLY but they were expensive as well. I am not going to pay fifty bucks for a wreath that looks like an elf threw up on it. Call me cheap. It's not going to happen.<br />
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Luckily, I am the daughter of a very creative and talented woman. (Yes, I might be sucking up a little. It is the gift giving season. Sue me.) My mom was one of THOSE moms. I can remember her making her own wreaths. She hung her own wallpaper and did weird stuff with paint on the walls. She could make a slipcover for a couch. She sewed me a new Christmas dress every year. I think she made my sister a dress for homecoming once. My mom could wire electrical sockets, fix the garbage disposal, and still found time to play with us. My mom was Martha Stewart before Martha Stewart made it cool.<br />
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If my mom hadn't been the way she was, I might not have the courage or creative ability to do half of the things that I do. Anyway, back to my wreath. I decided since the other wreaths I had seen were really, really, really ugly that I would make one myself. I did steal the basis of my idea from a wreath I saw on Pinterest, but the color scheme and accessories are all me. Ok foam forms for wreaths are expensive! (I am a major cheapo, just so you know.) Hobby Lobby wanted eight dollars for a small wreath form. So I went into the needle point area and found an embroidery frame. It was eighteen inches in diameter and cost me five dollars. HA! I got lucky and tulle was on sale. 50% off to be exact. So I got 200 yards of white tulle and 12 yards of sparkly red tulle. The white cost me nine dollars and the red was two dollars. At Walmart I got a twelve pack of glittery red ornaments shaped like candies for 3 dollars. I also got a giant, silver, sparkly ornament of the word joy for two dollars.<br />
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So I got all the items for my wreath for twenty-one dollars which equals roughly half of what the UGLY wreaths were. I finished it in about two hours. It is so pretty and very girly. Girly works at our house. My husband approves of it also. (Not that he has a choice. It is a done deal.) I am also pleased with the wreath because I realized something while I was making it. I am influencing a new generation of creative, independent women. My girls watch (and sometimes help) me do things like knitting a sweater or rewiring a light switch. I hope that I am showing them that it is okay to do things yourself. Sometimes doing a project yourself instead of buying one doesn't turn out exactly the way you want. Sometimes it comes out even better. You get to have that feeling of pride when you look at what you have accomplished it because YOU accomplished it. It is better than the rush of buying something any day. Jessica Messengerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08404672267634741279noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8160140738790926190.post-62987074071983790942012-11-29T17:59:00.000-06:002012-11-29T17:59:46.250-06:00High Heels and Glitter.I worry a little bit about that title. It may attract the wrong sort of "surfers" to my blog. Oh well, I'm going with what works the best. Last Saturday our family was able to attend my brother's wedding reception. We were more than happy to travel and celebrate with them. It was a beautiful reception. (Plus, it was open bar. Hehehehe.)<br />
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All of the women in our household needed new dresses for the party. Adelyn, our oldest daughter, needed new shoes as well. She decided that she was old enough for her first pair of high heels. While I was supportive, I did try to talk her out of them. (Her father was VERY unsure about the idea. That's his BABY.) I love high heels. I admit it. I have a weakness for a pretty pair of shoes. Adelyn (much like her mother) would not be swayed from the shoes. She is only seven. I guess we start the shoe fetish young around here.<br />
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At the party, we stood for pictures and to talk to friends and family that we hadn't seen in a while. The kids ran and played with their cousins while they waited (IMPATIENTLY) for the music to start and for the cake to be cut. It wasn't long before Addy came up to me complaining that her feet hurt. I got to say one of the favorite phrases of parenthood. "I told you so." Or as I usually phrase it: "I tried to tell you." Sometimes I am so much like my mother it scares me. Sometimes Addy is so much like me it terrifies me. (Karma, thou art a heartless bitch.) Luckily for my obstinate little one, I had stuffed an extra pair of socks into my purse before leaving for the party. I had a feeling that she would need them. (Sometimes I'm so awesome, I am surprised that I don't glow.)<br />
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After dinner, the tables and chairs were moved off the dance floor. Charlotte came running up to me. "Mom, they're gonna start the music! And then Phil and Flip are gonna dance!" She giggled and then ran away. Once the music had started, there were more little girls on the dance floor than adults. They jumped, spun circles, and shook their tail feathers. I think I even saw one doing the "Dougie". I couldn't help watching them and wondering how they could jump up and down like that without having to pee. If that had been me, I would have needed to pee.<br />
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The girls danced the night away. Adelyn would periodically put her heels back on, but they never stayed on for too long. She is getting so grown up. It is hard to imagine that she is seven already. This will be our seventh Christmas with her. Before too long she will be leaving for college and to start her own family. Eventually my brother's children will dance at Adelyn's wedding. It is easy to forget how quickly time can slip by and how temporary our time with our loved ones really is. Our children can't stay children forever nor would we want them to. All parents wish for the bittersweet time when our children spread their wings and experience life. We don't wish for it because we want them to leave. We want our kids to have the enjoyment (and frustration) of having their own families and making their own memories. We want the joys of discovering life again with a new generation. For now, my girls can take their time growing up. Jessica Messengerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08404672267634741279noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8160140738790926190.post-48532354749738192802012-11-20T17:47:00.000-06:002012-11-20T17:47:41.905-06:00Mom's Don't Get Sick Days!Look at me! Two posts in two weeks, I'm setting a record here. If I was thinking straight, I would postpone this post so as not to give anyone unrealistic expectations of my posting talents. I blame the stomach bug that has been plaguing me for the past couple of days. I hate being sick. Well, really, who likes to be sick? Maybe super models that have eaten too much salt and need to de-bloat. But back to me. (I am narcissistic when I am sick.) I am ill. The world SHOULD revolve around me.<br />
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Unfortunately, moms don't get to wallow in bed like a Victorian lady. My ladies maid will not bring me tea and crumpets or sugared oranges. The nanny will not see to the children for me. The household staff will not make sure the house is dust free. The cook won't prepare supper for my family. It is depressing. I can't even read historical fiction whilst I am sick because it ticks me off.<br />
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Moms have to get up. We have to get the kids ready for school. Inspect toothbrushes to verify that the morning brushes did in fact happen. Make sure that shoes are on the right feet and tied in the necessary double knot. We have to feed them. Some moms are lucky enough to have all their children in school at the same time. (Unfortunately NOT the case for me.) When they are all gone, you might get a few blissful hours of decongestant laced, uninterrupted sleep. If you still have little ones at home, you are doomed to making lunch, entertaining, and generally keeping your child alive. Normally this isn't the most difficult aspect of your day, but when you are sick it feels like you are competing in the decathlon while crawling over hot coals half dead. (Trust me. Not an exaggeration.)<br />
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I don't know about you, but it always seems like I get sick when my husband absolutely cannot take time off from work to help with the kids or (Heaven forbid.) take care of me. I often wonder if the work emergency is a ruse to get away from my germ infested self. (Yeah, I know you are fibbing sometimes. Never mind the fact that when you are sick, my dear husband, I make you homemade chicken soup. AHEM.) Until your hubby gets home, you are on your own.<br />
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I caught myself actually playing fetch with my youngest daughter today. I laid in bed and surreptitiously prayed to my maker for death. Charlotte wants to be entertained. I grabbed the little ball we have for the dog and tossed it into the next room. Charlotte retrieved it and brought it back. Once she seemed to lose interest in the game and I whistled at her to get her attention. (Hangs head in shame.) Desperation is the mother of invention.<br />
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The best advice I can give you moms is get your flu shot. Take your vitamins. Air out the house once a week. Buy Lysol and Clorox wipes in bulk. Check your stock of tissues and any preferred cold and flu medications. Here's to hoping that you survive the cold and flu season. Jessica Messengerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08404672267634741279noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8160140738790926190.post-23009726649032536522012-11-16T11:25:00.000-06:002012-11-16T11:25:10.654-06:00Christmas Shopping...MEHI have been suffering from writer's block. I would like to say that is because my delightful daughters have been behaving impeccably lately. (Bahahahahahah.....gasp....gasp.....hahahahahaha) The lack of posts lately hasn't been due to lack of material. The lack is clearly within me. I have not had the energy or will to put pen to paper (or fingers to keyboard, if you will) as of late. We have recently relocated. (AGAIN) This time we were blessed to have the assistance of professional movers. Thank the Lord for them.<br />
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It is that time again. Black Friday is looming over us. Toy commercials send our children into a toy-lust frenzy. My girls will run about the room shouting, "I want that! I want that!" and occasionally "No, Paige I already called that one! Ha ha!". My favorite quote this season has been, "Mom, I want that! But you have to be eighteen or older to order!" (Yeah, I have that age thing covered. Don't worry.) Then they fight over who should get that particular toy for Christmas. (Dear God, the fighting.) Sometimes I think it would be easier to make the same list for each child and just buy three of everything. I guess that lacks imagination. When you add in nieces, nephews, parents, grandparents, and siblings the list becomes bigger and bigger with each person.<br />
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Every year I say that I will be done with my shopping before Thanksgiving. Every year I fail. (EPICALLY) I haven't even started so far this year. I could blame the move and other various reasons. The truth is that I can't bear the thought of starting. I am a normal woman. I love to shop. Christmas shopping has become a chore. Christmas itself has become more of a chore and less of a holiday. <br />
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So I have been trying to think of things to make it more fun. The truth is that once you grow up and become an adult and a parent Christmas becomes work. You have to make Christmas cookies, buy presents, wrap the presents, decorate the house, etc. As adults we have to WORK to make the holidays fun. We have to plan adventures for ourselves. We have to chose to have the holiday be fun.<br />
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Here are some things we do (as a family) every year to make Christmas more fun:<br />
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<li>Each child chooses an ornament from the Toys for Tots tree. We then have fun picking out a gift. </li>
<li>We make a colossal amount of Christmas cookies. I let the kids decorate them. (They might not be perfect, but the kids have fun and that is all that matters.) </li>
<li>Whenever we have a delivery, we have cookie bags made up and we hand them out to the delivery men as a thank you. (The looks on their faces are great, and they always remember you after that.) </li>
<li>Each child gets a special set of Christmas jammies to wear on Christmas Eve. </li>
<li>We have our go-to holiday movies. In the week before Christmas, we pick one each night to watch as a family. </li>
<li>Every Christmas Eve, my husband reads our kids "The Night Before Christmas". I keep a log on the inside of the cover where I note each year that we have followed the tradition. </li>
<li>The kids write letters to Santa (and he writes one back). They also go to visit him at the shopping mall. </li>
<li>A few days before Christmas, Santa sends each of the kids a video email.</li>
<li>Every year we hire an "Elf on the Shelf". </li>
<li>Every year we go to a store called Tannenbaum's and the girls each pick out a blown glass ornament. I write the year purchased and the child's name on the bottom of each ornament. When we decorate the tree, we have fun pulling out the ornaments and remembering why that ornament was picked and what good things had happened that Christmas. Some day when the girls move out and start their own families, I will pack up their ornaments for them to have. </li>
<li>My husband and I pick out an ornament for ourselves as well. We try to pick something that means something to our family for that year. </li>
<li>If it snows we build a snow family. We also go sledding. </li>
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It is true that there are some aspects of the holiday season that are just loathsome. Hopefully, you can find a way to outweigh the loathsome with the fun and heartwarming. Plus, though it is loud and ear-piercing the screams from your kids when they get that present they have been hoping for makes it all worth it. Jessica Messengerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08404672267634741279noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8160140738790926190.post-70316847006467045082012-09-30T16:58:00.001-05:002012-09-30T16:58:44.621-05:00Me First!Everything with my girls is a contest now. I don't know when it happened. They compete for my attention. They compete to see who can brush their teeth the best, who is the fastest, who can help mommy with supper the most, etc. It goes on and on. While I try my best to assure them that they are all the greatest it still seems as though life hangs on the balance of who gets their dinner plate first.<br />
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I know some parents encourage their kids to compete. It supposedly makes them strive for excellence. As for myself, I wish they wouldn't compete so much. Every child has her strengths and her weaknesses. If one of those weaknesses happens to be in something a sibling excels at well... feelings of inadequacy and doubt. I know. I have been there. (I still feel that way sometimes. I think it must be normal.)<br />
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I try (Emphasis on try, I'm not perfect.) to divide the attention and the helping hands out equally. I don't know how it happens, but it always seems to end in a fight. "Mom, she put in the sugar!" "Mom, she had two cookies." "Mom, she got two turns." "IT'S MY TURN!" Until I am crazy and I feel like at any moment my hair will turn to snakes and I can turn people to stone with a glare. The silence would be nice.... Eventually I kick them all out of the kitchen so that I can have some peace. And so I can clean up the spills.<br />
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I regularly tell each one "You're my favorite" with a whisper in their ear. Because they are all my favorites. It makes them stand a little taller and smile a little wider. When they argue about it (Because they inevitably will.) I simply say, "You are all my favorites. Addy is my favorite because she is such a good big sister. She can run really fast, but she still slows her pace when playing with someone who can't run as quickly. She is my favorite little girl with brown hair. Paige is my favorite because she cares how other people feel. She is sensitive and knows when to be quiet or when to be silly. She is my favorite little girl with red hair. Charlotte is my favorite because she is content to play alone, but she still loves to snuggle up and watch a movie. She dances around to the music in her head. She is my favorite little girl with blonde hair."<br />
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I am hoping that the constant competition slows down as they get older and involved in different activities. They are together so much yet. I think they have to compete or they would just kill each other. I have to admit that I some times use their competitive nature to my advantage. "Who can finish their chores faster?" "Who can eat the most peas?" "Who can be the quietest?" "Who can go to sleep the fastest?" If they ever figure out my manipulation, I will probably be in trouble. But for now I will take my wins any way I can. Jessica Messengerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08404672267634741279noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8160140738790926190.post-69100538211547047552012-09-01T20:25:00.000-05:002012-09-01T20:25:18.097-05:00School Uniforms and SilenceHello. You missed me. Didn't you? God, I hope so. Otherwise, I might be just some crazy lady posting about her life on the internet hoping that someone out there might read it and laugh. (Oh, wait.....)<br />
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It is official! It is that time of year. Children dread it. Mothers await it with a type of unholy glee. Personally, I had a countdown on my phone. (Allow me a moment to wallow in my terrible mother guilt....done!) It is the beginning of the new school year. I have never wanted school to start more than I did this year. All of the girls are in school this year. My babies are growing up. Sniffle. School for moms is bittersweet. You get home that first day and listen to the silence. (So that's what that is. Hmm.) Five minutes later the silence is getting to you. Mothers learn after a while to distrust silence. Silence means trouble. That kind of hard wiring is not easy to ignore. I literally walked circles around the house that first day. I was so BORED! Fortunately, I got over it. I am relearning how to entertain myself. <br />
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The girls have to wear school uniforms this year. My little fashionistas HATE it. They rebel against the machine (Yes, it makes me nervous for the teenage years!) by wearing wild socks and crazy things in their hair. Sometimes their socks don't even match! I guess it is 'in' now, but it irritates my OCD (Obsessively Color-coordinated Desperate-mom) tendencies. I organize my closet in rainbow order. (Don't judge me!) The last Friday of every month is Dress-Down Day. My girls looked forward to that day the same way I looked forward to the first day of school. (UNHOLY GLEE)<br />
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Their outfits warranted serious discussion and planning. Hairstyles were discarded. Clothes were hanging half out of their dresser drawers. (Yes, it makes me nervous for the teenage years!) Sometimes they are so grown up. Every once in a while it smacks me in the face. Adelyn is seven now. I only have eleven more years with my baby before college. Paige has thirteen years at home. Charlotte has fifteen. In the blink of an eye they will be moving out. I alternate between looking forward to that time and wishing I had a way to slow time down.<br />
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I love my kids, but I have to admit there are days when I wish I had a Mute button. I wish I had an Easy button too. (I would have carpal tunnel from pushing that button.) I am sure that some day I will be wishing I could tell them to stop pulling each others hair. (Although, sometimes my mother still yells that at my sisters and me....) You have to have the noise to be able to truly enjoy the silence. I just have to get through fifteen more years. And yet.... I only have fifteen more years. Jessica Messengerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08404672267634741279noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8160140738790926190.post-9607462204069090032012-07-17T22:09:00.000-05:002012-07-17T22:09:28.833-05:00The Grass is GreenerI read. I read extensively. I have far too many books. In my opinion, however, books are like shoes. A girl can never have enough of them. As a mother, I enjoy the opportunity to paint a picture of a different world for myself. Don't get me wrong. I love my world, but every once in a while I enjoy the thought of a world where there is five minutes without the words, "Mom, she pulled my hair/ hit me/ took my toy/ etc." The world inside my book is quiet for the most part. I will admit that there are sometimes numerous explosions, foul language, the possibility of gunshots, and the occasional dead body. That is what makes the world in my book interesting.<br />
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The nice thing about books is that you can visit them again like a much loved friend. My husband doesn't visit his "book friends" as often as I do. He doesn't necessarily believe in rereading his books. I have sometimes found myself thinking about a character in a much loved book and wondering, "Whatever happened to Elizabeth and Darcy? I bet they are having a good time at Pemberley. I wonder if Lydia is still an idiot." Not that I would read one of the <i>Pride & Prejudice</i> sequels. (I find that a bit too unimaginative. Come up with your own characters, people. Elizabeth never fought zombies, nor did Abraham Lincoln hunt vampires.) Sorry, that is just the way it is for me.<br />
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I noticed that one of the feelings that I have when I read a book is an envy for the lifestyle of the characters in the plot. During that time I wish I was an inept bounty hunter with two men fighting over her. I wish that I was trying to find my father and learning more about Dracula at the same time. I wish that I was fighting the Orcs and protecting the Ring. During the time that the book is in my hands, I am Elizabeth. (Have you noticed my deep and abiding love for <i>Pride & Prejudice</i> yet?) I am Stephanie Plum. I am Frodo. Reading gives me that.<br />
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I noticed the other day a key difference in my lifestyle from that of my favorite characters. (Other than a license to carry a concealed weapon or living in 19th century England, of course.) The characters of my books rarely stop their busy, interesting, and sometimes dangerous lives to watch television. (Those of them set in the time period for the invention, obviously.) They are too busy enjoying their lives. I have hobbies. I have children to raise. I blog (sometimes....). But I do watch a considerable amount of television. I need to change that.<br />
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Turn off the television and pick up a book. Visit a much loved character or find a new one. Books tease the imagination. They challenge you to picture the story in your head. Books are like television in your head. Without books I wouldn't know the winning players of the NHL each get some special time with the Stanley Cup. I wouldn't know that if you burn a corpse it is believed that the person's spirit cannot walk. (Ew, but still interesting.) I learned these facts from works of fiction. I cannot begin to tell you what I have learned from the nonfiction books I have read. So learn something, allow your brain to paint a picture with an author's words, or just slide into the quiet that reading brings.Jessica Messengerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08404672267634741279noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8160140738790926190.post-18256442660033568892012-06-20T09:46:00.000-05:002012-06-20T09:46:22.022-05:00The Little ThingsI am sorry about the lack of blog posts recently. Life has been interesting and busy. We recently had house guests for about a month. And while they are now out on their own, they still routinely drop by for food, etc.<br />
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There is a saying that says something like, "Someone else is happy with less than you have." I have been able to witness this first hand this last month. My brother-in-law and his wife decided to divorce. She moved to Oregon with four of the kids. He moved here with three of the kids. (That's seven total. SEVEN.) My brother-in-law and his kids came to us with little more than the clothes on their backs. Unfortunately, those clothes were stained, had holes, and didn't fit properly. While my brother-in-law seemed unconcerned with this issue, my husband and I were horrified.<br />
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Fortunately for us and the kids, my husband and I have a wonderful support system of family and friends. When people heard about the situation, we started getting offers of clothing and other necessary household items. My husband was embarrassed at the lack he saw in his brother, but we gratefully accepted the items. The kids are now clothed properly.<br />
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The worst part for me was the complete awe and gratitude that was in the kids' faces when we gave them a pair of gently used shoes. They have had so little in life. I felt guilty because for the most part my kids have never had to go without. These kids were amazed when we told them that they could eat until they were full. (Something I can't understand because the family is on SNAP benefits.) These kids consider beds a luxury.<br />
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The situation with my niece and nephews has made me grateful for what I have. We are raised in a society centered around having the newest, the shiniest, and the most expensive things. I am happy that I have anything at all. I am truly blessed in life. I might not have the best car or the nicest furniture, but I HAVE a car and furniture. My kids don't go to bed hungry because my husband and I have jobs that allow us to put food on the table. I'm grateful for my water bill because it means I have clean clothes and a clean body. I'm grateful for my family and the help that they give us when it is needed. I got lucky I guess. Maybe it is a combination of hard work, luck, and faith. I have to believe that what I do makes a difference. I hope it has made a difference. Have you?Jessica Messengerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08404672267634741279noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8160140738790926190.post-45488934444492872392012-05-02T19:43:00.000-05:002012-05-02T19:43:51.970-05:00Quiet Times and Nursery RhymesSo often I write about the crazy and chaotic parts of motherhood. I don't write much about the quiet moments that we as mothers gather up and put in the treasure box of our memories. I need to do better.<br />
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Tonight, I was sitting in my favorite chair curled up with a book. I was taking a break from the arduous task of creating a photo slideshow for my brother's graduation. (Scanning in pictures from the nineties is not my idea of a good time.) My husband is sitting on the couch even now watching the Chicago Cubs play the Cincinnati Reds. My older daughters are off spending time doing who knows what. It is relatively quiet in my home. (Except for the occasional outbursts at the game from my husband.)<br />
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A small voice breaks my concentration from my book. I look over to see our youngest daughter sitting on my husband's chest. She is combing his hair and chattering away about her day. She clearly has an active imagination, as she is regaling my husband with a story of the leprechaun that stole her shoes. She is gesticulating wildly and Brian has to move his head periodically to avoid being stabbed in the eye. He is doing a pretty good job at listening to her, watching the baseball game, and avoiding personal injury. (Who says men can't multitask? The good ones learn how when they become daddies.)<br />
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As I watch them together, I realize that this is one of those moments. Someday when Charlotte is all grown up I will think about this moment in time and smile. Someday when Brian and I are old and gray I will remember the time he took the time to listen to our daughter. I will remember what a good man I married and how lucky I was to find him so young. Not many people find the other half of their heart at sixteen. I did. These are moments that make me realize that no matter how stressful our lives together might be we are the lucky ones. <br />
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There are times that I want to smack him upside the head with a blunt object. I am sure that he would love to gag me sometimes just to shut me up. (Oh, I know that I am a nag.) There are days when our children just drive us crazy. That's when we send them to Gowan. (That's what the girls call my mother.) I hope that those aren't the times that I remember when I am old. I hope that the good outweighs the bad. I hope that my kids remember the times where we laughed more than the times that we cried. Since we are a normal family, I know that there will be those times.<br />
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I know that someday some men will break my daughters' hearts. They will have their share of loss and sorrow. But I also know that they will have their share of happiness and laughter. Someday they will have their own warm moments to look back on. I hope that they will be able to look at their spouse and see the goodness in him. Someday they will tell me about their treasure box moments and I can add it to my own stockpile. Because when I go from this world I want my treasure box to be overflowing. Don't you?<br />
<br />Jessica Messengerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08404672267634741279noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8160140738790926190.post-9706077372439532882012-03-31T12:17:00.000-05:002012-03-31T12:17:19.251-05:00Let's Be RealisticI have noticed a slew of posts on Facebook and Pinterest about how the movies from Disney that we loved as children are inappropriate or giving our kids the wrong messages. We all know about the phallic symbols in the Little Mermaid and various other examples of inappropriate images. I am talking about the more subliminal messages that people seem to be freaking out about.<br />
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They say that Ariel encourages changing everything about yourself for a man. Sleeping Beauty lays around waiting for a man to save her. The list goes on and on. Apparently the men in the stories are no better. The Beast is verbally abusive. Prince Eric will only settle for the perfect woman. Same goes for Prince Charming. Blah blah blah.<br />
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The stories these movies are based off of were set in a time when women would have waited for men to save them. Let's be realistic. Have you ever read the real version of the Little Mermaid? It takes on the drama of a Shakespearean tragedy. Her prince falls in love with another woman. In order to become a mermaid again she has to kill him and his bride, but she chooses to become sea foam and to never really be at peace. Most fairy tales aren't really that magical. They are dark and horrid. Hansel and Gretel is based on a father abandoning his children and a witch that practiced cannibalism.<br />
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I don't think that the princess and prince finding True Love at the end is that awful. Most of the princesses in the recreated stories are strong women but in a subtle way. For example, Cinderella had to have the courage to leave her terrible home life and go after what she really wanted. She had some moxy. Ariel saw what she wanted and made the changes to get it. She wasn't happy where she was. She changed it, and helped to defeat Ursula in the end. The men in the stories are virtuous and supportive.<br />
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Well, what about Bambi? They kill off his mother. It is sad. That's true. Let's be realistic. There is tragedy in this world. Many children lose their parents. There is evil and pain and people that will want to hurt you for the sake of doing it. That is life. Not everything can be sunshine and daisies. Children get kidnapped. People get killed. I believe that these movies help teach those lessons. Even from childhood we have to recognize the danger and beauty of life. Yes, Rapunzel was taken from her family and used terribly. She left. She found a man who loves her and she loves back. He has some flaws. (So do the rest of us.) She found herself and her home.<br />
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I think that parents that only allow their children to watch nonviolent movies or read them nonviolent stories are doing their children a disservice. They aren't going to be prepared for the real world. There might not be princes and princesses in the aspect of fairy tales anymore. But there are people out there who have those attributes. They exist, as do the villains.<br />
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The fact is the characters in these movies aren't willing to settle for anything but their dreams. Too many of us are doing the opposite. We settle. I love these movies for their imperfections. I still believe in fairy tales. I'm living in one. Because the true fairy tales aren't perfect. They are hard and gritty, but in the end it is about finding your dreams and being happy in a less than perfect world. I hope my daughters can still believe in fairy tales when they are my age. Life isn't perfect, and finding the happiness within it is the real fairy tale. Jessica Messengerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08404672267634741279noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8160140738790926190.post-51376373538260896592012-03-22T10:30:00.000-05:002012-03-22T10:30:45.436-05:00KryptoniteLet's face it. We all know her. The mom that can do everything. She cooks gourmet meals, she has a spotless house, her children are well-behaved, her spouses adores and appreciates her, she is involved in EVERYTHING, and she looks fantastic all the time. The rest of us (who are still so exhausted in the morning that we take the kids to school in our pajamas) hate her. She's Super Mom. We are the bedraggled and overworked moms who look at her and wonder how she does it.<br />
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I have tried to be that mom. I have, but it always seems like something suffers. If I focus more on the kids and house, my relationship with my husband suffers. If I devote myself to my family entirely, I suffer. I have to make time for myself. (Sleeping does not count.) I stopped trying to live up to Super Mom standards after we had our third child. I don't have enough hours in the day, and now that I am working again I have even less.<br />
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I have learned a few things over the years. When you have young children, a messy house is ok. It is expected that you will have toys and other childhood articles strewn about your house. Anyone who turns up their nose when they see this type of mess doesn't have realistic expectations of children. Kids need to be messy. Heck, sometimes I need to be messy. As long as the house isn't dirty, what's the harm? (Dirty meaning that there is actual dirt, dust, food items, etc around your home.) Anyone who has had kids knows that the second a mother leaves a room sparkling clean that the kids will leave toys there. It is like they follow you and think, "You know what this room needs? Toys on the floor. Yeah. That will make this room."<br />
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You can't let yourself suffer. Moms have to take time for themselves. Sometimes I can't even go to the bathroom alone. "Mom's going potty, she can't run away." Young children have no respect for personal boundaries. Face it. If you are totally burned out from trying to be Super Mom, you aren't really doing your family any favors. Even if it is just five minutes, take some time for yourself.<br />
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I actually feel sorry for those moms who have to be Super. I am sure that they are missing something somewhere. That kind of devotion to family requires a sacrifice. Maybe that mom used to love to paint but she has no time now because she is chained to the Super Mom image she made for herself. Maybe she and her spouse aren't as happy as they seem. (Maybe she isn't human at all. Like a Stepford Wife...)<br />
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Moms are allowed to have times when they make mistakes or don't get something done. We are human after all. You don't have to be Super. You just have to be yourself. That is all your family really wants. Your kids and husband would rather have a happy mom and a little bit of a messy house than a perfect home and an unhappy Super Mom. Don't sweat the small stuff. Someday my kids will say, "Yeah, the house was a little messy most of the time, but we had fun. We laughed and we were happy." That's all a mother can really hope for.Jessica Messengerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08404672267634741279noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8160140738790926190.post-3384176292392311502012-03-13T15:47:00.001-05:002012-03-13T15:48:22.703-05:00Spring Break (Batten Down the Hatches!)This week is one of those idyllic times for school-aged children. And hell on earth for their parents. That's right it is spring break. School had unleashed our children for a week of non-stop fun... and fighting... and whining... and tearing up the house... and fighting (Trust me, 'fighting' needs to be listed twice.). Luckily for me, spring break coincided with some really amazing weather for March. It is currently 80 degrees outside, and I am sitting in shorts and a tank top. The windows are open to catch the breeze. It is beautiful. It would be more beautiful if my table wasn't covered in Cocoa Pebbles and there weren't toys strewn about my home. But I digress.<br />
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I have said the words, "Go outside and play", "Stop fighting", "Don't slam the door", and also "Shut the door, you weren't born in a barn" about a billion times in the last few days. (I have also said, "I need a drink" more times than I can count.) It has been a very long week. It is only Tuesday. (Oh God.) I never realized how much my kids eat throughout the day. It is like having Hoovers instead of children (or maybe Dysons because I haven't noticed any loss of suction). They can really put food away. <br />
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Isn't it funny how we dread the day that our children start school? We see it as independence from us and it breaks our hearts a little bit. Once we get used to them being gone for the afternoon, however, it is not easy to adjust to them being home. I had gotten used to the silence during the afternoon when the older two are in school. It is blissful, and I can get so much done. But today (after only one whole day of the kids being home) it looks as though a bomb has gone off. One with toys for its shrapnel. Just when I have finished with the bomb squad and cleaned up the carnage, the little terrorists have detonated another bomb. It's a never ending cycle.<br />
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I think I understand that method behind the madness of spring break. The school administration realizes that classes will be let out for the summer in a little over two months. They do this to prepare the parents of their students for summer vacation. It is a little like the rumble of a volcano before a major eruption. We need time to prepare ourselves for our kids to be home full time. We have to build up our stockpiles of food. There a contingency plans to instigate. Activities to plan. Reservations with grandparents to make (for when you either get them out of the house completely or turn into a raving lunatic). <br />
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Prepare yourselves for the onslaught of summer. Your kids are going to want to be entertained. You will be their entertainment. Unless you are going to sit them in front of the television, of course. Use spring break to train yourself. I have trouble with letting myself roll with the punches. I'm getting better. Having kids has helped me realize that I can't always control everything. Oh, I can try. I only end up stressing myself out and annoying my husband. (Oh yes, my darling husband. I know I annoy you. I can see you when you roll your eyes at me.) The house will get messy. The kids will FIGHT. Accept it. It's inevitable. It's life. Don't sweat the small stuff. Spring break and summer vacation can be fun if you let it be. I intend to.Jessica Messengerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08404672267634741279noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8160140738790926190.post-33129271071509535222012-02-07T13:59:00.000-06:002012-02-07T13:59:43.318-06:00Same old, same old....I catch myself saying it all the time. When someone asks me how life is going, my inevitable reply is almost always, "Oh, you know, same old, same old." I think by the time we become parents we resign ourselves to the fact that we won't be experiencing new things and, for some of us, enjoying life to the fullest.<br />
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I caught myself doing that just this weekend. My family lives in one of the regions that got hit with copious amounts of snow. I woke up on Saturday morning irritated. The snow had ruined my plans for the weekend, it was cold outside, and I was going to have to scoop the sidewalks. (Or I would fiddle around with a shovel while my husband did the real work. Don't tell him...) My kids were, of course, excited to go play in the snow. It wasn't until Charlotte, the youngest, looked at the wonderland of snow with the amazement that we seem to only feel in childhood that I really looked at my surroundings.<br />
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There was a silence to the world. Cars were not rushing down the streets, as most people opted to stay inside their warm homes. The trees looked like they had been frosted with royal icing and sparkled in the sunlight. The yard was covered in the pristine white of newly fallen snow. When I stopped to look and enjoy, I realized that I had been given a truly beautiful gift. I built a snowman for the first time in years, had a snowball fight with my kids, made a snow angel, and I even helped scoop the sidewalks. (Though I do wish we had a snowblower.) I wouldn't have had that day if I had let the negativism of adulthood win.<br />
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Adults are negative. That is really all there is to it. We get beaten down by responsibility and duty. We experience most of the exciting things in life by the time we are in our late twenties. We have our first kiss, drive our first car, make love for the first time, get married, have kids, etc. Once we have kids, we step to the side and let them experience their exciting firsts. We let ourselves fade into the background, and we wonder why we are exhausted and life seems so dull.<br />
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Our lives are dull because we let them get that way. Before this last weekend, I couldn't remember the last time I tried something new. It might not seem to be anything exciting, really, and some may criticize me for it. My brother let me shoot his Russian rifle from World War II. I have shot a gun before. (Only once. It was a handgun, and I was too nervous to appreciate the experience. Older and wiser now....okay, older anyway.) We hiked out behind my parents' house to a safe place. Andrew showed me how to hold it properly and made sure that I felt comfortable. I never would have thought that shooting a firearm would have been so exhilarating, but it was. I don't know how good of a shot I was, but I really did enjoy the experience. Andrew only made fun of me a little bit for the weird stutter steps I took after each round.<br />
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I am not going to go out and buy a rifle. You probably won't see me strapping on extra clips and fighting crime. (Although...) In those seconds that I was trying something new, I felt really alive. I've resolved to let myself become more open to life and its interesting turns and curves. I can look at something and appreciate it for more than I would have before. I have promised myself that I will try something new much more often than I have in the past, even if it is just a new food. Not every new experience is going to be enjoyable, but I can say, "I've done that." Some day (Hopefully a lot of years down the road...) someone at my funeral will say, "She really lived. Did you know she went deep sea fishing (or some other exciting life experience)?" Because what else are we supposed to do with our lives besides LIVE them.Jessica Messengerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08404672267634741279noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8160140738790926190.post-88656134117581394952012-01-30T10:24:00.000-06:002012-01-30T12:40:17.339-06:00RulesI haven't posted in a while. Suffice it to say that lately "the desperate mom" has been a little more desperate than usual. I can blame writer's block or just be honest and say that I was too lazy to get on my computer. Maybe I could blame the temporary insanity of the holiday season or the panicked desperation of the new year looming ahead of me. To be honest, I think it is a combination of these things (Along with a new and abiding love for Pinterest.).<br />
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Last night, as I was lying in bed talking to my husband, an idea struck me. Moms are not just moms. They are women who are made even more complex by the demands of motherhood. No wonder our husbands have no idea how to handle us. Men need some clear rules and guidelines for dealing with the strong women that mothers have to be. With that in mind, here are a few "guidelines" I explained to my spouse last night.<br />
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1. Never, never, never take a pregnant or menstruating woman's chocolate. The consequences will be dire and possibly deadly. We will hurt you. If you find a candy bar hidden in the recesses of a random drawer, it means that you have uncovered a stash. Do NOT eat the candy bar you have found. Put it back and forget you ever saw it there. A hidden candy bar means we are hiding it from you or the kids. We will not react kindly to its absence. <br />
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2. Never tell a woman in a rage to calm down. These two words will only enrage us further. We know that we are snarling like a rabid dog. We can't control it, and we aren't particularly proud of it. Telling us to calm down reminds us that you are the calm one in the situation, and we will resent you for it. In fact, if we had the upper body strength to rip your head from your body, you would be headless.<br />
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3. (This rule should, perhaps, be an addendum to rule 2. Oh well.) Do not tell us we are being irrational. We will become even more irrational (Not that we were in the first place, or that we will admit to it.). Most importantly, do not use the words "irrational" and "calm down" in the same argument. This will lead to a catastrophic meltdown. They will be dealing with the radiation for years.<br />
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4. We are (almost) always right. Accept it. In the very rare event that we admit that we were wr... wr.... (I can say it!) wr...ong, do not ask to hear it again. Do not ask if you can get a recorded copy of us saying that awful word. Do not rub it in our face. Our track record is way better than yours. We will not hesitate to point out every time you have been wrong in the last ten years...in detail.<br />
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5. The answer to the "does this make me look fat" question is not always "no". There are times when we want your honest opinion. However, if you just say "yes", you will hurt our feelings. Say something like, "I really love that red dress. You know I hate green." We will know that you do not, in fact, hate green and that the outfit we are currently wearing is not flattering to our assets. If we look sexy, we are looking for a compliment. Flatter us appropriately. (Or die.)<br />
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6. We love you. (Sometimes against our better judgement.) Do not take us for granted. Sure we always do certain things, like the laundry. It may be a foregone conclusion that we cook dinner or have the bed made. The fact that we always do these things does not mean that they are "our" jobs, we will fall over in gratitude if you would do the dishes sometimes. Bring us flowers and a thank you card. We may not be the Stepford Wives, but we are the best you are going to get. Appreciate us.<br />
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7. Childbirth is the most painful thing in the world. Do not try and tell us differently. When you have to pass a watermelon out your hooha, we will discuss the possibilities of things that are more painful. Until that time, you haven't done it so you don't know. So shut up. See Rule 4. <br />
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There are more rules. I could sit here for hours explaining each one, but I have children and it is suspiciously quiet around here. So men, get a clue. Moms stay the strong complex women you are. They will figure it out, eventually. (We can dream...)Jessica Messengerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08404672267634741279noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8160140738790926190.post-12907117042303524102011-12-15T12:30:00.000-06:002011-12-15T12:30:06.671-06:00Mom Freaks Out.We have all done it. That momentary (or not so momentary) freak out when we can't get in touch with our children or spouse. I have to admit that I had just such a moment last night. In hindsight, I will admit that my reaction to the situation may have been a little over the top. I blame a crazy week filled with stress, a long day at work, and the stress of the season. My oldest daughter is having some digestive issues. She threw up at school...again. The school nurse and I are on a first name basis. (And not just because we work together sometimes.) So I have to call in to work...again. Stress. Stress. Stress. My daughter is taking after her mother and internalizes her stress. She is working her way up to an ulcer. Stress. Stress. Stress.<br />
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So she needs mommy to be home more because "mommy is never home". Stress. Stress. Stress. I decide to put her first and move to part time, but this means I have to tell my boss that. Stress. Stress. Stress. I forgot to bake cookies for Paige's Christmas program. Stress. Stress. Stress. Christmas is ten days away. Stress. Stress. Stress. You can see where I am going with this. <br />
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Last night my husband came by work to switch cars. He needed the car seats. He left the keys in the car he left me so he wouldn't have to come into my work. Which is fine, usually. Except this time he failed to ensure that the locks on the car didn't engage...which they did. So he heads to pick up the kids from daycare and on towards home. I try to call him a couple times to check on Adelyn and the other kids. He never answers. Ok, that's fine. He is probably busy. Everything is fine until ten o'clock that night when I get off my shift.<br />
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I walk out to my car like every other night. Except this night, my car doors are locked tight and I have no way of getting into my car. Ok, that's fine too. I will just call Brian and he will come unlock the car. No answer. Strange. So I try calling him about twenty more times. Still no answer. I can feel that slow burn in my stomach. I know it is worry combined with anger. Oh, is he a dead man when I get my hands on him. It is now 10:30. I decide to give him fifteen more minutes before I call AAA to unlock the car.<br />
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But in that fifteen minutes before I call and the half hour after as I wait for the locksmith, I start to have some thoughts. Where is he? Why hasn't he noticed that I am not home yet? What if they are all in the hospital because of a car accident? What if there was a botched burglary attempt and they are all tied up in the basement with a crazed gunman? (I think I watch too many crime dramas...) What am I going to throw at his head when I finally get home? I know it is not rational. I know that there is probably a perfectly good explanation for his inability to answer a phone. (I can't WAIT to hear it...)<br />
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The locksmith finally pulls up and in a flash I am in my car. As I start pulling out of the parking lot, who pulls in but my husband. In a flash, all that worry, stress, and exhaustion combine to make a near cataclysmic rage. Gone is the worry for his and the kids safety. Why should I be worried about him, I am going to tear him apart. If you look up the definition of rage, you will find this: "rage: violent, uncontrollable anger." That was me.<br />
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I was so angry I didn't even want to hear him speak. To be honest, once I heard the explanation of the location of his phone, I am still upset. The worst part is that he made me worry. I don't care that I had to call AAA. I don't even care that I sat around for an hour and fifteen minutes at work after I got off my shift. (Ok that is a lie. I do care.) But the worst really is that I was imagining all these terrible things that could have happened to my family, and it turns out that they were all just fine. Why do we do that? Worry and worry and worry but when everything turns out ok we get upset because we were worried.<br />
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It is not his fault I was worried. Ok, scratch that. It is not ALL his fault that I was worried. I will remember that next time, or at least I will try... I make no promises... Well, really I am only human.Jessica Messengerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08404672267634741279noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8160140738790926190.post-16082853150001365002011-11-30T09:48:00.000-06:002011-11-30T10:16:09.343-06:00Sentimental Mom StuffI know that my blog is usually full of humorous anecdotes about the insanity of parenting, but this week I feel the need to write something a little different. Last week was Thanksgiving. That night I ended up in the ER with my youngest daughter, Charlotte, who was having a severe allergic reaction. It was the type of reaction that can kill people if they do not get immediate medical attention. While I was sitting with her, I realized just how much I really had to be thankful for. With the economy the way that it is, I think a lot of people have forgotten how wonderful we really have it. This has been made blindingly obvious by the people "occupying Wall Street".<br />
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So after the benefits of modern medicine made my little girl healthy again, I sat and thought about the little things in life that we take for granted but I am so thankful for. This is what I came up with: I am thankful for my children's laughter, so many kids out there have nothing to laugh about. I am thankful for my husband, who is my best friend and without him I would be insane (Or more insane, anyway). I am thankful for my kids (who make me insane). I am thankful that I can put my daughter in the car and have immediate access to people who can make her better when she is ill. I am thankful for light switches and electricity, how awful would it be to have to use candles with small children in the house? I am thankful for my car because it means that I don't have to walk when it is very cold outside.<br />
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I am thankful for the school system which provides my children with the education they need to make their way in the world. I am thankful to live in a country that realizes that women are equals to men. Many women in the world are silenced due to their gender. I am thankful that I can turn on a faucet and have safe drinking water. I am thankful that my country does its best to make sure that its people do not go hungry, even if some people take advantage of those benefits. I am thankful for grocery stores and the farms that produce the food in them because it means that I will never have to milk a cow (Thank God.). <br />
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I am thankful that the sun rises everyday and that it means I get to have one more day with the people that I love. I am thankful for sunny days at the pool in summer. I am thankful for rainy days in spring and fall when you can curl up with a book and a blanket. I am thankful for white Christmases when the world looks like it has been frosted with glittery sugar. I am thankful for sunshine and rainbows after a thunderstorm. I am thankful for piles of leaves to jump in and puddles to splash in. <br />
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I am thankful that I have a house to clean, even if it is a daily battle, because it means that my family has a safe and warm place to sleep at night. I am thankful for the health of my children, and for the researchers out there trying to make sure all children stay healthy. I am thankful for my job and my husband's job because too many people are out of work. I am thankful for coffee in the morning. I am thankful for the process of making grapes into wine (who isn't?). I am thankful for sex, it is practical and fun. (Again who isn't?)<br />
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I could go on and on. So many people out there have less than I do. Now that I think about how truly blessed I am I feel selfish and petty for complaining about what I have and don't have. I probably will still complain (I am human after all.), but I will endeavor to count my blessings as much as I can. Yes, I agree our country is in a huge mess, and something definitely needs to change. But maybe the biggest change needs to be made within ourselves. We all need to start having an attitude of gratitude. Be thankful for the small things in life. If you want something to change, you need to make it happen for yourself. No one is going to walk around making your life perfect for you. Be thankful. Count your blessings. And start each day with a smile (usually happens after my first cup of coffee).Jessica Messengerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08404672267634741279noreply@blogger.com0