Out visiting my Neighbor

You may hear my dog barking ferociously at the door but I’m not here!  I’m out visiting my neighbor Amber from Making the Moments Count.  I’m honored to be guest posting for her today at her place.  Amber is a mom who amazes me daily.  She has two children under 2 years old, a husband in school full time and finds the time to also write inspiring, honest and beautiful blog posts.

Head on over to her place to read what I had to say about wishing the years away and then be sure to read some of her wonderful posts as well.

Be back tomorrow!

The Baggage in my Bag

Maria from Mom of Three seeks Sanity tagged me in the “What’s In Your Bag” Meme.  I’ve been putting off completing it because of my shame of the state of the contents of my bag.  Disaster.  Just another reflection of the messes in my life.  The clutter.  I see women in stores open up their bags to remove their wallets and I catch a glimpse of the tidiness inside.  Each pocket has a purpose.  Each product has a place. Not my bag.  Usually when I remove my wallet, thirteen receipts come flying out with it.  When I take out my lipstick, a piece of a fruit bar is usually stuck to it.  Sand is in my hairbrush.  Crackers in my coin purse.

So here it is.  All laid out neatly on the table for you all to see.  The Baggage in my Bag.

All looks fine from the outside, doesn’t it?  My Michael Kors bag.  I love this bag.  I have two prerequisites when it comes to purchasing a new bag (which happens every 18-24 months usually).

1.  It must have outside pockets to easily reach my phone or a sippy cup

2. It must have two shoulder straps so that I can keep it on my shoulder when I open it up to remove something without it falling to the floor.

I also love the color.  Works for summer and winter and goes with everything.  I used to be the type to change bags from one day to the next… not anymore.  My bag is my bag is my bag.  I don’t use a diaper bag anymore either.  Diapers and wipes go right into the purse.  As excited as I was when Hannah was born to get a cute new diaper bag, when Luke was born, it never saw the light of day.

OK… onto the inside.

Starting at the top left and going across left to right:

– My black wallet.  Love how it zips shut.  No money, receipts or notes spilling out of it.  It has a separate zip up coin section too to keep the coins contained.  Beware when I open it… things just fly right out but when it’s in my purse, everything stays put.

– A toy baby bottle.  For those emergencies with Hannah’s baby dolls.

– My camera.  I always have it with me… you just never know when there will be a kodak moment.

– A large toy car.  One of three you’ll see there on the table.  Luke needs more than one to keep him happy.  One in each hand and one in his lap or on the table.

–  A plastic baggie with extra links from my new watch.  Just got a new watch for my birthday and had to have the links removed.  They would have sat in my bag for months had I not pulled them out for this exercise.

– Tube of eczema cream.  Hannah has terrible eczema and often has flare ups.  Cream to the rescue.

– A fruit bar.  I can’t believe the wrapper is actually closed.  I ALWAYS have snacks in my bag but usually they are half eaten.  This is a good day I guess.

– Another zippy little red car

– Two gray headbands.  My days usually start with my hair down.  After a couple of hours I put it up in a hairtie that is always around my wrist.  An hour after that I put a headband in to keep it ALL off my face.  Once Hannah sees me with a headband, she wants one so I always am sure to have two.

– Little pink hairtie for Hannah

– Movie stub from Shutter Island.  It was the last movie I saw in the theatre.  I can’t even tell you the one I saw before that.  Don’t see the movie.  It was awful.

– Seven cents in change.  What you can’t tell is that they were coated in stickiness.  I don’t know what spilled in my bag but something sticky enough to make me have to pry these three coins apart.

– My change purse.  I have a spare key in it and some change that overflowed from my wallet.  I love this little coin purse but feel like it’s a little too “cool” for me.

– Yet another little race car.

– Six colored pencils and one marker.  For emergency entertainment at a restaurant or in traffic.  I have paper in the car or I’m fine with the kids drawing on their hands.

– A receipt from Hannah’s gymnastics class.  It’s large pieces of paper like this that get wedged to the bottom of my purse and get pulled out unintentionally making a whirlwind of a mess at very inopportune times.  There was no reason for me to keep this receipt and three months later… here it sits.

– My two favorite lipglosses.  I wish I remembered more often to put it on.  Although it does give me extremely sticky lips and then it ends up in the kids hair or on their cheeks.  Sometimes it’s just not convenient to look attractive.

– A reminder card from the pediatrician. It’s from October.  I hope I remembered to go to that appointment…

And there you have it.  A peek inside my world.  The only thing missing was my iPhone.  It’s rarely in my bag unless I’m out of the house.  It’s usually in the palm of my hand.  Or on the couch next to me.  Or in my kids hands.  Or, as you may recall, in the toilet.

I now have the opportunity to tag a few other friends to divulge what is in their bags… have fun (and if you were already asked to do this… sorry!)

– Lindsey at A Design So Vast

– Kelly at the Miller Mix

– Corinne at Trains Tutus and Tea Time

– Nicki at Nicki’s Nook

– Aidan at Ivy League Insecurities

 

I am now an US, not a ME

Yesterday I set out on a mission.  A full day mission involving five hours in a car, a list of 7 houses and a weight on my shoulders.  But I was going to make it an adventure.  An experience.  A journey.  If nothing else, it would be a day well spent listening to good tunes, on a beautiful day, exploring a town I’d never visited.

Yesterday I set out to the beach towns of Rhode Island to find a house for my family to rent for a week this summer.  The kids were in school.  Tim was at work.  It was up to me.  I decided to bring my mom along to keep me company , keep me from falling asleep, and voice her opinions (when asked) so I could use my HEAD in making a decision.  Not just my heart (which I tend to do with things like this).

I had my list of homes that I had selected from a real estate website after having asked the Twitterverse about their thoughts on the area.  I had my price limit.  I had my criteria in ranked order of importance.  I had Tim’s trust.  I had Hannah’s desires (‘The ONLY thing I care about mommy is that I get a bunk bed.” were the words she left me with yesterday morning as I dropped her at school) in mind.

I was very hopeful as I set out on this two and a half hour road trip that I’d find something perfect (There I go seeking perfection again…).  The pictures on line of the houses that I saw sold me at first glance.  “Ocean front”, “Beachy”, “Sunsets”, “Open Deck” , “Waves crashing at your feet” were words that excited me as I printed out the images for my journey.  But having looked at just under 100 (yes, it was a painful experience) houses before choosing the one I currently live in full time, I was well aware how pictures can be deceiving.  Very deceiving.

The first house I arrived at was a perfect example of deception at its best.  The picture I held in my hand as I drove into the cracked, slanted driveway could barely compare to what stood in front of me.  I wondered at what angle the picture had actually been taken.  And how they were able to edit out the houses on either side of this one that sat mere inches from its walls.  I didn’t even step foot out of the car.  I looked at my mom (who was trying very hard not to show her distaste on her face) and said, “Ok, Moving On!”.

We drove in silence to the next three houses.  Each worse than the last.  Window panes falling out of windows.  Paint chipping from shingles.  Empty beer cans sitting on yards and porches.  Overgrown shrubbery blocking any “view” that may have once been viewable.  I was growing concerned.  Very concerned.  I couldn’t believe I’d be going home with Nothing.  This is our one family vacation we take a year… I had to go home with SOMETHING!

Feeling exasperated, I typed into my GPS the next address on my list.  I heeded Mrs GPS’s directions into a small, quaint neighborhood with Nantucket style homes lining the streets.  I held my breath as the number of the house grew closer and smiled as I saw it up ahead.  I pulled up to the cozy looking shingled home and actually stepped out of my car (for the first time yet).  It was quiet.  And still.  Were those waves I heard crashing?  I smelled salt water. I walked around to the back of the house and saw Just Water. For as far as I could see was the ocean. The back of the house was mostly windows and a large back deck that brought me immediately to sipping a glass of wine while watching the sun set.  There was a small strip of grass before the rock wall where the waves crashed.  I pictured Hannah and Luke kicking a ball back and forth on the grass and eating hot dogs from the charcoal grill that sat by the steps to the deck.  Charcoal. I love the smell of charcoal.

“Ahhhhh….” I said to my mom who also was relishing the view and imagining the happiness that this house could bring ME.  This was what I was looking for.  Serenity.  Beauty. Peacefulness. Vacation.

But.

The house was tiny.  The family room was 1/3 the size of ours at home and the one at home is barely big enough for the four of us to sit and play.  There was no beach right there for the kids to swim in.  We’d have to get into the car and drive a mile to the closest beach.  The rocks at the foot of the property heading down to the ocean could be treacherous.  I’d constantly have to be vigilant to be sure one of my kids wasn’t toppling down the jagged wall. I didn’t feel right not checking out the last three homes on the list.  Even though my heart was set on this one.

The next two homes again were shabby in a not shabby chic sort of way.  Dilapidated. Unattractive. Disrepair.   The cozy house was looking like the best option.  My heart kept telling me so.  And then we pulled up to the last house.  A large Victorian house, not in perfect condition but Not So Bad.  Fine.  Peeling wallpaper and chipped paint in each bedroom could be overlooked.  A crooked stove and dusty couches I could glance over.  There was a huge fenced in yard with whiffle balls strewn about.  A big rubber bouncy ball sat on the steps.  The beach where we could actually swim, was in the far off, barely visible, yet walkable distance.  Sitting on the porch there was no sound of waves crashing.  There would not be a scenic sunset each night as we sipped our cocktails. There weren’t floor to ceiling picture windows overlooking the water.

But.

The house screamed Family.  A place to play and run. A walk to the beach pulling a red wagon filled with beach toys.  A bike ride to the ice cream shoppe. An early morning stroll with coffee in hand to the beach to sit while the kids built a sand castle.  Space inside to build Lego houses and zoom cars and trucks on the hard wood floors. A gas grill to quickly cook up burgers and hot dogs.

My HEAD was telling me THIS was the right house as much as my heart tugged me to the other.  And I realized that this was just another example of how life is about Us now.  The FOUR of us. Not Me.  Not me and Tim.  This was another gentle reminder that the choices I need to make need to be for Us. Not better.  Not worse.  Just different.

My mom and I talked about the two houses for most of the drive back.  The pros.  The cons.  How I “couldn’t go wrong with either”. But I realized I COULD go wrong.  I wouldn’t feel right in the scenic tiny house with the spectacular views if my kids were sitting there wanting something Else.  Something more fun. Something more Right for them.

Hannah asked me last night as I put her to bed to tell her about each house.  I first told her the bad news that the house did not have a bunk bed but quickly moved on to the beach and proximate ice cream shop which seemed to satisfy her.  I told her about the top two choices in detail, letting her feel like she was part of the decision making process.  She seemed to love how they both sounded but what she said in the end sealed my decision.

“You know mommy.  I really don’t care so much about the sunset.  It’s pretty for a minute but then the rest of the day the sky looks the same from any house, right?  We can go see the sunset from somewhere else, right?  I just want to have a beach that Lukey and I can play on.  Playing is what matters.”

Well said, Hannah.  Well said.

Note: I hope this post doesn’t come off that I’m ungrateful for renting a house this summer.  I’m thrilled that we are able to go ANYWHERE for vacation, and either house would be amazing… but it did strike me that the decision making process is so different now that we are an entity of four, not two.

Off My List

I’m a worrier.  Yes.  I can admit it.  I worry about my health.  Constantly.  I worry about raising my kids to be polite, independent, self confident, generous and gracious human beings.  I worry about how much my butt is going to jiggle as I walk from my lounge chair to the beach in two weeks.  I worry that I’m going to get a flat tire on the highway with both kids in the car.  I worry that one day I’ll wake up and decide to throw out all of my stilletto heels and cute wedges and swap in every shade of Merrill clogs and Dansko shoes (both sure signs of having just Given Up on style).

Most recently, I’ve been pretty consumed with Luke’s speech.  Or lack there of.  If you were to ask me in recent months if I was worried, I would have laughed it off and told you, No.  I would have proposed that every child develops differently, at their own speed and that I don’t read the books or gauge development by milestones.  I would have defended his lack of words by bragging about his advanced motor skills and brushed off any doubt by explaining that he comprehends EVERYTHING.

But really, what I wasn’t telling you, was that I was worried.  Where were his Words?  Why wasn’t he putting sounds together and saying his name?  Why wasn’t he saying his sister’s name correctly?  Why can’t he ask for anything By Name?  I really thought something was Wrong.  I was getting frustrated, for me AND for him.  And I wasn’t telling anyone this because I didn’t want to hear that I was overthinking or jumping to conclusions.  I didn’t want to hear the label “Worrier” for yet another thing that everyone else thought was Nothing.

So I kept it to myself.

And a few weeks ago I arranged for a state run service to come and give him an evaluation.  Just To See.  I told Tim and although he didn’t agree it was necessary, he wasn’t opposed to it if I felt strongly about getting some answers.  He wanted to shut me up appease me.  I’ve been hoping since I made the appointment that I’d see some improvements and although he gets cuter by the day, nothing really changed as far as his verbal development.

And today was the day.  I woke up with shaky nerves and an upset stomach, wondering what the day would bring.  I dropped Hannah off at school and rushed home to await their arrival, trying to keep Luke busy and stimulated so he could give his best performance for them.  We watched through the window as three cars arrived in the driveway and three women walked toward the front door.  I opened the door as they started down the walkway and Luke ran out in front of me, arms spread, and jumped into the first evaluator’s arms as if she was his long lost BFF.  (Remind me to talk to him sooner rather than later about talking to strangers, K?) He gave the three ladies his warmest, friendliest smile, used one of his 4 clear words, “HI!”, and showed them into the house.

We sat on the floor for an hour with the three women as they moved from one activity to another with him. He correctly identified in a picture book each and every word one woman asked him.  Words I had no idea he had ever heard.  Tea Pot.  Comb. Ape.  Crocodile.  Cap.  He answered questions like, “Which of these do you put on your foot?” by pointing at a boot.  He knew that you watch “cartoons” on a TV.  He knew that milk goes on cereal.  He did a puzzle within seconds and quickly asked for “Mah?” (More).  He saw a man next door out the window, pointed and said, “Daddy?”.  He heard the dog bark and said, “Bell?” (short for Bella). He left the room midway through the exercises and retrieved crackers for himself.  And proceeded to hand one out to each lady as if he was their host.  When asked to “Jump” he bent his knees and threw his arms up in the air without leaving the ground, and then gave himself a round of applause and bowed.

Was he able to repeat the words the speech therapist asked him to repeat?  No.  Besides Ball, and a weak attempt at Baby, he was unable to repeat the other words asked of him.  But he tried.  He sat in front of her, watched her mouth and Tried.  And by trying and showing his mouth Could make the right formations, even if the wrong sounds came out, they told me, “He’s Doing Great”.

They told me Not To Worry.  He is moving along fine (and I’m liking the word Fine these days) and does not need therapy at this point.  He is comprehending at a 2.5 – 3 year old level and speaking at an average 23 month old level.  Normal. Adequate. Okay. All of these words echoed in my head as they were spoken.  Never have I been so happy with Average.

I was told by three people who know what they’re talking about Not To Worry.  EVERYONE is always telling me not to worry but I don’t heed their advice because they don’t know what they’re talking about.  They’re just trying to make me feel better.  These ladies though, these ladies Know because it’s their job to know.

So.  I’m not going to worry.  I’m going to cross Luke’s Speech off my list of worries in my head.  At least for the time being.  Because he’s fine.  And he’s friendly.  And generous with crackers. And polite.  And determined.  And so incredibly sweet.

And I’ll take all of that over speaking, especially if I don’t have to worry, Any Day of the week.

The Best Medicine

There is something about laughing.  Like full on, uncontrollable, sincere laughter.  I’m the silent hysterical laughter type.  My mouth is wide open but I emit no sound.  Tears run from my eyes and I have trouble catching my breath.  And if something really tickles me, I Can’t Stop.  The only thing better than this type of laughter is having someone join you in your convulsive giggles.  Because really, there’s something strange about finding so much humor in something, and everyone else getting a bigger kick out of watching YOU laugh but not finding what you’re laughing at the least bit funny.  This actually happens to me quite often.  Something sets me off, and I can’t contain my laughter and the more I try to restrict it, the harder I laugh.  Everyone else in the room may be just staring at me, but the tears keep rolling. But when you’re with someone and you BOTH are at your pinnacle of laughter, slapping each other with each gasp, leaning on each other’s shoulders as you both shake from the funnies… THAT is pure HAPPY.  I wish I could remember the last time this happened to me.  I hope it wasn’t last week watching the Old Spice ad with the man on the horse (and Tim)… it may have been though, which just clearly indicates that I need to get out more.

I do wish I laughed more.  Sure, I smile a lot.  My kids make me giggle.  I write “LOL” throughout the day on tweets and emails.  I have a husband who works really hard to make me laugh (and usually does even if I’m rolling my eyes at the same time).  But I wish there were more occasions to really LAUGH.  And as I wonder why there aren’t, I realize that you have to be in a certain frame of mind to let yourself laugh.  What cracks me up one day, certainly may not the next.  I know this is something that frustrates Hannah.  There are nights where she’ll come tiptoeing over to me with her little fingers in tickle mode and I’ll start giggling before she even touches my feet/neck/belly.  And we end up on the floor in a fit of tickle attacks. But there are others… nights where I’m exhausted from too many tantrums, have a headache, I still haven’t cooked dinner, Luke is standing in his highchair, etc, and those fingers waggling in front of me, just make me angry.  “Stop Tickling Me Hannah!” I’ll shout.  And she’ll look at me with those big confused eyes and say, “but you laughed yesterday mommy”.  Explaining the concept of “timing” to a 5 year old is not always so easy.  We’re just not always “set up” or ready to laugh.  Most days and nights, my frame of mind is not on laughing. It’s on getting through the routine.  And keeping everyone safe. And then resting.  And relaxing.  And talking.  But not laughing.  Laughing is sometimes work.

And that’s sad.  It shouldn’t be like that.

I also find that there are certain people who really don’t like to laugh.  Or at least they ACT like they don’t like to laugh.  Their mouths barely open when the chuckle escapes from their lips and they turn away before they are really caught in the act.  I’m not sure what their deal is.  Either they don’t like to not be the funny one, they won’t admit when someone else is funny, or they don’t like the out of control feeling that true laughter ensues.  They don’t like to not have control of their emotions.  You might think this sounds ridiculous but I actually had a conversation with someone rather close to me about this.  Although it was in regards to massages. He told me that he’s never had a massage.  Has no interest.  I asked him if it was because he is uncomfortable with someone touching him or afraid of being tickled and he said, “No. I just don’t want someone else having control over making me feel good.  I like to make MYSELF feel good (mind out of the gutter ladies.. not like THAT).  It would be weird to have someone so in charge of my feelings. (or something along those lines).”  That struck me as so strange!  If I could pay someone every day to have the sole responsibility of making me feel good throughout the day, I’d do it.  I don’t WANT to be responsible for making myself feel good all day long.  I guess there are differing opinions there.  And maybe this type of person doesn’t love to have someone else make them laugh either.  Maybe they’d rather crack themselves up.

There are also the people who say, “Oh, that’s funny!” but never really laugh.  In my opinion if you’re just saying, “That’s funny” but you’re not actually SHOWING with some emotion that you see the humor, you don’t think it’s funny.  Also, saying, “Ha Ha Ha” or “HMPH! (sounds like a quick little chortle from the nose)” is not laughing.  If that’s what you do when you’re feeling giggly, you need to go to Laugh School.  Or maybe you just need to relax a little and Let It Out.  I’m waiting for the day when I’ll be talking to someone and they’ll just say out loud, “L O L”.

I wish I could be five again when I’m at a party and telling a story that I know is funny and I’m expecting a good reaction.  It often happens (much to Tim’s dismay) that I start laughing before I even finish the story I’m telling therefore making it impossible for anyone to even hear the end or overhyping how funny the story actually is.  And then I’m SO disappointed when no one is laughing. Or I am noticing that they are giving me some fake laugh. Which doesn’t fly with me.  If it were Hannah in this situation she’d say, “HEY!  Why aren’t you laughing?  Don’t you think I’m funny?” That’s what I’d like to say.  Instead I usually just continue laughing into my wine glass and saying something like, “Oh I guess you had to be there…” Thankfully Tim usually comes to my aid with his arm around me saying,”She needs to stop drinking so much…”

I think if you were to survey most parents about the sound they love most, a large percent of them would say, “the sound of my kid/baby’s laugh”.  The gasping giggles. The red faced belly laughs.  It makes us as parents feel So Good.  Like we’re doing Something Right.  Babies don’t know HOW to contain that laughter.  They haven’t even learned that it’s an option.  I wish it was never an option to NOT laugh if something is funny.  To stifle a laugh should be as impossible as stopping a sneeze.  Just not an option. I’d be able to end tantrums so much easier that way.  Witching hour would be a lot less witchy.  Dinner parties with stiff guests would be a lot more enjoyable.  Maybe it would even help with the clique issue in the teenage years?  The popular girl would HAVE to laugh at the Shy Bookworm if she said something funny, making Shy Bookworm feel so much better about herself and maybe even becoming friends with the popular girl because they have the same sense of humor!  Everyone would be friends with everyone!  Oh the possibilities!

Come on, a girl can dream can’t she?  Remember I was the one who wanted to do away with Numbers, right?

And now I’m off, to find some laughter in this rainy, tantrum filled, sleepy day.

What makes you laugh?  Do you have an infectious laugh?  Does it bother you when people “fake laugh?”

I Feel Good

Even after a week of cleaning up vomit and having my own share of vomiting, I feel good. I’ve been reading many posts lately and writing my share of posts on finding balance in this world of “Connectedness”. Or maybe I should call it “Over Connectedness”. This blogosphere that I’ve come to know and become addicted to love is pulling me under. Kristen at Motherese was the last post I read on Thursday that spoke so well about this topic and truly hit me in the gut (in an affectionate way of course!). Although I’ve been spending so many hours THINKING about how to spend the right amount of time reading the blogs I adore, writing my own blog, leaving thoughtful comments and responding to comments to feel as if there is a true conversation going on between all of us, while at the same time, caring for and maybe even SPEAKING to any member of my family… I haven’t really DONE anything about striking the right balance. And then there are my real life friends who really it WOULD be nice to chat with every once in a while…

Kristen’s take is that she needed to go on a Digital Diet. I agreed. Wholeheartedly (well, not for HER but for me). I decided I needed to shed 10 or so internet pounds. And I started, full force, this weekend. The outcome? I feel good. Really good. I started my diet Friday which wasn’t so difficult seeing as I had just finished my 24 hours of the plague and was just starting Hannah’s 24 hours of the same, but I can say, I shut down my laptop Thursday night and did not open it again until Just Now. And I left my iPhone normally attached to the palm of my hand in my bedroom for the weekend as well. It’s cute little pink cover teased and tempted me each time I passed by my nightstand and yes, I did succumb to the pressure here and there to send out a few Tweets, but for the most part, my hands and fingers were Free.

I was Free. My eyes and my heart were with my family. Where they should be when the family is together. No, I don’t know how the Bon Jovi concert ended up. I’m not sure if my friend’s daughter is all better after her scare on Friday. Any updates on a certain someone’s son lying? Not sure. But I do know I was here. In the moment. Present. And feeling good.

I wanted to jump into a post tonight that was swimming in my head all weekend but I’m still living in my weekend. The happiness I found in the little things. The first peeks of spring showing in so many simple ways. The buds of flowers starting to pop. The warm breeze through my open sun roof. My dog’s face sticking out the window of the car and the air blowing her hair straight back as her tongue literally lapped up the wind (is there anything more joyful than that?). My shearling clogs traded for converse low tops. My furry hood set aside for my sunglasses and spring baseball hat. The kids paints and easel left inside as we headed out with a crate of chalk and bubbles.

We taught how to give safe piggy back rides.

We learned how to play hide and seek. ($10 to whoever can find Luke!)

We tried to get our trucks to set sail.

We learned to accessorize.

We got baths. And much needed haircuts.

After far too many hours sick and in bed we made it outside. Even if it was in our pajamas and looking EXHAUSTED.

We had impromptu picnics.

We fully enjoyed borrowing things that weren’t ours. No, we still do not have next door neighbors so we will use their MASSIVE backyard until we do.

I sat By Myself for an hour looking at this view and dreaming of what was on the other side of the sea. And also smiled knowing that the mess right in front of me for once was not MINE to clean up.

I am ending this weekend Feeling Good. Done with the sickness. But just starting on finding the right balance between this world and MY world. They’re intertwined and can live well together I’m sure, but it will take a little testing to see how best to make it work.

Because I loved how I felt all weekend knowing that I was Here. 100% Here. And although my stats dropped DRASTICALLY (you do still love me don’t you?), the smiles I saw all weekend made it worth it.

Thanks Kristen for your great wake up call!

Something Right

I write so often about my worries, my concerns, my curiosities, my drama.  Too infrequently do I write about my triumphs, my successes, my smiles, my pats on my back (that I give myself).

There are days that I look around me and know I’ve done Something Right.

No, my life is not perfect.  I do not want it to be perfect.  It’s not possible to be perfect.  But so much of my life is what I’ve made of it… and I like what I’ve created.  What I’ve created from scratch.  From the tools I was given and without a brochure or manual.

I make mistakes.  Lots of them.

I cry.  Too often.

I yell.  More than I ever thought I would.

But…

I get hugs.  All day long.

My heart swells.  From the littlest things.

I take pride.  In the tiny steps forward.

I smile.  At the moments.  And the memories.

This face.  This little boy’s face.  Warms my heart.  Makes me melt.

This day.  At the beach.  With my little Crazies. Will be etched in my mind forever.

This furry dog.  Makes rolling around in the dirt look like pure bliss. And brings belly aching giggles to my kids faces.

This brown eyed girl.  Has crept into my heart.  And has taught me more than any other being on this earth.  About life. About love. About me.

We just keep trucking along.  Learning as we go. Through the mud.  Digging for answers. Finding small joys in things we didn’t know could be so joyful.

These two. Make me feel lucky.

Today.  I feel lucky and feel like I must have Done Something Right.

Happy St. Patrick’s Day!

Hey, a Jewish girl is allowed to feel something more than guilt, right?

The Number

My post I wrote Sunday on being okay with Normal, being fine with Fine left me thinking.  Thinking a lot.  More than I normally do about one of my own posts.  Pondering Perfection.  And how crazy it is that there are so many places in our lives where we seek what we believe is perfection.   I think it’s safe to say we all have “Ideals” we strive to achieve throughout our lives.  An ideal score on a test.  An ideal class rank.  An ideal rating on a review at work.  An ideal weight.   An ideal time in a race.  An ideal size of pants.  An ideal income.   Interestingly, all of these ideals are Numbers.  We live so much of our lives, trying to achieve a Number.

And when we finally do achieve that Number… what then?  Can we then say, we’re Happy?  Do we check it off our list or do we then change the Number and strive for even more?  What if that Number really isn’t “All That”?  Do we mention our achievement or keep it to ourselves?

I spent far too many years obsessing about my weight.  I just couldn’t seem to be thin enough.  I had a weight in my mind that I wanted to be and didn’t think I would be happy until I reached it.  I’m not sure where I pulled the number from, but it sounded good and I believed at that weight, I could wear the size pants I also dreamed of wearing.  My battle with weight is for another post, one I’m not ready to write, but I can say, it wasn’t until I got healthy and STOPPED obsessing, that I actually reached that Number.  And now, I’m at that number, fine with how I look in clothes, rarely having a problem finding something I’m happy to wear.

And then shopping experience from hell happened.

With thoughts of my upcoming beach vacation in my head, I decided to go bathing suit shopping.  I scooped a few suits off the rack and hurried into the changing room dreading seeing my pale flesh revealed from a long winter, but not fearing the experience other than that.  I pulled on the first suit… and gasped.  WHO was that looking back at me?  THIS was not what that NUMBER was supposed to look like!  Flab here, dimples there, jiggles here, wiggles there.  No. No. No.  Could it possibly have been that the right Number was not Right at all?  They say muscle ways more than fat… it’s what got me through many of my depressed heavier days.  What they don’t say as often is “No muscle ways less than In Shape”.   I sat down on the bench in the fitting room, trying to avoid all eye contact with the three way mirror, and thought, “now what”.  The ideal weight… wasn’t working for me. I realized that the Number had nothing to do with how happy I was with myself.  What I want is not a number.  Or a size.  It’s a “look”… and as someone who likes to have measurable goals, I struggle with that.

It makes me wonder if this may be the same case in other areas of my life. I know that when I graduated college and was offered a job for $24K I immediately set my goal at $40K.  I remember thinking, “If I could just make $40K, I’d be SET.”  At $40K I wanted $60K,  and on and on.  I was just never satisfied.  I saw more, better, higher end, better quality and Always Strove For More.  The cliche says “money doesn’t buy happiness”.  And I strongly agree with that statement. I have plenty of friends who have more money than they even know how to spend, and they complain more than my friends who live pay check to pay check.  I guess the more they have, the more they can find dissatisfaction in.  Again, it’s not the income Number that should be the goal, it’s the satisfaction from the money that should be the ideal.  It’s how Happy you are with what you have.

I vividly remember the day I got into my first choice business school.  I got the GMAT score I hoped for to get into that school and then got in.  And as thrilled as I was, something in me was disappointed.  Disappointed that I didn’t apply to a “Better” school.  A higher ranked school.  Why didn’t I REACH more? And even though I worked at companies that supposedly only MBA’s from “Better” schools got into, I struggled admitting that I went to my lower ranked school.  Why did the rank matter?  Why does the Number matter So Much.

Hannah is 5 and knows the difference between coming in first and coming in last.  She wants to win and doesn’t want to lose.  Her gymnastics teacher has them stand in order of who holds their handstand against the wall longest.  She was last in line.  And talks throughout the week about who was first, second, third, etc…  She already understands it’s the Number that people care about.  Yes, she has fun.  “But mommy, I want to hold my handstand longest so I can be First.”

This post isn’t really coming together the way I had planned… it’s meandering, missing the point I started with… I’m still working out what my point is.  But I know that just as I’d like Fine to be just Fine in my life and just as I want to make it clear that Perfect should not be the goal, I also want to teach my kids that they don’t always need to set their sights on a Number.  I want to teach them that the Number really may not represent the happiness gained from the number.  And it’s the Happiness that is important.  The amount of Happiness should be the Ideal they seek.

If it were up to me, I’d do away with Numbers all together.

Just Fine

Hannah and I watch Project Runway together.  It’s our “date” on Friday after I Tivo it on Thursday night.  We cuddle on the couch together and we watch the contestants create clothes from hardware, potato sacks, and old wedding dresses or outfits inspired by the Elements of Nature or kids her own age.  She has memorized all of the contestants names, their ages and all of their past creations.  She knows the judges names, talks daily about Tim Gunn and loves that her pediatrician looks Just Like Michael Kors.

And she cries at the end of each show.  Because someone loses and needs to go home.  She worries when she gets into bed after watching the show that the person is So Sad that they won’t ever have the chance to win.

At the same time, she also loves that Project Runway has a winner each week.  She cheers and wants to watch them be told they won over and over.  She talks endlessly about the hugs that they get from the other contestants after they’ve won.  How wonderful for them that they are the winner.  They must be so so so excited.  And their “mommies must be so proud of them”.

Winners and Losers.  Happy and Sad.  Black and White.  No gray.  No happy medium.

In these difficult days I’ve been having with Hannah I’ve been seeing that I really don’t notice the “medium” days.  I’m either thrilled with the days she’s wonderful – communicative, helpful, sweet, polite and reasonable or distraught over the days where she’s just the opposite.  And I’ve found that I either scold her for being awful or praise her for her perfection.  But the normal days?  The days where she has her moments but for the most part behaves herself… those pass us by without note.

And I think that’s a problem.  I think the days where she acts her age, acts in the manner that I’d expect a five year old to act should be praised or at least mentioned.  Maybe she’d then realize that those days are ok too and not put so much pressure on herself to be So Good.

Last week when I went through one of the worst days I can recall with her, a day that ended in both of us breaking down in tears, I lay next to her in bed and whispered to her that I didn’t expect her to be perfect.  That no one is perfect.  I’m not.  Daddy is not.  Luke is not.  And she is not.  And I told her I don’t WANT her to be perfect.  I thought she was near sleep but she bolted upright in bed and dramatically exhaled.  And then she said, “Mommy, you just took away so much of my sadness.  Because I always think you want me to be perfect.  I always think you’re upset with me if I’m not.” This comment struck me.  I wonder if she just said that because it seemed like the “right” thing to say, or if she really feels this way.  Because I really don’t think I seem to expect perfection.  I never scold her for small mistakes she makes and I definitely don’t portray a perfectionist attitude (because I’m far from being one).

But I don’t praise her for the little things either.  I expect so much from her because she’s shown me she has it in her to far exceed my expectations.  But exceeding expectations shouldn’t be the norm.  Spilling her milk, accidentally writing on the kitchen table, complaining when Luke grabs her toy, jumping on her bed even when I’ve asked her not to… is normal for a five year old.  And she should be told at the end of the days where all of these things occur, that it was a good day.

Hannah and I also watch American Idol together.  (Please don’t judge me that I’m raising a Reality Show junky).  She loves watching them sing.  Loves hearing what the judges have to say (after I’ve translated from Randy/Simon speak to words she actually understands) and most of all, is interested in seeing who has to go home.  But she does not understand why there is not a Winner each week.  Only a loser.  She insists that someone must have won and it’s “Not Fair” that they only share bad news, not good news.  I have tried to explain that the good news for the contestants is that they DON’T have to go home, that they can stay for another week.  And at the VERY end, there is a winner.  I’ve also tried to explain that each week there is not a LOSER, the person going home is just not the WINNER.

“Well mommy, if they didn’t win, then they lost.  That’s just how it works.” she said last week.

And as hard as it is to explain to her the lesson that you aren’t a loser if you don’t win, I am desperate to find the way to have it make sense to her.  I want her to feel pride and joy from trying.  From having fun in the process.  From cheering on those who may have done “better” than she did.

One of Hannah’s favorite board games is Candyland.  But only since she made up her new Hannah rule.  The rule that if she picks a card that sends her back to the beginning of the trail, the person she’s playing with has to go back too.  “So I’m not lonely at the beginning”, she explains.  If she isn’t going to win, neither is anyone else.  The good news, is that if her opponent gets sent back to the beginning, she’s happy to join them as well.  So in the end, it’s a neverending game of Candy Land where no one wins and no one loses.  It’s just a fun journey.

I wish more of life could just be about the journey.  Without winners and losers.  Without first place and last place. Without perfect vs horrible.  Without huge smiles vs hysterical sadness.  With more gray. More normal.  More middle of the road.  I think so many of us would feel better about ourselves if more cheer was given to the Okay.  I’ve always hated the word “Fine”.  It’s neither here nor there.  I always want someone to give a better description than Fine.  And because they use that nondescript word, I always assume it’s a negative description.  But really, fine is fine.  Fine is regular.

I know that Fine won’t get anyone to the Olympics, High Honors at an Ivy League school or even onto the stage of American Idol, but that’s ok isn’t it?  Can’t we be proud of those who just get through each day, being mostly happy and not making any drastic mistakes?  I want to be able to say my day was Fine and have that be a good thing.  It means no one got screamed at.  It means no one got punished.  It means I didn’t want to Walk Out.  And even though we may not have built the perfect snowman, made delicious cupcakes, laughed hysterically or covered the refrigerator in artwork, I still got through the day.  Just Fine.

I think I’m going to be the advocate for Normal and Fine.  I want to be proud of my kids for the regular days.  And I want to be be proud of myself for not getting the Boot off my “show”, sticking around for another week and not killing anyone along the way.

Is that Fine?

Visiting my neighbor – Motherese

And I’m off again!  Off visiting another neighbor.  This week you can find me at another one of my favorite sites, Motherese.  I wrote a post about how being so “connected” in this day and age, actually makes me feel sadly disconnected.  Come read my thoughts there and then spend some time reading some of Kristen’s own words on her site.  She is a brilliant writer who writes on topics that I ALWAYS can relate to.  I am certain you will adore her as much as I have grown to love her.

And I’ll be back home soon!