We don't do zombies.

Today, due to wonderful weather, and the fact that my daughter, who had been battling Influenza B for five days straight was finally fever free, the kids and I found ourselves headed to the park for some fresh air.

It was a delightful hour, for the most part.

Except that period in the middle where I was the uncool mom on the playground.

Now, being uncool doesn't bother me.  In fact, I have spent the majority of my 33 years being "uncool," and that suits me just fine.

My kids generally think I'm pretty cool though, especially on the playground.  If I don't have an adult companion around, I find myself up and wandering the play area, pushing kids on swings, following them up and down steps, helping them on monkey bars, chasing them, climbing up the ladders, and so forth.  The kids appreciate that about me.

Most of the time.

Then, there's days like today, where there are moments in the middle where my oldest asks "why are you over here watching us?"

"Because I like to be with you," is what I said.  It is truth.

However, today I had another reason.

I was sitting on the picnic table seat for a moment before then, sipping on my cooling coffee, when I heard someone yell "I'm gonna slice your head off!"

I looked over, and there was a taller boy chasing my oldest, hands in the air in front of him, pretending to be a zombie.

We don't do zombies.

Aside from the fact that my youngest two had nightmares the night they went to the zombie walk, and periodically since then, my middle son has asked "mom, are zombies real" as we drive to daycare, following with me saying "No, buddy, they're not real," and then "Okay, they're scary,"  I don't see the purpose.

Now, I know people will wildly disagree with me on this topic.  Popular culture dictates that zombies are fun, entertaining, imaginative, and so forth.

But I don't see the value in them.  I have a six-year-old, a four-year-old, and an almost three-year-old.  I know we can't escape this zombie culture, but they seem so young to have knowledge of it already.  Call me old fashioned, call me a prude, call me whatever you want, but I prefer my children to have wholesome, positive imaginative play.

That, and to be quite candid, zombie apocalypse play and zombie-slashing fun go against the God-centered child-rearing I am attempting to live out.

I know that some people, again, may argue "well there are zombies in the Bible."  Okay, so maybe I can see where you're coming from there.  Except I disagree, and instead of forming my own argument against that, I'll link you up with one that fits my viewpoints and leave it at that.

https://www.compellingtruth.org/zombies.html

So, I hear this child threatening, though pretending of course, to slash my kindergartner's head off, while his younger brother and sister are two feet behind him.  My four-year-old yells "NOOOO! Don't KILL HIM!  He's my BROTHER!"  He knows, I assume, that it's pretend, but I also know that he's still working to decipher reality from make-believe on a regular basis.  (See above about whether zombies are real, and add in "Do ghosts exist? Do werewolves exist?  Do unicorns exist?" and so forth.)

My youngest is yelling "That's not kind!"

She's right.

We have been working on our family identity recently, and our is "we are kind."  We talk about it daily.  We pray that God will help us be good friends, to bring people joy, to show people love, to not hurt people, to not cause people to cry.

I approached my oldest, and I said, "Buddy, we don't play zombies, do we?"

"No, mom."

Pause.

"Why?"

Knowing full well all these other children (roughly 8 of them) are running around pretending to kill and eat each other, and they have taken notice to the fact that I pulled my child aside, I said, "Because it's not kind.  We are kind, aren't we?"

"Yes. I love to be kind!" he replied.  "But it's pretend."

"But it's violent, and it goes against what Jesus asks us to do. It goes against what God wants for us to be.  It goes against the Bible."

He looked at me, with his "Play Hard, Pray Hard" t-shirt on, a shirt he chose himself to wear to the park, and shook his head. "Okay, mom."

Then, came the sly kids shouting "Well, raise your hands if you're playing zombie apocalypse!"

He wanted so badly to raise his hand. I raised my eyebrows, and he kept his hand down.

"I love you, buddy."

"I love you, too, mom."

And then he ran off to play alongside the other kids.  He slipped up once and pretended to shoot someone as they ran by.

"Why are you over here watching us?"

I wanted to say 'to hold you accountable and make sure you're making good choices,'  but instead, I gave the answer above and let him decide what choices to make on his own.

I was proud.  He didn't play zombies after.

I played alongside, hearing them laugh, seeing them smile, and looking when they'd call "Mom! Watch this!" as best as I could with all three trying to show me things at once.

The older boy ran by again, and pretended to spit on my children.

"What are you doing?" I asked him calmly.

"Spitting poisonous venom."

"We already talked about this.  My children don't play zombies.  You may stop now."

He ran off.  I know he snickered and the others looked at me.

I didn't care if I was uncool.

I felt a little guilty that I may have made my kids seem like they were "uncool" to the other kids, but really, if being kind and playing wholesome, positive, laughter-filled play on a playground, without dark, violent themes is uncool, then they can be uncool.

They're only little once.  Some day, I won't be on the playground with them.  I am not always on the playground with them now, and I don't intend to be breathing down their necks at this age either.  Sometimes, I'm right there though, and I believe it is my job as their God-focused mother to intervene in situations like this, to teach them Bible-centered morals and practices as best as I can.

 I will pray that when it comes time to decide if they're going to join in with the make-believe bloody murder and flesh-eating attacks with their peers, they will choose our God-focused morals and remember why, right now, we are kind and we do no do zombies.  I will hope and pray.

I can't control what other parents do, and their rules on zombie play or murder themed make-believe.  My children even asked why the other kids play that way, and I said "their families don't have the same rules as I do."  It's as simple as that.

But I do hope that if you're one who allows that sort of play, you perhaps talk to your children about playing it on playgrounds, especially those with young children and toddlers, who don't need to be and/or whose parents do not want them to be subject to such dark and gruesome themes.  If that's something you allow (although I wish it wasn't), I hope that you could request your children save it for private locations, like their homes or friends homes.

Personally, I have no taste for any sort of zombie entertainment. I know tons of my friends do.  That's their choice.  But I choose to not have that in my own home.

I'm not a "helicopter" parent and I don't intend to be. But, I do believe that young children, mine specifically, should be allowed to enjoy positive themed play as long as possible before popular culture and dark themes of the world become more prevalent with age and their peers.

For tonight, I will pray that the themes and impressions from the pretend slashing, decapitation, and cannibalism at the playground will not leave lasting impressions on their hearts or infiltrate their dreams.  We will pray again, as we do every night, that Jesus fills them with peace, joy, and good things.

These Days are Hard

I'm going to go ahead and be brutally transparent here, knowing full well that it could make me seem wretched, but praying that those reading know that deep down, I am not wretched.

These days are hard.

These long, sunrise to sunset and then some days with three children ages 5.5, 3.5, and 2 who have strong willed personalities, occasionally short fuses, incredible stores of energy, and creativity for days are exhausting.

Doing it alone makes it seem even more exhausting than I ever imagined when I dreamt of starting a family with my former husband.

The past week or so, quite frankly, I have found it difficult to enjoy time with my children.

They're all going through some sort of phase where their favorite game is to test mommy's limits and find the secret buttons we didn't know were there yet.  

My five year-old has started telling me that he doesn't like me or that he's going to run away or that I'm a bad mommy when I give him instructions he doesn't like.  I know this is likely normal, but it feels like a dagger each time I hear the words.  

My three year-old is back to spitting (blowing forceful raspberries) if he disagrees with what I'm telling him to do.

My two-year old is a bucket full of sass and then some, and she's started to ignore me when I talk and tell me no more than ever before.

I know these are not the sum of my children and their personalities, but they've become more prevalent than I've ever noticed before.  To top it off, I'm solo parenting, and it feels like I haven't the reinforcements or the stamina to deal with it day in and day out.  I am dealing with it of course and I'm not giving into them, but it's incredibly exhausting.

They've been making so many messes lately, and while I make them clean them up themselves, it seems like all day long I am dealing with the messes or the attitude.  

I haven't been really excited about our time together like I know I should be, especially since I work full-time-ish and don't see them the majority of the day.  I shouldn't wish to be at work more than I am because I am tired of the fight at home. 

It makes me feel so ashamed to admit that, like I am failing them.  That I am the worst mom ever after all.  It makes me feel like it's my fault, and maybe it is.  

I know that there are many times over the last week of these hard days that I HAVE enjoyed, even though the negative tone here suggests otherwise.  There's been cuddles and hugs, laughter, games, books, running in the sun, treats, jokes, movies, and meals together that are wonderful.  I just feel like the negative is bogging me down.

I really do miss having a side-kick in all this.  Someone to come to my side when the fight is on and the kids don't want to clean the living room full of toys before they can run around outside with the neighbors.  Someone to say "No, mom is right here, buddy," or "You love your mommy, you shouldn't tell her you are running away," or "She's looking out for your safety, dude, don't run through the parking lot."  It's a huge burden when it all falls on me.

I know God is there, He's carrying me through it all, of course, providing the strength to get through each battle, even though it feels like I'm not going to make it through to the end of the day with any shred of sanity.  I know this, even though, let's be honest, it's not always easy to feel it.  

I've been praying day in and day out for the fights to lessen, the children to obey the first time, and for goodness sakes, to have more than three hours sleep at a time.  The children pray each night that God helps them to sleep deep, well, with good dreams, all through the night.  It seems futile to continue when so far it hasn't resulted in a full nights sleep, but I can't bring myself to give up.  

I wonder what it is that God is trying to teach me in all of this, or whether he's trying to show me all my faults.  I wonder if I'm being punished. 

 I caught myself just this week even, wondering aloud, if it was punishment for not letting the kids' dad have them.  As soon as the words flew out of my mouth, it was ridiculous, as I know full well that isn't the case at all, as I tried my best to get him to see them and to be in their lives, I just wanted him to be responsible about it, and he disappeared.    But somehow it comes back, creeping in, polluting my thoughts about myself.  

I have to choose to believe something good or great will come from these hard days. I wish I knew what it was, but all I can do is assume, and hope that it comes soon.

The Struggle

I apologize in advance that this post is not written in my typical fashion.

The past couple of weeks have been quite exhausting in my world.  Two weeks ago, my dad had a stroke.  I packed up the kids and drove to Minnesota to be with him in the hospital, freaking out internally the entire drive, so they wouldn't see my fears surface.  

My dad is recovering in a nursing home currently, with medications and therapy to help improve his life and hopefully get him back to where he was while attempting to disintegrate the potential time bomb in his carotid artery.  

I came home for Palm Sunday, so the children and I could be at church (and feed the cat), and I wept repeatedly in church, both out of gratitude for God allowing my dad to live through the stroke and to have a second chance.  I wept out of fear of losing him despite it all.  And I wept out of loneliness.  I realized in church that God is with me always, and I have friends and family to support me.  But, I also was presented, again, with the reality that the person who chose me, that I chose to spend my life with, well... he is still completely missing.  The one who promised to be my pillar of strength when I would someday lose my parents is nowhere to be found, and in his place, I have to place my trust in Him who I cannot see, cannot audibly hear, cannot feel him hold me.

As you know, I believe in God, devotedly.  I am striving to raise my children to feel the same.

But sometimes, it's still very difficult.

Fast forward two days, and I sat at work coughing and coughing and gagging and coughing.  I had been fighting off a cold for about three weeks as it was, and didn't think too much of it, other than it a continued nuisance.  But as Tuesday became Wednesday, and the cough got worse, and one of my ribs (which had admittedly been giving me issues for a few weeks after a coughing spell at the beginning of March) felt like it was piercing my side.  It made it hard to breathe, which made me cough more, which made my lungs hurt.  It was a mess.  Come Thursday night, I was actually a bit scared about it, but still trying to push through it, because I was sure it was just a cold and I was being ridiculous.  Then, my friend told me, "It shouldn't hurt to breathe," and I decided to bite the bullet and head to the doctor (uninsured, which is another story).

I saw a CPN who listened to me, felt my rib cage and could tell it was swollen and tender, took my temp and oxygen, and diagnosed me with bronchitis and a bruised/fractured rib, or possibly just swollen cartilage from forceful coughing.  She prescribed two medications and listed a bunch of others that I was supposed to buy and take.

I tried to tough it out and go to work the next morning, but it wasn't getting any better, and I just couldn't do it.

I haven't been back since.

Over the course of the weekend, I was blessed with the opportunity to sleep while my children were loved on by other people.  I missed Easter church, which would have felt incredibly devastating had I not been feeling so wretched physically.  Easter is my favorite holiday.  The kids and I watched it online, which was nice enough, and then they went to our "adopted" family's house for Easter while I stayed home and slept.

I cried quite a bit before I finally fell asleep.  Easter was the last holiday that the children and I had with their father before everything truly fell publicly apart.  And here I was, alone, sick, almost unable to function, and while my children were at the same place we last celebrated Easter.  This year they had no dad with them, and their mom couldn't be there either.  

That moment began the struggle I've been fighting most of the week when I'm awake.

Monday led into Tuesday, and by Tuesday night, I had made my rib worse and my coughing was not better, likely worse, and I was completely freaked out.  A friend met me and waited with my children while I had x-rays done proving that I had pneumonia and a fractured rib.  I was given more prescriptions and advice and sent back home.  It's insane how much a fractured rib hurts. It hurts to walk, to sit, to lay down, to cough, breathe, cry, lift, push or pull with that arm, drive... pretty much everything.  And then the pneumonia, where it hurts to breathe, to cough, and I cough every time I walk too far, or there's a slight breeze, and I get dizzy and lightheaded. It's a stupid combination.

It's been very rough being home this week.  My children are very energetic, and I have zero energy.  It hurts to breathe, even though my cough has finally began to become less frequent and forceful.  I still sound raspy and wheezy, but it's become productive, so I feel like there's at least some light at the end of this tunnel.

But the struggle to be mom while being sick has been intense.  The children have been pushing all the buttons and pressing boundaries, testing and trying, making mess after mess, fighting and needing and jumping on me and being mad that I'm no fun.  It hasn't been that way 100% of the time, but it feels overwhelming when it is.

I have found myself crying in front of them, because I feel like this week, I'm failing them.  They've eaten cereal for almost every meal.  They've been left to their own devices in the living room while I lie down in my bed from time to time, fending for themselves when they're able.   I know that's okay and kids need to be self-sufficient, but I still feel horrible.

I've had to ask them multiple times not to jump on me or hit me because of my rib, and it makes me so sad, because my middle child loves to climb and jump and I feel like he thinks I am personally rejecting him, even though I know that's not the case, and I would just love for him to sit calmly beside me or on my lap and snuggle.  But he's rowdy and he doesn't seem to have time for that.

I feel like I'm boring and no fun.  In fact, both of the boys have told me more than once they don't want to be here with me.  I don't blame them, because I'm so exhausted that I, as much as I hate to say this, wish they could be somewhere else so I could just sleep.  I don't let them know that of course and attempt to engage with them as much as I can, even if it means Netflix watching on my bed, reading books together on the couch, rocking Norah's babies, or watching videos of them on my phone.  It seems like every part of my body hurts and aches and is exhausted, so I don't blame them at all for thinking I'm such a bore.  I totally am.

But I'm trying. I keep telling myself that.  I hope that they know.  Because right now, I'm struggling feeling adequate and not a failure.  I'm struggling feeling like they think I don't care and don't love them as much as I should.  I struggle to feign the energy and excitement they need when they ask me to put up the basketball hoop yet again.  I struggle with the creativity to find things to engage them day after day in this apartment, because even being on the deck has made me cough so hard that I nearly throw up.

Then, I've been struggling with frustration and anger at their dad.  I have to tell myself that while I think "he SHOULD BE HERE" to help me in times like this, it's not the case.  But it feels horrible to know that he's chosen to not be here and care even a little bit and help me out during a week or two when I could have used his help so desperately.  I don't like feeling this way, especially when it seemed like a couple of weeks ago, I was at peace with this whole marital saga and how it ended.

I'm going to be better, and soon. I tell myself that.  I've been praying fervently.  And I will be returning to work next week.  It's going to get back to normal.  It just seems like it's been forever.  

Sorry for all of the whining and the incessant rambling  I am not looking for pity, I just needed to get it all out.  I know I've been incredibly whiny and negative lately, as much as I've been praying against it.  I've not had contact with many people for that reason, because I believe I am likely irritating in this state, and I feel bad for subjecting people to that.  I haven't been this sick before, ever, as far as I know, and I think I handled all three of my children's births better than I have been this pneumonia and broken rib combination.  It's quite a paradox though, not wanting to bother people and missing adult interaction so deeply.  I've been more lonely than I care to admit.

  I haven't blogged in quite some time, I know, but I haven't felt up to it with everything going on. 

Breathe. Overcome.

Overcome, overcame, overcomer... this is a trio of words that two friends consistently call me, or refer to as my words.  I hear them say this, I feel where they're coming from, but I don't always see it or feel it as truth.  

Here's a little story of the last 18 hours or so, and how I went from feeling defeated and overwhelmed to realizing that I really am an overcomer.  I apologize in advance if at the end it really was hard to follow or see the point.  But, I just need to type.

I never really chose these words as "mine" but they keep coming back again and again.  Now, yes, I have a relationship with God, but as many, I often have times hearing what he's trying to say to me.

I wrote recently about doorways, and how I'm closing one door from the manipulative marriage I was in, and moving forward to whatever is beyond the next door.   I have been through fires and trials, and somehow, I'm still able, most days, to laugh, smile, and relish in the many joys that God bestows upon me.  

Some days, though, I still falter.  I grapple with negative thoughts, fears, and worries.

This past week was a week filled with the grappling.  I've stayed up late mulling over the what-ifs and fearing what may or may not come in the future.  It's been EXHAUSTING.  I had a beautiful reprieve yesterday when I was able to spend a few hours with some long-time friends, allowing my children to play with theirs, and to voice some of these issues and talk through them without children in ear shot.

But for some reason, when I left their house last night and my children fell asleep in the van, they came flooding back, more intense than before.  Fears like... "if I were to die on a weekend, how long would it be before someone was wondering where I was, and how long would my children remain scared, hungry, tired, and alone."   

Now, this fear has plagued me since I first had a baby, and my husband worked overnights.  It would fall into the background from time to time, but it's always been there.  

When I finally returned home, the children were all still asleep, and I had a text from one of my friends who speaks "overcome" to me.  She was asking how I was, and my fingers flew across the keypad on my phone as I emptied my heart to her again.

I had been only half-clinging to God throughout the week, and more clinging to myself, my mind, my strength, my fears.  I knew it even if I couldn't say it.  But, then God reached out and grabbed me, and brought me back to Him.

She called, I didn't answer the first time, but she called again, and I laid down my pride and I answered.  She talked with me, let me cry, and prayed with me.  When she was done, a song I cling to that comes to me often at the perfect time, started on the van radio.  It was the first song I think I heard the entire drive home.  

"Lord, I need you.  Every hour I need you.  My one defense- my righteousness..."  It hit me, as it always does, like he was calling out to me to call out to Him.

She suggested I listen to one specific song when I got home.  I never got to it, unfortunately, because the three children all woke up very upset, and I went through and extensive bedtime routine before getting them to sleep.  At that point, I opened my Bible, which I have admittedly neglected this week, and began reading where I left off.

I laughed to myself as I realized God was showing me what just happened in the van, (as it has many times before) and how it's been His plan for me all along to have that sort of thing happen when I need it most.  As my friend says frequently, I'm not meant to go at it alone, after all.  It happens when I start feeling like I'm crumbling, I find a friend or two that build me up.   I sat there, amazed, though I shouldn't have been, I'm sure, by the verse.  I prayed then that I could be that person for someone else who may need it.  I still pray that.  I've always prayed that, actually.

I digress.  I then began apologizing to God for not trusting Him through the week and worrying so much about things I can't control, that He has under control, and things I can't begin to work on yet while I'm still before the next door in my journey.  I felt a sense of relief, and started sobbing. 

God often speaks to me through music, and right before my friend text me to check on me, I started humming a melody.  It took me only a few moments before I realized what song I was singing.  It's an old favorite called "Breathe on Me" by Jennifer Knapp.

The key lyrics that came to my mind were:

No temptation seize a man that he can't overcome.

Who am I to be fallen?

Crack your back on a slab of wood

come freedom, nail it down, I come crawling

I come crawling.

Come trickle down and save the world

two hands that I can't see

come breathe, come breathe, come breathe on me.

Split rib water, blood and bone,

come now, come Calvary.

Come breathe, come breathe on me.

Testimony come now quickly, whisper in my ear

Celebration

Peace at last not far away, 

empty sheet, a borrowed grave

Salvation

Come freedom come.

Exhausted, I fell asleep on the couch.

This morning, when I woke up to Norah in my bed, stealing my covers, I realized she had slept better last night, than she had in weeks.  She only woke up once (yes, she still sleeps like a newborn).   I went to church, excited as I am every Sunday for that last 8 or so months.

Two songs brought me to tears.  The first was the song that my friend suggested I listen to last night but never did, "Great Are you Lord," by All Sons and Daughters.

She even quoted it to me last night, "It's Your breath in my lungs."  Another breath related word.  Breathe is another message I find myself getting often because I really forget to breathe in the right air sometimes.  

The second song, talked was "No Longer Slaves" by Bethel Music.

You unravel me with a melody,

you surround me with a song

of deliverance from my enemies

til all my fears are gone.

I'm no longer a slave to fear,

I am a child of God.

As I mentioned, I have been dwelling on fears.  Last night, when we prayed, we prayed that be broken.  And here it was, again.  That, and the first line... that's totally me.  I already mentioned that also, God speaks to me through song quite often.  I find he speaks to me through song, through a few close friends especially, and through the Bible readings when I get over myself and my need to do other things with my time and sit down and read it.  I'm working on it.

Today, the message was about overcoming offenses.  I immediately flashed back to a book, "The Bait of Satan" that I had borrowed from my friend and read a few months ago. When I read that book, I felt such a release.  I forgave and moved on from offenses I had been holding onto at the time.  It was such a blessing.

I had said to my friend last night that I wasn't sure what else was burdening me, and we prayed I would see it so I could release it.

Well, there it was.  As soon as I saw the title of the sermon I knew.  I had latched on to new offenses since then, and I needed to overcome them.  A fresh freedom is what I needed.

So, I listened, reflected on the book and the message.  And when the pastor prayed, I released again.  I still need to work, I will admit, because some offenses run deeply. But, I truthfully don't want to hold onto them.  So, I'm working and praying on it in the days ahead.

He mentioned this verse:

This verse, for a few months, has been the screen lock on my phone.  "I have overcome the world."  I see it daily.  Today, I realized I have been seeing it, but I haven't been really reading it.

After church, my other friend said to me again, something along the lines of "how'd you like that?  It was your word again."

It was. 

I sit here, this afternoon, my children with their aunt and uncle a few hours so I can clear some of the clutter from our apartment, and I feel much lighter, not totally.  I still need to figure out what else is burdening my heart and work through it.  But, I'm sitting here with clearer mind, again, seeing my words.

Overcome.  Breathe.

I can do both.  I have done both.  God's done the overcoming for me and He's the air I breathe. 

And my weary heart is going to be okay.

She's Got Skills

Ever have one of those days where you sleep too little, get up too early, and spend the first part of the day in a funk where it seems like you can't do anything right?

I mean, honestly, how did I drop soy sauce off the top of the refrigerator 5 minutes after I left the kitchen? That was a nice loud crash, resulting in a cracked soy sauce kid and a giant blackened puddle on the floor. 

That was my day today. Crikey. Almost as soon as I woke up I was ready for a restart or at least nap time. I had a negative view of myself and my abilities as a mom at 8:30am as I tried to convince Spencer, who usually wants to try to sneak out of the house to play outside, that we should go play outside. It was going to be sweltering in the afternoon and wanted him to hace somefresh  air. He fought me on it for 45 minutes. 

 

 It was mind boggling, and I swore that whatever the reason was stemmed from my sucktastical skills as a mom. I eventually, after tears on both our parts, realized he was mad about having to wear clothes, and we compromised for just shorts and sunscreen. (By the way, sunscreen in Spencer's opinion, is a torture mechanism...)

Whoofta.

Nap time approached, and despite a bit of resistance, SJ went down and Collin was out for the count, so I was thinking that I would get to nap. Not so much, because by the time I was relaxed, Collin woke inconsolable, and by the time he was asleep again, I was on my third wind. So, I decided to work on cutting some fabric for the quilt I'm working on for a customer. (I do that, and many other things, now. Check them on Spenk & Ollie Creations on Facebook if you'd like.)

As I was cutting (fabric). I was revisiting the morning and again, dwelling on the ways I feel incompetent and inadequate. 

Then, it hit me (thanks, God, for the whisper), that although I may not be good at everything, and at times I feel a failure, even as a mom, I am good at things. I have skills, strengths, talents, etc.

And in order to change my mood around, I decided I should focus on those instead.

I decided to list the first 10 things that I am good at on paper. 

Now, I know this probably will sound like bragging, but... I decided sometimes, so long as you aren't doing to be pompous or make others feel bad, it's okay to highlight what you're good at. While it took a bit to pin down 10, due to my mood, by the time I was done, I had more I could have listed on my mind. Things that I used to do, for example, that I know I am talented at and miss doing- writing poetry or creating hand-bound journals, for example. Or other random little things like for the most part, I'm pretty good at deciphering Spencer-Speak. 

The list in the picture goes as follows:

1- sewing (at least easier things, I can't make a parks, sorry)

2- making people laugh (Collin will laugh if I chant "Ice, Ice Baby," I'm that awesome)

3- photos (I can even take decent to good photos with my cell phone, which is great as its all I have currently)

4- cooking (I specialize in creating soups, and baked buffalo chicken macaroni and cheese)

5- snuggling (yup, I will consider that a skill)

6- writing (by hand, by blog, etc.)

7- listening (for the most part, sometimes I admittedly don't hear something Jake tells me... but I've been told by friends they appreciate my listening ear)

8- artsy stuff (like doodling, drawing, painting... all of which I rarely do anymore)

9- caring (even for people I've never met, read some of my blogs on marriage or slavery for example)

10- teaching my kids (a team effort between Jake and I, of course, but I think we have taught Spencer quite a bit already and he's only 2.5)

And I decided that its okay to feel like I am good at more than ten things. In fact, it's great! I think it's important to focus on that sometimes. Don't you?

I invite you, whether you're having a good or bad day, low-esteem or high-esteem, to list ten things you are good at. Big things like being able to fix a car, or little things like being able to organize the mail (Im not good at that) or painting your nails (I am becoming good at that, and I used to be a nail biter). Recognize your skills. Pat yourself on the back. You are awesome. I hope you realize it.

If you feel comfortable, feel free to share your 10 things below.

Back to sewing. Peace.

A toddler tornado.

It's tornado season. Full force. Has been for months, at our house anyway.

Today has been especially chaotic.

Collin woke at 7:15. I tried for a good hour to get him back to sleep. At about 8:20, he seemed out. I was a lucky lady and fell asleep also, until I woke at 9:02 to the sound of water....

Oh my word. I rushed into the bathroom and found that Spencer had awoke quietly, dumped a bunch of stuff in the tub (roll of toilet paper, a diaper, toys, socks, puzzle pieces) where there was a small bit of water as the alligator was in there growing (one of those toys that sits in water and gets bigger). He was then scooping up the tub water with a fireman helmet and dumping it in the toilet. Amazingly, the bathroom floor was dry.

Okay. So I pulled the plug out of the drain and kicked him out of the bathroom. While I was taking things out if the tub, he was in our room waking Collin, and stripping the blankets and pillows off the bed again. To jump on it, of course.

That made Collin laugh, as usual, and then he was playing peekaboo, laying face down on the bed. Of course, this entire time I was trying to persuade him to let me fix his shirt, which was half off, and change his diaper. I figure it's easier on all if I wait until he is willing.

As he played I took pictures and noticed he uploaded a random background image I had downloaded of the moon into Instagram and apparently tweeted a photo of our bedding on twitter.

Finally, got that taken care of and we came downstairs for breakfast. I gave him a bowl of Apple Jacks (dry) and asked him to sit in the chair nice and eat them because Collin was going to use the high chair for his. He sat there a few minutes nicely, so I escaped to the kitchen to make coffee.

By the time I had coffee made and dishes started, SJ had snuck upstairs. I assumed he had finished his cereal and brought the bowl with to play (he loves containers), so I figured that was fine.

I hear him up there talking super loud nonsense for quite a while. Then, he yelled "Alligator Cat!"

I knew then he had my phone. Oh gosh. Apparently, he called the Verizon operator/robot lady. Then, text Desi a bunch.

I went upstairs to get it and found he had been eating his cereal on our bed.

Oh, and I then discovered he had taken 43 self-portraits, also.

Came back down stairs and he and Collin were playing, so I went back to the kitchen and started to take off my nail polish and he came running through and scared me (apparently I must have had the coffee jitters) and I spilled nail polish remover all over the cupboard, myself, and into my coffee.

I accidentally yelled "Damnit!"

Then, of course, he started yelling it while jumping all over.

Finally, we are calm. We are all watching a "Praise Baby" video.

It could be quite a long day.

I sometimes look at my kids, both in diapers, then reflect on days like today and think "what the crap were we thinking?!"

Guess, deep down, a part of me loves (or tolerates) the chaos, because I wouldn't trade these boys for anything.

Here, enjoy proof of my tornado season. Haha.

(And as I started getting these photos uploaded a certain someone decided that he should play butt naked on he stairs.)

Nap time yet?

Just a bad dream

Last night, I had a horrible, wretched, sickening nightmare. I woke up crying, and it has been plaguing me ever since.

I'm not going to go into the details on my blog, but in summary, it involved one of my sons and something bad happened. I did something that I know, deep down, I would never do- physically hurt him. Badly

As I mentioned, it's been bothering me all day. Today has been full of challenges from the moment both boys were awake and SJ found my glasses like he usually does, but for the first time ever he didn't put them on my face like he always does, but rather refuse to give them to me and whine like the dickens when I finally took them away.

It hasn't been constant, but it's been a challenge, off and on, since 7:45am.

And then this dream just won't leave me mind. I feel so ashamed that I dreamt it. I would NEVER have it happen in reality, but the fact that my subconscious mind could concoct a thought that produced the dream sickens me and makes me feel like a truly horrible person. I KNOW I am not, but I still feel guilt that my mind could create an image of me hurting my child.

It's just so hard to swallow. I sit here and watch him as he reads a book nicely beside me, and I cry because I love him so much.

I urge him to stop throwing things on the floor, frustrated as can be with it happening yet again, and I cry because I don't know how to get him to stop and hate making him cry but decide I probably do need to flick him in the forehead anyway because my words aren't hitting home. But I don't want to flick his forehead. It feels incredibly mean,

So, I know it's unreal and it would never happen.

I think it partially stems from my exhaustion and all of the disgusting news articles that keep popping up online where parents or family injure or kill children. I find myself so repulsed by these stories and these people and I think the abundance of them lately is leaving lasting effects on my emotion. I think it's time to remove myself from the news feeds I have for a while as I find peace in my heart again.

If you read this and worry, please don't. Even when I get really angry at something my son may have done, I don't lash out. I generally let out a loud "aaaaaaaaaagh!" Scream into my hands or walk out of the room crying a few minutes before entering and dealing with it.

I would never do something to my children. The thought alone breaks my heart.

I hope if you read this, you won't judge me for my horrible dream.

It was just a bad dream.

Love Conquered

Today... Was rough. It was a rough parenting day for me. Probably the toughest one since Collin came along. I don't know what it was, but from the moment Spencer woke crying at 8:17 this morning (about two hours earlier than normal), to about half an hour before Jake got home (so about 11:10 tonight), the whole day has been, well, rough.

Spencer woke before Collin, which is odd, and he was crying when he woke, which is very unusual. So, I walked into his room and scooped him out of bed and brought him into mine. We cuddled awake for about 45 minutes until I heard Collin talking downstairs.

We went downstairs and I gave Spencer some pop tarts for breakfast and while I nursed Collin we sat on the couch, all three of us, watching Elmo. SJ didn't stay long and started to crumble pop tart into the couch. I told him to stop, and he did, but then got up and started throwing books off the book shelf, for no real reason, as he didn't read one.

I tried to redirect him as asking (or demanding) him to stop wasn't working.

The rest of the day followed a similar pattern on his part. I went to the bathroom and left him with his afternoon snack, which was an apple that, while I was using the bathroom, he chewed into chunks and tossed them all over the main floor. He threw toys all over, and I put him to nap early. He played quite a while before sleeping.

After nap, my cousin was here and he was seemingly in a less mischievous mood, but it didn't last long. The night and evening followed a similar pattern again, at one point landing him confined to his high chair with play dough and random other items. He screamed a while and eventually played while I fed Collin.

Collin was off today, too. He woke happy as can be which is pretty typical, but then was feisty much of the day. Inconsolable crying fits, refusing to nap except while feeding until I finally was able to get him to nap without eating at about ten tonight. He wasn't mad all day, but nice big chunks.

By nine tonight, I was at wit's end, and alone. I had been stressed all day besides, with matters unrelated to the boys being out of sorts, which truly did not help matters. At ten, Collin was sleeping after being snuggled tightly in my arms and patted to sleep for about 30 minutes. I dared lay him down and Spencer was happily playing cars, so I stole a few minutes to see before Spencer came over to slap me. I told him I did not like that and proceeded to fake a cry. I gave him a suggestion to color, but he started whipping colored pencils round the room.

At this point, I gave up on sanity saving time for myself and offered to read books with him which he usually loves. He screamed the most high pitched scream ever and threw a fit, tossing books around and trying to hit me again.

I lost it. I stood up, crying myself, and ran up the stairs to my room. He followed still screaming at me. I left the downstairs a disaster, my tea on the counter getting cold, the tv playing "Dinosaur Train" and ran away from it all. He did, too. At first, I was not happy, I will admit it.

So, I picked him up, wrapped my arms tightly around him, and pulled him onto the bed next to me.

We cried together a few minutes, and at nearly the same time, ceased the tears. We fell silent. He pulled my arms tightly to his chest and the blanket over our arms. And we laid there quietly and calmly, finally in a good, peaceful place together. Cuddling together.

Love won. Loving arms won. We told each other "love you!" a few times. We stayed that way 41 minutes, until Jake finally came home from work and took Spencer to his own room so they could snuggle a bit, too.

It was such a hard day. I have an impressive headache. Countless redirections, pleading and commanding the behaviors to stop, frustrated grunts and sighs with both of my boys screaming and crying and inconsolable...

But in the end, no redirection. Or reprimand solved the day's issues.

In the end, love conquered our war.

Duh.

It always should. It not always does, but it always should.

Here's to hoping tomorrow is a better day.

We get along... better.

Last night... I think it was last night, it might have been this afternoon, but I'm pretty certain it was last night... It was!  It was after Jake was gone a few hours using wi-fi to job hunt...

Wow.  Talk about a lack of real introduction.  Hi. I'm blogging.   I decided to just jump right into babbling without a "typical" Nik-esque introduction.

Okay.  Last night, after Jake was job hunting, he came home, and said something to the effect of, "You know, one good thing about this unemployment problem is that we get along a lot better now."

I looked at him quizzically.  He said, "Don't you agree?"

I continued to look at him in a questioning manner. I really had no idea what he was talking about!  I mean, yeah, we have had our share of disagreements and not getting along in the past, but it's not like we've been at each other's throats, on the verge of divorce, or anything that I considered to be a big deal. I definitely didn't feel like we haven't been getting along.

So, I asked him to clarify.  I forget his exact words, but basically, he didn't quite mean getting along as in not fighting.  He meant, in a roundabout way, that he thinks we enjoy our time together as a family more now.

To that, I must say, I did agree.

When he began his unemployment right after Collin was born, it was rough.  I admit I have been stressed and worried about rent and bills every single day since then, but I do try not to let it eat me alive.  I try to focus more on the good things that are going on around us.  Yeah, I still cry and worry, but I am not letting it make me bitter.  And, he isn't either.  Somehow, we're still hopeful.  We're praying and holding on and getting through.

But, with all the focus I've been putting on freaking out (silently or not so silently at times), I haven't focused on the wonderful as much as I could and should have.  

Did I say that already? Probably?  I am not scrolling up to read.

We had to cancel our cell phone service a while back when they started to overcharge us due to a plan upgrade on Jake's that they were carrying and insanely trying to charge me for, which was unfounded and we couldn't argue out of it with them... so we switched to pay-per-month type phones (with the help of friends the first month).   Mine's off for now until we have funds to spare, but we're keeping his up and running for job purposes.  With that, we lost internet (because our phones were our internet), and without internet on our phones, games weren't as fun, we weren't surfing the net, YouTube-ing, what have you, nearly as much.    We were more involved in the world outside our phones.  Not that we were neglecting our children when we had our smartphones or anything like that, but they of course took more focus away from the kids.

Now, we don't have those distractions.  We have some still, a nook, limited internet, movies, books... but they're not as "easy" to access or get sucked into.  So, we spend more time playing with the boys, talking to each other, etc.   We're more present in our little family unit.

We listen better, I think, now too.  For example, for years I have HATED when there would be random bits of clothes left around.  We had this problem for nearly seven years.  And now, after we really talked about it and why it bugs me so much, it's very rare I find socks or shoes or whatever it may be lying around on the floor.

I won't bore you with many more examples.

Summary: Jake is right.  We do "get along better" now.   Granted, he will (hopefully REALLY soon) have a job again and be gone more, and we won't be together nearly as much, but I think this stretch of spending SO much time together has really done us good, and I think things will carry on in a positive manner.  I think this financial brokenness has built us up in our relationships.  A blessing in "disguise."

A Box of Love

November is the month of Thanksgiving, officially.  On Facebook, I'm participating, as are many others, in the 30 days of Thankfulness movement where you state something once a day, in a status, that you are thankful for.    I've so far, covered the basics, my sons, my husband, and my family and friends

But, today, I received a surprise.  Well, sort of. I was forewarned by my friend Ang that I would be getting a package in the mail.  I didn't think much of it, or tried not to, and just be surprised when it arrived.  Well, surprise number one was that it was a day late.  No big deal.

I feel like this post is going to be a bit... of  jumbled mess.  I'm going to back track first.

Way back when... years ago... I forget how many years ago, but a long time ago, in high school, I joined an online blogging site: Kiwibox.    There, I really entered into online journaling and in the process, made quite a few friends that I still am friends with this day.   So, over ten years ago, I met a great group of girls, now women.  After Kiwibox was starting to go... downhill, or really, we got old enough to think it was getting lame, we moved onto message board communities.  One of my friends and I decided to purchase a domain and run our own.  I forget, right offhand, how long we ran Bijouxmb, but it was quite a while.   Another message board, a sister site, almost, was born as well, Quarantine, run by a few of our friends.  For quite a long time, friendships formed, lives were shared, and we became close.   Now, I will admit, when we decided to let Bijouxmb die, and I was pregnant with Spencer, I stopped frequenting the boards.  Facebook was bigger and easier and it just sort of replaced it for me.  But, these women have since and always will had/have a place in my heart.

That said, confession time:  After Collin's birth, we realized that Jake's new job, the one he took at the beginning of the summer to better our financial future as well as provide more family time, wasn't going... as hoped.  It really wasn't working out for us.  We have an old suburban as our vehicle after our van went kaput and it would cost nearly as much to fix as it did to buy it.  The suburban is a gas hog, and was eating away his income, really, from this new job.   As of October, as sad as I feel admitting this, we've been really struggling, as Jake has been unemployed.  It has been quite a struggle.  We've been pretty stressed about finances and everything related to it.  We've dabbled between who should get the full time job.  Currently, we're trying to find Jake one.  When we only have one vehicle, it makes it a challenge.   And if we both work and were to work same shifts then we'd have to put the boys in daycare, which we just don't want.  We're praying about it, and hope others can do the same.

In the meantime, we're doing what we can to get by. We've disconnected our internet, since it barely worked anyway being a cheap wireless type thing.  We no longer have our smartphones and are doing a month-to-month pre-paid service on cheap flip phones.   We don't go out, we can't really.  We've been very blessed to have family and friends helping to look out for us, as embarrassed as I feel admitting that.  Our church, too.  I go through days where I am very upset and pessimistic about it all, an other days where I feel very hopeful.  Jake has had a few interviews, and the most recent ones went very well, he believes, so we're waiting to hear.  I know things will change, and I know we will be okay.  But, it's not easy to feel that way always.

I made the 'gutsy' move to tell a few friends about the situation in October.  I didn't want to, but I was tired of being silently stressed and not knowing where to turn to cry and express my fears.  I felt better knowing there were others out there praying and thinking of us and keeping my head above water emotionally.

Well, I didn't know that one of these friends was a blabbermouth.  Haha.  I mean this in a good way.   One of these friends, Ang, let my "secret" out to Q, the aforementioned message board (that I didn't own and run).  I really had no idea, until today.  

Today, this big, heavy box appeared on my doorstep.  "For the love of Q!"

Right away, I was... well, I was nervous to open it, honestly, because Ang wanted Jake to take a video... and I was afraid I wouldn't have a "proper" reaction to whatever was inside.

If the reaction she was looking for was to cry, well, then I had the proper one. Haha.

Inside was various items, mostly clothes for Spencer.  Warm clothes that are the right size for him this winter.  TONS of them.  There were pacifiers for Collin, and a chew toy for him too.  Haha, that makes him sound like a puppy.  There were a few gift cards.  One, I will donate for gas for Jake to go to job interviews.   One was for Starbucks, which gave me a "reason" to get out of the house, which I truthfully, really needed after a few emotional breakdowns this week, where I am now, blogging, using my cousin's laptop and the free wi-fi.  There were a few nail polishes for me, which made me very excited, because lately, I've been really into painting them.  It keeps me not only from chewing them due to stress and nerves, but also keeps them from breaking and hides my ugly nail that I crushed in a garage door this summer.  There was a candy bar and some gum.  There were a few notes.

The part that started my tears, of course, was the letter Ang included.  In summary, she wrote that there is a belief out there that way you do, or contribute in life, multiplies three-fold and comes back to you.   So, if you're nasty, three times worse might head your way.   In her opinion, and apparently that of a few of my other friends from afar, is that I've been "good."  I've been caring, despite circumstances right now, and I guess I have been that way for a while.  I guess, they think I have a big heart.

It's funny to me to think that I had organized care packages for others during hard times in their lives, all in the same fashion, via our message board communities.  Truthfully, I don't remember how many I orchestrated or helped orchestrate.  Two at least, maybe more.  It just... didn't stick with me, I guess.   I just did it and lived on without thinking twice.  I never in a million years expected something to come my way like this.  Not once.  I don't feel like I deserve it.   Of course, I am grateful beyond adequate verbal expression, thinking about how much my son benefits from their generosity and hearts of gold, as he grows out of the clothes we have for him.

I think what shocked me most about receiving it, though, is the fact that I haven't really been an active part of that message board in over two years.  I am  not a daily part of their lives anymore, and somehow, they still care.  I guess that shows something negative about me, really, because I know that even though I don't interact often, I still think of them often and wish them all well.  I guess, I really shouldn't have expected anything less from them.  I apologize that I somehow did.  I am truly, truly sorry if I doubt anyone.  Truly.

It's true, sometimes, I feel like I'm a good friend.  More often than not, I am more critical of myself, though.  I feel like I can't give enough or do enough for others, especially now.  I guess, really, it doesn't always matter if I can give monetarily or concrete items.   I know I pray, and I send regards, love, warm thoughts, when I can, regardless.  It took their box of love to remind me that those things count too.

My mind is scattered all over again, so I think I'll (finally, I suppose) stop this post.

Thank you, to anyone and everyone for any small or large thing you've done for me and my family, recently, or in the past.  I can assure you, it does not go unnoticed, and I hope that, as the belief I mentioned earlier goes, it comes back to you, threefold, or more.

Simple Pleasures

I get stressed. A. Lot. Lately. I hate to admit it, but it's true. Thankfully, it's not chronic-raise-your-blood-pressure-have-anxiety-eat-my-stress-away type stress, but it's stress, nonetheless, over random little things, or some bigger things.

I get stressed when the dog won't stop whining, because he wants to be outside, but then when I put him outside, he gets mad and barks and barks until he's inside, almost immediately after I turn my back.

I get stressed when Spencer freaks out, runs away from me, or fights me as I put a jacket on him.

I get stressed when I think about Jake being gone overnight.

I get stressed when the neighbor and her boyfriend can't seem to be quiet for more than 10 minutes at a time when it's dark outside and my toddler is sleeping... or at 4 in the morning when I'd like to be sleeping and she is still... loud.

I get stressed when Spencer won't eat, which is a new phase he's going through, I guess.

I get stressed thinking about travelling alone, running errands, feeding, bathing, diapering, and putting two children to sleep in a few months.

Among other things.

But, fortunately, I've been, as of late, finding stress relief in the little things. Simple pleasures that my son has shown me... taught me... or reminded me of.

• Bubbies! That's how Spencer says bubbles. He LOVES bubbles, which makes me love bubbles- even if I get a little lightheaded blowing them for him.
• Sharing a pop-tart in the morning, in our pajamas, on the couch, as we watch an episode of Blue's Clues.
• Anything that glows in the dark.
• Big bubbles, with bubble wands, in the backyard when it's windy.
• Writing with chalk... on his wall (where we now have a chalkboard decal).
• Bubbles in the bathtub, during bath time, when they stick to his wet body, and the tub, and float on top of the water.
• Goldfish crackers, fruit snacks, saltines, and yogurt! Yum!
• A lackadaisical walk around the neighborhood on a nice day (assuming he doesn't dart for the street, which he's getting better about).
• Watching fish swim!
• Sticking stickers on bare skin.
• Giggling with your friends again after you've been apart.
• Sitting by the window and watching the cars whiz by in the rain.
• A handful of M&Ms, Skittles, or Gummi Bears, every now and then.
• Coloring with crayons... outside the lines.
• Throwing balloons as high as you can and watching them fall down and hit you in the face.
• Cats and kittens!
• The satisfaction of making a basket playing ball, especially since my aim is not very great!
• Cuddling on the couch while watching the first... half... hour of a Disney movie.

Among other things. Those are some of the big, simple pleasures that are frequented in our daily lives.

Perhaps, though, my favorite is... when he's not even awake. Yes! I LOVE spending time with him, playing, exploring, and creating while he's awake. But, let's face it...

I love listening to his deep, slow breathing, watching his eyes flutter beneath their closed lids, as his face relaxes while he's curled up right next to me. Sometimes, I nap with him. Sometimes, I just lay there, with him lying on my arm, and watch him sleep for an hour. It's true.

a memorable hug

Nearly a year ago, my "little" brother left Minnesota on a deployment tour to Kuwait. The deployment ceremony was in May of 2011, and since that time, I believe we had seen him for two other days in the past nearly a year. That's more than many military families can say, I know and for that I'm grateful.

But, let's just be honest, 11 months of "touring" is a long time. Surely, it is for the soldiers, and also their families. I know it's nothing I've knowingly experienced before. And while it was my brother who was off on a mission and not a spouse or a child, it was still a big difference, and a big deal to me. I mean, I see my family every month or so, at least, despite the fact that they live over 2 hours away. We're close. I try to see them as much as a I can. So, when I would visit, or they would visit, multiple times over the last 11 months, and Bryan wasn't around (except for our family gathering and then again for my son's 1st birthday party), it just felt... different.

I have known for a while now, a couple months, anyway, that sometime in April, he would be coming home. He's told me many times, as have my sisters, other brother, and parents. But, I was never certain of the date, because a specific date was never given to us.

So, when my dad called me a week ago, roughly, to tell me that the weekend coming up (this past one, now), Bryan would probably be flying into Minnesota, I was really excited! I didn't think I'd be seeing him right away, but just knowing he'd be on home soil was amazing. And then on Saturday, I saw my mom had said that she's be picking him up on Sunday sometime.

Sunday, as in YESTERDAY. She had figured sometime in the afternoon.

Yesterday morning, she sent me a text saying she was on her way to get him.

And... it just so happens, that was PERFECT.

I had forgotten Spencer's diaper bag, which also housed my wallet, at my aunt's house for Easter the weekend before. Despite a whirlwind busy weekend, chalk full of things to do, Jake told me the other night that we would go get it on Sunday. My sister got it from my aunt's house, so we were going to stop by my dad's and pick it up before heading back to Sioux Falls for the Trans Siberian Orchestra concert.

Seeing as that my mother was getting Bryan in the morning instead of afternoon... that meant we would see him!

So, yesterday, around 3pm, I received one of the most memorable, best hugs I've ever received. And it was from my "little" brother, who is 7.5 years younger than me and towers over me by inches.

I walked up to my dad's house, and he, along with my siblings and parents, walked out. And, still dressed in his uniform, he came up and gave me the tightest hug I've gotten in ages. Ah! I am smiling now just thinking about it.

It was surreal to see him again, being that I hadn't really expected it!

Of course, my father, being the photographer that he likes to be, had to get a picture of us together... so we got to hug again... which became kind of awkward when my dad realized his camera was frozen, and we were standing in the front yard hugging like goons and smiling at my dad... who was not actually taking pictures yet, but telling us "just a minute, hold on." Haha. Bryan started dancing with me, "to the Elton John song in his head," and when I busted a gut laughing and tried to get away, he told me "no, wait, it's only the first chorus!"

So, not only did I get a great first hug, a long, awkward, hilarious second hug, and dance, but another couple when my dad finally enlisted my help in "thawing" (haha) his camera so he took pictures, and you know, when we left again, too. Yup, it was pretty great.

Bryan, for the record, has an excellent sense of humor. One of my biggest fears, aside from losing him while he was overseas, was that he'd come back super serious, or completely changed, and it would feel like we didn't know him at all.

Fortunately, that is not the case. Gosh. When you get all 4 of my siblings and I (ah! I'm so glad this happened) together, sitting at a table, talking and joking around, I laugh harder than I do most anywhere else. With Bryan there, it was just absolutely... perfect.

Though we had to leave after an hour and a half to get back in time for the concert, it was well worth the extra 2.5 hours of travel time, just to see him, talk with him, and hug him a few times. And, we left knowing that it won't be months before we see him again.

Ah!

It's been almost 2 months together.

Let's just be honest. I haven't blogged much lately. Not for lack of things to blog about, mind you, I've had a ton on my mind. In fact, as much as I would say I need to de-clutter the computer desk, I feel the need to de-clutter my mind, as well. Hopefully over the next few days (or weeks...) I can write it all out and find some more peace inside that chamber of thoughts.

Why haven't I blogged? A few reasons. The first is that I've been busy. I haven't been on a bunch of exciting or awesome vacations (though, I have visited my parents and siblings a few times), but rather, Spencer keeps me pretty occupied. And with the unseasonably nice weather we've been having, I've been trying to get us out and about (whether in the yard, or parks, or play dates), and not just hanging out in the living room all of the time.

And also.. I am EXHAUSTED. I remember being tired when I was pregnant with Spencer, and I had a job and all that, but hey, I feel like at least then, when I was super tired, I could rest. Now, my resting is dictated by a 17 month-old who just doesn't see the need to rest himself. Ah well.

We've been spending time with my cousin, who is also one of my best friends, during small chunks of the day a few days a week, as she comes over for lunch (she works blocks away).

Oh yeah, and I'll admit, I've been reading the Hunger Games triology. My husband purchased them on the nook, and we've both been reading them. I must say, while I'm not a fan of a lot of murder/death/gruesome reading and science-fiction stories... I'm somehow hooked anyway. I can that about the "Ender's" series, as well... books I was hooked on (of the sci-fi genre), that I never would have thought I'd become hooked on.

Anyway...

Although I was super comfortable in bed (for once) and nearly asleep, my neighbor and her boyfriend decided 9:45pm would be a good time to start an argument, so... I forced myself out of the bedroom and to the kitchen, where I now find myself.

Voila. A blog post.

It's not about anything weighty, or many of the subjects that bog my mind down and keep me awake, but rather, about the last two-ish months of being a stay-at-home-mom.

My husband asked recently, in summary, if I like being a SAHM and want to keep doing it.

Despite some reservations about the "gig," I told him I certainly would, as long as I am able to.

I love it. I do, but it's not always an easy "job" to love, I will admit.

Sometimes, I get really lonely feeling. Not for lack of having a lovable (and loving), chatty, busy-body with me in the house. But, as much as Spencer talks, and says actual English words now, and will hold a "conversation" with me, it's not the same as having adult interaction. Thank goodness for my cell phone (texts are my favorite), and Facebook. Shallow sounding, maybe, but it's true. I'm very grateful for those luxuries.

Fortunately, though, being a SAHM has given me time and opportunity to cultivate and strengthen friendships with a couple of my other stay-(or work-)at-home-moms that I know. It's been such a blessing to have time to spend with them. Whether it's via text message, email, Facebook message, like I said, which makes it very easy to keep in touch at all hours of the day, or play-dates with them and their sons, it's a treasure to Spencer and I both.

One thing that kind of caught me by surprise was the idea of "getting a lot done" around the house... not... so... much... happening. Not for lack of ambition (well, sometimes), but moreover, it seems that every time I start picking something up or organizing it, I have a little "helper," who I always seem to think is adequately distracted and won't notice what I'm doing. I'm generally wrong. Half of the time, it seems as soon as I start washing dishes, even though we won't have been playing or interacting, really, he will run to the kitchen and wedge himself between my legs and the cupboard and push me away from the sink. Or.. if I throw things away, he finds whatever he can find to throw away too.

And let me tell you, getting laundry done is not as easy as I had imagined. I never really saw the "need" to have main floor laundry until I started staying home with Spencer. Our laundry area is in the basement. Occasionally, say, if Elmo is "babysitting," I can sneak away to get it done. But, usually, I do NOT trust Spencer, nor Wendell, for that matter, to be alone, free, upstairs.

I don't really trust Spencer to be buckled into his high chair, and unsupervised, either. He's some sort of wizard, I swear.

I know, I should force myself to stay awake at every nap time and scrub the house and wash and dry and tend to the laundry, but as I said before, I am exhausted! I didn't realize that being pregnant with a toddler running around would be so tiring. I don't mean that to sound as a complaint, just a realization of my naivety on the matter.

I also didn't realize how hard it would be to sneak away to the bathroom to do my business... alone. I think he's got some sort of radar for that. I can't tell you how many times he's come barging in (because I don't always get the old, sticky, warped door latched all the way) with his shape sorter. Or if the door is shut completely, someone likes to pound and scream at me.

But, it's not all bad. Not even close, so don't let me fool you into thinking that.

I LOVE being home with Spencer. I loved working outside the home with him, too, of course, but there's something to be said about being able to wear your pajamas or comfortable pants (because I'm getting bulbous) all day if I want. Or to literally, not change him out of pajamas (or re-clothe him) on rainy days when I know we won't be leaving the house.

He has always been somewhat of a "night-owl," even as a newborn, and being that we don't have to be anywhere at a certain time, most days, it's okay with me that he stays up until nine (though I really prefer him to be asleep way before 10), and sleeps until eight... or nine.. or ten... thirty... in the morning. I don't mind not having to get up at 6:30. And, it affords me time, currently, to see my husband on the mornings he is home before work. I will admit, though, it's odd to not have to get up to wake him (either him, actually) in the morning.

I love that I can be attentive to Spencer, solely, as a child. To watch him intensely, as he develops skills, learns words, and uses his creative mind. He's just an unbelievable creation, to me. I tell Jake often that "I can't believe we made him." (Of course, thanks be to God, who had a very large hand in it.)

I love the freedom to visit friends, or family, during the week, if we so choose, and it works out for them. I love not having to cram errands into a half an hour chunk of time in the evening on the way home.

I love being able to relax and enjoy my role as a parent, as frustrating and exhausting as that can also be.

So, overall, I'd say it's been a pretty great two months. The first weeks, two or three, were a breeze. It felt like a vacation. The few weeks after, where the weather was kind of crummy and I was beside myself trying to figure out what to do, how to stay sane, how to continue interaction with others, and how to keep him entertained... were harder. But, I think after that, we've started to figure out our routine, a balance, and a way to make things work.

Of course.. soon enough, it's going to change again, and again, and probably again. But more on that another night. The neighbor is quiet again, and I'd like a snack before I fall asleep.