A Spider & a Centipede-3 to Momma-0

This guy managed to escape...barely

It was a tough battle and one that left me defeated, although, I am happy to report that I wasn’t subjected to centipede poison (or is it centipede venom? I’ll have to confer with Ayden). Shocking enough, neither was Caler despite how roughly he handled the stupid (excuse me, I mean the s word) bug. I have yet to understand why Caler is so fascinated by creepy crawly creatures who (I’m almost certain) have it out for his Momma! He knows the power he possesses when he’s holding something as detestable as a worm or a spider (one of his recent favorite creature's to catch in Myna's garden).  He knows all he has to do his creep up to his momma with a proud yet mischievous glint in his eye and open his hand to expose the nightmare within and he’ll see his momma run as fast as she can knocking over lawn chairs and small orphaned puppies out of the way to escape the terror. Nothing sends him into a fit of giggles as much as this scene does.  Which is why he does this as often as he can.  He can spot an ant from a mile away. He runs over to it and stares moving rocks or any other object that might block the ants path while it moves over the bumpy cement. Caler’s eyes are glued.  He wants to pick them up , put them in a mason jar, and keep them as “best-friend-pets”.  His record so far: 12 snails all of whom he named Best Friend, he put them in his mason jar and made sure to add grass for their dinner. He was the proud pet owner of Best Friends and checked on them as often as he could. Those little buddies went anywhere he went (I’m guessing here, but I’m sure they were the first snails accompanying humans to the grocery store and to the Children’s Place). At night, he kept them on the shelf above his bed and made sure a bed time story was read to them each night. Momma allowed them to stay in the house for a few days before their own Momma called and asked that her babies be returned to her.

 We can’t leave Myna’s house with a stone left un-turned, disheveled dirt piles, or a scream from a Momma being chased by something slimy. After my heart stops pounding and the goosebumps have disappeared, the way the boy cares for his bugs is quite cute and I am proud of him. Caler’s cute Myna is sweet enough to leave the stones where Caler left them. Unable to put them back into place, he leans them in a row on the storage shed.

This may be one of my biggest fears, but it  is Caler’s solace. It's what he thinks about. It’s where he goes. It’s his hobby and after a day of hard work at the US Government, he's earned this I suppose.

I've got a little Mayberry in ME...

I miss the Mayberry days of my childhood. The days when I would wake up at 7:00, stretch my arms clear to the ceiling as I sat up on the top bed of the bunk I shared with my younger sister. Stepping down from the ladder to the carpet below,  the smell of pancakes and homemade maple syrup wafting through the summer air would draw me to the source. I loved opening the 1950’s style refrigerator, pouring an ice cold glass of milk and sit at the breakfast table. The days when I wouldn’t think twice about wearing spandex shorts and a t-shirt, and ride my bike from sun up until sun down. When the only problem I considered was… What on Earth am I going to do today? I long for those days when I stepped out onto my porch with a can of my dad's Coca-Cola and I knew that the world was there for me to mold into whatever it was that I wanted.  The possibilities seemed endless. I had time to read a chapter book cover to cover as I swung on the porch swing in the back yard sipping on an ice cold Coke or a glass of Kool-Aid we were bound to have on hand at any given time.  The days were sometimes spent organizing our candy sale with profits going toward our Lagoon fund.  I long for the nights when the sound of children's sneakers slapped against the pavement as quietly as we could manage in an effort to not be found by the person titled ‘it’. The terror we felt when we passed the neighborhood “grump” sitting outside to let us know it was not ok to hide in his perfectly manicured lawn (no matter how many amazing hiding spots were littered throughout his maze of bushes). I enjoyed myself and worried less. I made lists (yes, I’m one of those types) of my favorite things to do and what I wanted to be when I grew up. I made lists of the things I wanted to accomplish, some were realistic and some were… well let’s just say I’m probably not going to marry Joey McIntyre of New Kids on the Block (and I’ve finally stopped crying about this.)

It’s not healthy to divulge into something so completely that you simply forget the extra’s we have available in life. Don’t consume yourself with one thing so much so that you lose focus on what makes you happy. It’s easy to fall into the daily grind of a career, to arrive home from work take a deep breath finally acknowledging your fatigue and assuming you need more sleep, go to bed early and wake up feeling just as, if not more, exhausted than the day before. Take a look further into what’s causing the feeling of not being completely happy and figure out what it is making you feel so tired and not-yourself.  Do something that is fun for you.  I recently asked a friend what she liked to do for fun. 30 seconds pass with her “umm-ing” and “hmm-ing, before she looked back at me with a small giggle escaping and said “I forgot.” Her answer was the same as mine before I stopped and contemplated on just where it was that I had disappeared to.  We both recognized that feeling of losing ourselves in our children, work, children, bills, and cleaning up after our children. It was this unknown answer that woke something up in me. I made a list of some of the things that made me me. I am Ayden and Caler’s Momma, I’m a bill-payer, a housekeeper, sometimes a laundry-doer,& an employee. But I’m also Kristal. At times it’s hard to remember that I love to write, sketch, run, jump on bubble wrap, read, I get embarrassed easily and blush so often I wonder if it’s just my natural skin color, I love thunder storms, I have to sleep with one foot uncovered, my car is a mess and although I may vow to clean it out one day…. I probably won’t, I bake cakes when I’m stressed (Mr. Elliot, our next door neighbor, is often the recipient of such cakes), I blow dry my hair upside down, I giggle, I love chick flicks, and Dr Reid from Criminal Minds makes my heart flutter…. There are so many quirks that make me Kristal and not just a mom but a momma.

I know that the world is there for me to mold it into whatever it is that I want.  All I need to do is take a step back now and then and do something to remember that I’m still here and not buried under the mountain of laundry that, I’m sad to say, has returned .

Sugar and Spice and Snips and Snails... OH! and Flour...



And who says Boy's can't Bake?





Why is it that after a long day, a short day, a bad day, or a good day Sweets just always sound so amazing?

The boys and I decided it was imperative to make Cinnamon rolls. Cooking with the boys is always a pleasure even with an over-crowded kitchen, and this time was no different. Ayden was proudly in charge of reading the ingredient list out loud and he made sure I retrieved each item and placed them in order on the counter in front of the large mixing bowl. Ayden also enjoyed measuring the ingredients (note: this can be a great way to interactively introduce and practice fractions. No need to mention who was the student and who was the teacher for our fraction lesson...)  Caler loved to help "cwack the silly eggs". The way his cute little smile lit up when he heard the first hint of the shell snapping makes my heart smile and I hope he always finds joy in the simple things. Ayden thought this was a great time to explain to his little brother that the "silly eggs" can lead to a number of diseases and poisonings (accurately explained I might add, I googled!). By the time Ayden was done explaining every possible problematic outcome from handling raw eggs Caler's eyes had nearly glazed over completely. He was a good sport when listening to Ayden's professor-like speech, but looked right at him defiantly and said "Well then, Ayden, you don't have to cwack these silly eggs. You won't get smanenella seasoning (aka: Salmonella Poisoning) if you don't touch them now will you?." I started to laugh so hard the milk I had just taken a drink of, came out of my nose (which hurts by the way). Ayden couldn't have giggled harder, and in true Ayden fashion.. he randomly reminds me of  'the-time-you-were-laughing-so-hard-the-milk-came-out-your-nose' which is always followed by his cute little snicker and "that was so funny!"

The cinnamon rolls came out a bit dry, not too entirely surprising, seeing as Caler thought they needed an extra handful of the white stuff.... and the handful wasn't really because he wanted a white hand to make a Caler print on the side of Momma's face, shirt, Caler's shirt, Ayden's shirt or any other surface within his reach, this handful was the handful that launched the biggest flour fight in the history of flour fights. Laughter, smiles, and handfuls of flour were tossed around the kitchen for quite some time. Hand prints of white were plastered on cupboards. The flour fell down around us like snowflakes. Our little flour war was the most fun I've had in awhile, and as much as I'd like to claim victorious... the congratulations should be awarded to the two giggly little munchkins who cornered their Momma and lovingly dumped the entire bag of flour on her head.

** not pictured: A kitchen swimming in Flour, two smiling kidlets with bleached flour eyelashes, two flour kisses for each face,  one white powdered Momma **

Who doesn't love a good flour fight? I don't care if you are 5 or 95... flour fights are fun! I know it isn't going to be the last one in our household.

A kiss on each powder-covered forehead, a broom, a little bit of Mr. Clean lavender-vanilla cleaner, a mop, a bubble bath, and memories I hope the boys will cherish as much as I do, are well worth the time spent cleaning up after a war with refined grounds of carbohydrates.

 

A Glimpse...

Things happen. It's a simple fact of life. You can't change them, they just happen. The air in your tire is sucked out on your drive to work leaving you stranded with a dead cell phone in the pouring rain, you step on a lego and cry for a week about it (not that I'm admitting anything...), Rent becomes due before a paycheck is received, or your life gets ripped upside down by choices your ex made. At this turning point, I believe, there are two options... two paths you can choose from. The fork in your road has come and left or right must be chosen.

My fork, came up not-so-unexpectedly, at 6pm on one specific day and left me facing a daunting choice. Words and bruises in between punches threatened to take the hope I protectively tucked in my battered arms. The choice was chosen at 6 am when hope was now dangling by a frail thread, my desperate screams were answered by a determined pounding on the door. My shaking fingers managed to unlatch the lock that held me in that house. The antagonist who was my husband was apprehended. The night had ended. The morning was beautiful and fresh. I gasped inhaling the air through the rusty taste of blood drying on my lips, my first step toward my chosen path had just been taken.

It would be a lie to say that I made my choice and haven't looked back. That night has been thrown in my face, tormented my dreams, and followed me for years and years. As hard as it has been some days, I am a better person because of it. My strength, faith, and frankly, my sanity have been put to the ultimate test. I face another fork in the road daily. I can choose the path down self pity and sorrow. I can think those self destructive thoughts such as 'Why me?'.  I, instead, choose to take another path.

The path of Gratitude. No, I'm not thankful for that night. I am ,however, thankful for the qualities I learned I had within me. The qualities I hope to share with my children through example. I am thankful for the new perspective I gained as I inhaled the fresh morning air that day I stepped out of that house and into a new life. The gratitude I felt toward another day I had been granted.

So when that Glimpse of the wrong path creeps it's ugly head my way, I hold my head high. I inhale another fresh breath of air. And. I stare that path in the face with the strength I found in my heart that night. That path can be quite the stubborn Brass Bowl and I can't deny there are times I nearly surrender to the depression and sadness that trods along that road. I am a lucky momma though, I have the ultimate antidotes. I have the gift of a loving and forgiving heart. I have the gift of a strong soul. I have the gift of self preservation (unless you count the times I step on legos and cry about it, but, again, I am not admitting to anything.). I have the gift of a beautiful surrounding of loved ones. Most importantly, I have the gift of  my two boys. They need me almost as much as I need them.

When life pushes you down, and Heaven knows it will, there are two choices. You can A.) Choose to sit down, give up, cry, wallow in self pity, and think those self destructive thoughts. Or B.) Choose to pick up your beans. Flip the bad finger (ok, not really, but you know you'd at least give it a good thought before declining). Stare it in the face and let it know you're not one to back down. Push past the thorns, and though they may draw blood.... YOU CAN AND WILL MAKE IT THROUGH.

SO.... Mr. X.... I survived you! What's up now?

I'm sorry can you repeat that... or better yet can I have a do-over?

Why is it that we think we’re being bad parents if we don’t scrapbook? When I ask if someone scrapbooks, often times the response I hear is this: ‘I wish I did, I’m such a bad mom. I just am not that creative. My poor kids.’ Really? REALLY? This answer astounds me. I cannot for the life of me understand. Since when did "scrapbooking" become something other than preserving life? When did memory making become a competition for who's page is the best, who used the best paper or the newest products to decorate?  The act of scrapbooking isn’t what is important. It’s life that’s important. It’s creating memories with your children and family.

I choose to  chase bubbles with the boys and snap a photo here and there, instead of standing behind the lens and watch the magic of my kids’ childhood unfold with one eye closed, with half  my brain concentrating on the kids, while the other side is correcting my composition for the perfect photograph.  The definition of the perfect photograph is, in my opinion, quite distorted.  The make-up of a perfect photograph is not whether the lighting was exact,or if the composition was impeccable, nor is it the perfect posing of subjects. The perfect make-up of the perfect photo is whether the essence of the moment is captured even if there is chocolate or boogers streaming down my sons face as he’s laughing in the sunshine because his older brother is chasing him with a worm or some other creature. This ‘imperfect’ photo would transport me and I would be taken back to that day at that time when I was there experiencing life. I don’t want to remember the perfect technicalities of the photo, I want to remember the sound of his giggle, the sound his tiny pigeon-toed feet make as they glide across the green grass, the magic I felt in my heart as the happiness dripped from the hands of my 8 year old who holds a soggy worm discovered after the recent rainstorm. Snap photo's while you are enjoying living life, but don't worry about having the perfect photo so much so that you forget about being present. Trust me, they notice!

There was a time when I was so wrapped up in the art of memory making that I forgot to see the reason behind the art. I had the perfect scrapbook area set-up complete with a baby gate to keep little baby hands away from the supplies. There were times I would tell him just a few more minutes, I was almost caught up. There was a time when I was too busy concentrating on how many photographs I was snapping and how I would arrange them on my colored card stock, which patterned papers I would match them with, the font I would journal with, and the amount of accessories I would adorn the page with.  You know what though, the time came when I would sit down to journal about said event. The words that escaped through my pen, were generic. “ We had a great time at the park.  Ayden really enjoyed the swing. Caler sat quietly in his car seat observing his older brother with awe.”  Yes, it is what happened, but it’s not what happened.  If I had truly been there...been 100% present, I would have written about the changing expressions that appeared on Ayden’s face as he soared higher and higher. The way he leaped excitedly from the swing to land safely in his momma’s awaiting arms.  I would have been able to write about the way Caler gazed after his brother longing to be running alongside him. I would have written about the way my heart pounded as Ayden climbed the ladder nearly reaching the clouds.

Please, I'm begging you take the time you have been presented with and use it wisely. Choose to be there instead of half-way there. Choose to play hide and seek instead of watching from the sidelines. Choose to LIVE LIFE and as you LIVE IT ... OBSERVE IT IN ACTION. 

This way... you won't need a do-over.

You're the MEANEST Momma! Expletive!

It started today at about 5:45 am. I am ripped from the blissful serenity of sleep by a blood curdling, glass breaking scream. I throw off the blanket and rush to the source of the shriek. There sat Caler. His eyes could have easily been mistaken for lasers. He was glaring at Ayden with a look that expressed he was beyond livid. "What in the world is going on you two?" I asked trying to push the rage, I myself was feeling, away from my mind and concentrate on taking care of business. "Ayden took my light saber!" Caler managed to spit out through clenched teeth. Ayden's smirk confirmed this. I asked Ayden to give it back. Ayden did as he was told and graciously released his death grip from the space sword. Caler snatched the toy from his brother with pure disdain. Then as quickly as I managed to turn my heels and head back to my room... SMAAAAACK.....AAAOOOOOOWWWW!  I didn't have to turn around to know what crime had just been committed. "Caler D! Why on Earth did you think it was alright to hit your brother?" It was mostly meant as a rhetorical question but I got an answer anyway..."Because he deserved it." Period. End of discussion. I couldn't believe the matter-of-fact attitude that fell upon this child. He truly believed his brother had deserved to be smacked on the head with the light saber for his bad decision. Maybe it was the early hour, or the tiredness that seeped through from my head to my toes, but no matter how hard I tried... my brain could not muster up any kind of response. I ushered Ayden (who was still rubbing a growing lump on the top of his head) out of the room. I turned to the frowning little boy with folded arms and angry sulking eyes, "Caler, you need to stay in your bed and think about the family rule you have broken." I closed the door to screeching and tears. I was doing the same inside.

I went out to discuss the value and importance of sharing with Ayden who stared at me with blank eyes, clearly thinking "but I wanted it and therefore I took it. Duh Momma!" I asked him how he felt about sharing, the sound that came out of his mouth sounded like an agonized mumble of the term  uh huh.  I was too exhausted to call out his bluff. I sank to the couch defeated. The shouts from the kids' room grew overwhelmingly loud. The banging began, which meant he was kicking the wall and the frames were about to fall. The millisecond that thought crossed my mind, the first frame fell and so did my patience. It crumbled. I walked to the room, opened the door, and faced this yowler of a child. I looked him in the eye and told him he needed to pick up the frame and return to his room where he would stay for the remainder of the day.

The term  If Looks Could Kill doesn't even begin to describe the change his eyes made as he learned his fate. The screaming didn't stop as I walked back out of his room in search of my journal (aka: solace).  It was as I was passing his closed door that I heard it. I heard the words that snap a parents heart in two. My sensitive heart shattered. " I HATE YOU MOMMA!" I choked back the lump that had settled in my throat threatening another bombardment of waterworks and replied " Well, my darling boy, I most certainly LOVE you." He apparently wasn't convinced " You're the MEANEST Momma EVVVVVEEEEEERRRRRR!!!" I wasn't sure I could reply. Just as a snake can sense fear, my Caler can sense when I am close to a breaking point. It's not that he revels in it, no, he just knows that this is the time for him to test his limits. He does.... and he tests them well. So well, in fact, that the next phrase out of the mouth of my FIVE year old was a word that rhymes with Brass Bowl. An expletive. An expletive from the mouth that still uses bubble gum tooth paste and a light up Batman tooth brush.

If there was any doubt in his mind that I was the meanest momma before, it was confirmed when he had to brush the bad words out of his mouth with the hot toothpaste that Momma uses.

So there you have it.... Confessions from the MEANEST MOMMA EVVVEEERRRR!

I love being a Baby Momma

Timing never has been my strong suit… so there is no surprise that I’m a few days late posting about Motherhood. But, better late than not at all. 

 

I decided to list 10 out of a million reasons why I love being a momma:

 

• After a long day there is nothing like “nuggles” from my babies
• In the eyes of my children there are no better dancers, singers, or all around performers than their Momma (and you can’t argue with the kids… )
• My refrigerator is never plain or boring… it has AMAZING pieces of their Art glittered all over the doors and sides
• The way their faces light up on Friday afternoons when I tell them the next two days are ours to spend with each other.
• Building blanket forts in the living room and extending them into the dining room.
• Who doesn’t love a game of Candyland?
• The daily laughs I get from listening to them converse… my kids are SO hilarious!
• I imagine at some point there will be a reward for allowing my 5 year old to work for the US government….
• All those math lessons I ignored in school…. I get a second chance by being instructed from my 8 year old how to apply fractions and what pi is.
• They’ve taught me a new dimension of unconditional love…. They can wake me up every hour on the hour starting at 2 am, They can puke on me,  they can turn my freshly cleaned house upside down and I will still love them with all my heart 3- Ever and Ever!

Speaking of 3-Ever and Ever, I can go on listing all the wonderful wonders of Motherhood 3-Ever and ever….

 

Being a momma wasn’t on my list of things I wanted to accomplish by the time I turned 18, but it certainly is on the list for my proudest accomplishments. I am thankful for the opportunity I was given to be a momma no matter the age I started. The joy most definitely outweighs the frustrations. That’s not to say that at times I don't feel defeated and overwhelmed. The two boys I’ve been blessed with, though, have this magic ability to turn my frowns upside down (no matter how hard I try keep those frown in place). How can I possibly put into words the love and joy I feel when I hear their giggles and see their smiles? In short… I’m one lucky momma! 

 

I have so many amazing women in my life that need to be celebrated.

 

My own Momma.... for the example you gave me to take hold of my challenges and stare them straight in the eyes. I celebrate your strength.

 

My sisters... Jen and Britt you are beautiful mothers. The very proof of how amazing you two truly are lies in the sparkle of your children. The happiness is evident on their sparkling faces. I celebrate your beauty and the nurturing eminence you show your babies.

 

And to all Mothers.. You are caring, selfless, and loving. I celebrate you...