Not my proudest moment...

Today did not start out well.

Well, it was good when the kids were still asleep.  I got up, had my coffee, made it to the gym.  Feeling good.

I get home and Drew is a nightmare.  Just in a horrible mood.  Crying over everything. Screaming at his brothers.  Making everything so much more difficult.  When he is like this, the older boys get on my nerves more.  The normal noise that they make is amplified by 1000.  I asked them several times to be quiet.  I asked Chris to stop picking on Luke.  I asked Luke to stop blowing on the horn.  (a funnel that Drew got from somewhere and they have used it as a "horn" ever since).

And still, we get in the car, and Drew is crying.  And Chris is being obnoxious.  And Luke is making noise with that damn funnel.  And then Drew starts yelling at them to be quiet and the car is filled with so much noise that I'm sure it registered on the Richter scale.

So this is the part of the store where I wish I could tell you that I calmly stopped the car (in the driveway, we hadn't even made it to the street yet), and gently but firmly asked them all to refrain from waking the freaking dead with their ridiculous noise.  And that they promptly and politely complied.


....


That is not what happened, I'm afraid.  Something inside of me snapped.  And I yelled, at the top of my lungs, "STTTTOOOOOPPPPPPPPPPPPPPP IIIIIIIIITTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT!  STOP IT! STOP IT! STOP IT!".  For a solid 20 seconds I yelled at the top of my lungs.  The older boys laughed at first and then just stared in amazement.  And Drew immediately burst into tears.  Terrified, horrified, I'm three years old and my mom has lost her marbles tears.

And so, I stopped the car.  And I got out, and I walked back to Drew, and I hugged him.  And I apologized and explained that he felt bad because I yelled, just like I feel bad when he yells.  I wiped his tears away.  Told the older boys I was sorry.  Told them all I loved them.  (Drew refused to say it back).  Got in the car and had a quiet ride to school.

All is well, Drew has forgiven me and loves me again.  The older boys are fine as usual.  I feel a little guilty, I normally don't lose it like that.  But I know it happens to all of us.  When we reach that point, and the stress is so high and the noise gets louder and no one is listening.  And we explode.  I don't like that I behaved that way, but at least my children know that I am human and make mistakes just like them.  At least they know that it's what you do AFTER you make a mistake that matters.  And how you learn from it.  And next time, I will just stop the car, get out, and scream into my jacket.

Blessings

It's Thanksgiving today.  As I sit here, watching Mickey Mouse Clubhouse with Drew (hot dog hot dog hot diggity dog!), I can't help but think of all the blessings that I have in my life.

We received an incredible extra blessing yesterday.  After 2 years of my husband working for me as a server, he has finally gotten a job.  A good job.  A job with lots of growth potential.  It is a huge relief for us.

When he called me at work to give me the news, I immediately started crying.  I was squatting down on the floor, phone in hand, crying in the middle of the restaurant.  Thank you Lord for this.  Thank you for giving us good news at the end of a horrible, terrible year!

I went into the office to cry alone for a few minutes (I have done that A LOT this year).  And I picked up the phone to share the news- the first number I called was my mom's.  Shit.  How I wish I could hear her voice when I told her.  How I wish I could have talked to her about it.

So I called my sister and told her.  And she cried.  It's been a long road for us and everyone knows it.

Tonight, when I pray before I go to sleep, I will say an extra prayer of thanks for all the things God has blessed us with.  This year has been hard, the hardest of my life.  But I have so many people in my life that love me.  I wouldn't have survived without them.  My husband, my sister, my best friends.  My family that offered help and support during so many hard times.

I will thank God for my dad that actually wants to see the boys and goes out of his way to spend time with them.  

I will thank God for my sweet nephew Emmett.  I love him so much and am so happy that he is here, not only for the relationship I have with him but for making my relationship with my brother stronger.

 I will thank God for my Blue Plate family, and the job I have that has supported my family while Jimmy went back to school and looked for job.  For a job that allowed me to care for my mother during her final weeks.

I will thank God for 32 years with my mother.  For all the memories I have of her.  For letting me still hear her voice if I close my eyes and concentrate.  For all the things she taught me, for all the ways she made me stronger.

Happy Thanksgiving, I hope everyone has as many things to be thankful for.

My unhealthy relationship

I'm not talking about a relationship with a person.  I'm talking about my relationship with food.

I'm not sure how I developed this relationship.  Maybe it comes from being southern.  We have a tendency to throw food at any problem, event, celebration, etc.  And it's always good (bad?) food.  

For example, when my mother was ill and we were caring for her, we had more food, pies, cakes than we could handle.  (I've never seen so much potato salad in my life).  I gained twenty pounds in those months.

Even when we were responsible for our on meals, we chose badly.  We needed comfort.  We needed fried and crunchy and cheesy and sweet.  We need chips and candy and snacks.  We "deserved" it.  Our mom was dying.

But why do we think that good makes us feel better?  Why do we turn to food for comfort?  Or reward?  Or celebration?

Does food make you feel better in the long run, or is it a temporary feeling?  Would a new pair of shoes satisfy you longer than an expensive, unhealthy dinner out?  Probably.  But we still reach for food in these circumstances.

I am currently trying to undo the damage of those few months.  Prior to her diagnosis, I had lost weight, built muscle and felt so much better.  It took me a long time to get back in the habit of going to the gym. But now I go daily with little trouble.

Food I still struggle with.  I am trying hard to retrain myself.  To look at food as fuel for my body.  To have a better balanced diet, where I am able to have an occasional treat without either extreme guilt or without a full on binge.

Wish me luck!

6 months

Every month, when the 7th rolls around, I get a little extra sad about my mom.  Today marks six months since she passed.  Six months since I saw her take her last breaths.  Six months since we sat on the back porch while they took her body away, then went back into a house that was eerily quiet without the sounds of her oxygen machine and her tv.  Six months.

It sounds like a long time.  But it feels like it was just yesterday.

I am lonely without her.  I have lots of friends.  I have my family.  But no one can fill the void that she has left.  She was the only person I actually talked to on the phone on a regular basis.  We talked almost everyday.  She used to annoy the hell out of me when she would call me, then have me wait while she finished a conversation with someone she was with, or a bank teller, or order in a drive thru.  I'd wonder why she didn't just wait to finish and THEN call me.  And of course I'd wait on hold forever if it meant I got to talk to her just one more time.

Today I sat in my car and listened to some of her favorite songs.  The Judds.  Eric Clapton.  I closed my eyes a conjured up the sound of her voice.  I thought about how much she would be hurting to know how much I am hurting.  How she always wanted to take my pain away.

I found this old photo of the two of us.  She was beautiful.  Even Drew thought so.  He asked who it was and I said, "Me and Gammy".  He said, "My Gammy???  She looks so pretty!"  Of course, he followed up with, "And you look pretty too... 'cept, I didn't know you was a boy baby"  Oh what I would give to tell my mom that story.  She would have laughed so hard, she loved that boy.  (all of them of course)

I love you mom.  I miss you everyday.  One day I will see you again.  I hope you are watching over us and seeing your boys grow, and you know all the stories that I can't tell you.

A little parenting honesty...

I have three children.  They are all boys.  They are 10, 7 and 3.  (screw the oxford comma).  When we go out in public, I inevitably hear, "Bless your heart"  or " Momma's got her hands full today", "Phew, I bet they keep you busy!!!"

It is all very true.  They are exhausting.  I am tired.  Always. tired.  I am always rushing to get to one sporting event or another.  Sometimes we eat in the car.  Drew always has to snack in the car.  (the good news is, if we get stranded for a long period of time, we could survive for DAYS on the goldfish he has dropped in the floorboard).

I love them.  So much.  Yet sometimes I dream of dropping them off at school and driving straight to beach and starting a new life as a beach bartender.  I could be tan and blond and carefree, making margaritas and daiquiris all day long.

But then reality sets in and I remember that Jimmy wouldn't be able to survive without me and they would all be sitting around in filth wondering where their underwear and socks are and when someone is going to start cooking dinner.

So, I continue on.  Refereeing  the fights.  The, "he won't stop looking at me".  The, "he got more pizza than me.".  The crying.  hitting.  punching.  The messes, the spills, the stickiness.  The fact that the bathroom ALWAYS smells, no matter how often I clean it.  The underwear in the kitchen, the socks under the couch (that's where they are!).  The fact that I have to inspect them to make sure they shower and brush their teeth.

I can't type anymore, everyone is being very quiet and that's worse than the screaming.  Much, much worse.

My staycation

I get three weeks off for vacation a year.  I typically use one to take a family vacation.  The other two I use to get projects done around the house that I never have time for.  You know, like matching and folding socks.

Last week I took one of those weeks.  I had some ideas, and I did get some things on my list done.  I refinished a piece of furniture.  I cleaned the microwave (Seriously, that was on my list.  I'm busy, don't judge!).  I spruced up the boys bathroom a little.  Did the laundry.  Took care of my now 3-legged dog. ( He is doing better, getting around without assistance, but still not eating)

I call him hop-a-long

But other than that?  I didn't do anything.  I went to the gym everyday.  I took a few naps. I cooked healthy breakfasts and lunches for myself.  It was delicious. I cleaned a little, but didn't kill myself doing it.

On Saturday, I ran/walked in a 5k supporting breast cancer.  My mother's coworkers formed a team to honor her, and me, my sister, Chris and Luke joined.  Luke had a fever the night before, so he was out.

My sister met with the team at their office for pictures, but I'm a freak about getting places on time and I just didn't want to rush and fight traffic, so we skipped.  The plan was to wait at the back of the start line (with the walkers and strollers!), until my sister got there and then walk the 3 miles.  Well, my sister ended up not participating due to an ankle issue, so that just left me and Chris.

Chris is used to winning.  So when we starting walking, he didn't like that we were in the very back. Even though he had a soccer game later, he decided we should run.  Sigh.  I hate running.  I really do.  I worked out at the gym for at least 1 1/2 hours everyday last week, no problem.  I lifted weights, I did intense intervals on the elliptical.  But I hate running.  It hurts my knees.  6 minutes in, and I am thinking, "I am going to die.  I've been running for hours."   In every other form of exercise, I push myself.  I make myself keep going, even when it hurts.  I do 2 more reps when I don't think I can.  5 more minutes on the elliptical.  A few more squats.  Whatever.  But not running.  (In my opinion, runner's high is the feeling you get when you finally get to stop running!)

So when Chris suggested running, I'll admit, I died inside a little.  I hated being in the back too, but not more than I hate running.  So, we started jogging.  He had no problem weaving in and out of the crowd.  I kept losing him, he'd stop and wait until I caught up.  Finally, I just told him to go ahead, and that my sister would wait for him at  the finish.  So then I was alone.  I could have walked the entire time.  But, I didn't want to get nothing out of it, so I decided to do what I could.

Because we thought we were walking, we had both worn sweaters.  Which were both tied around my waist. Chris's kept falling off as I ran.  I looked like such a jackass, picking the damn thing up and re-tying it 100 times.  Finally around the halfway mark I had MacGyver'd it to my sweater so that it would stay put.  So I ran til I thought I would die, and then I walked.  I repeated that until the end.  When I walked, I kept my pace brisk.  I figured if I got a good calorie burn, I'd at least get to skip the gym later.

My finish time was terrible of course, but each mile was faster than the last.  So I'm happy about that.  The first was 18 minutes, but we walked more and had the burden of weaving in and out of 1000's of people and that damn sweater.  Chris only finished 10 minutes faster than me, and he's a champion swimmer.  He hates running too :)

My legs hurt for the rest of the day.  So sad.

I will say this, I definitely got the racing bug.  When's the next 5k? half marathon?

Yeah, I'm screwing with you.  I'll do the ribbon run again next year, but that's about it.  But if you wanna climb on the elliptical next to mine tomorrow morning, it's on!

(Btw, Did you know that the dude that won the race finished in 15 minutes?   Is he freaking Flash or something?  He ran the entire thing faster than I walked/ran the first mile.  That blows my mind)

It's been awhile

I haven't posted in awhile.  I'm sure you are dying of curiosity about my life and what is going on.

Thankfully, there isn't much to tell.  This year has been total shit.  Let's be honest.  I can say it has been the worst year of my life.  The theme of the year?  CANCER.  My mother.  My father-in-law (and the resulting surgery that removed the cancer but almost killed him).  A couple of my friends' parents as well.  And finally... my dog.

Seriously?  Even my freaking dog?  And not the stupid dog that I can't stand, that eats food out of drew's hands and barks when the wind blows.  But my favorite dog.  My sweet, sweet Reese, who laid-back, calm and everyone's favorite.  He has a giant tumor on his foot.  A tumor that probably could have been removed if I had taken care of it when it first appeared, but I was in the middle of my mother's cancer and just didn't have time for him.  The result?  Next Tuesday, my baby will have his leg AMPUTATED!  I feel a huge amount of guilt for not handling this sooner.  I just honestly forgot about it when I found out about my mom, and then she deteriorated so quickly and demanded all my attention.

Seriously?  Look at this face!

I survived my first birthday without my mom.  It's hard to think of all the "firsts" without her that are coming up.  Halloween.  Thanksgiving.  Christmas.  That one will be the hardest.  The boys' birthdays.  I miss her so much.  I think about her so often.  I don't cry everyday anymore.  But it still hits me out of the blue sometimes.  And sometimes I have the selfish thought that I wish I could go back to the months when she was dying, because at least she was here with me.  What a horrible thing to even think, but at times I am desperate for her.  I am worrying that I will forget her voice.  I can still hear the way she said her name on her voicemail.  I close my eyes sometimes and just hold on to that, hoping I will always be able to recall it.

My grandmother died 8 years ago this August.  She hadn't felt good or been herself in a long time. Her death, like my mother's, was an end to her suffering.  I loved her so much, but I was so happy for her to not be in pain anymore.  I didn't understand why my mom couldn't see that, why she regretting the decision that she had to make to not leave her on life support.  And now I know.  I know that she was just desperately missing her mother and wishing she could have her back.

My mom's coworker's put together a team to walk/run the Liz Hurley Ribbon Run in my mother's honor.  I am very touched but nervous about doing it.  I feel robbed and not sure if I am ready to be surrounded by all of the breast cancer pink everywhere.  Chris and Luke are doing it with me, so we will be walking, and hopefully not sobbing the entire time.