I am fortunate it enough to have been blessed with the ability to stay home with our children. When I was pregnant with B, The Doctor and I discussed child care and we both agreed that as long as we could afford it, I'd be a stay at home mom.
Staying home with them has been a blessing and it's not something I take for granted. We make our sacrifices in different ways, mainly financial, but those are sacrifices we are fine with making.
All of this was brought on by an article I read today entitled "Dear Stay-At-Home-Moms, Please Shut Up" (http://www.lifetimemoms.com/parenting/stay-home-moms-shut-up). My first thought was, "Great. Another Mommy Wars article" and then I saw the article was written by a SAHM (stay at home mom).
After reading this article, I must say, I am very torn. To sum it up, it's a SAHM who doesn't like it when other SAHM's complain about staying home with their kids. Anyone who knows me knows how much I love staying home with The Curly Girlies. I love witnessing their antics, eavesdropping on their conversations and taking care of them. However, I'd be lying if I said it was all roses all the time. Let me tell you, it's not. There are days I want to run away. There are days I am so stressed I could pull out my hair. Enough about me, though. . . Back to the article.
The author writes:
"To the SAHMs who can’t be thankful and instead view life at home with their children as one putrid event after another, I say this: If you despise constantly being in the company of humans who drool, if you are completely unsatisfied and miserable and longing for a way out, then, pretty please with a cherry on top, get a job, volunteer, find a hobby, go out with the girls. Do SOMETHING."
This is the part I have a problem with. Every SAHM I know loves staying at home and feels very blessed to be able to so. Like any job, though, burn out does occur and it can be very difficult to have the same day, every day, without any change. There are only so many times you can clean the kitchen, tell your kids to put away their shoes and trip over a toy before you need to vent about how frustrating this job can be.
Take this morning. As she was putting on her shoes, M was coughing her head off and said, "Mommy, I think I'm wheezing again." She has been coughing all weekend, and we've been making sure she's gotten her puffs from her inhaler.
"Go tell Daddy," I said to her, hoping this was nothing more than a ploy to stay home from school. No such luck, though.
After The Doctor listened to her breathe, he said, "You need to take her to the doctor, today."
I fully admit, my first thought was not, "Yay! I get a day to spend with my daughter!"
We happen to be friends with The Curly Girlies pediatrician and The Doctor texted her while I went around my morning routine. I walked into M and L's bathroom to get a hair band and barrette for L and before I did, I laid my head on the door jam and cried.
At that moment, I did not want to think about having to take my daughter to the germy doctors office. I wasn't thinking it might be fun to have a day home with her. All I could think about was how I might end up missing Kickboxing and how my entire daily schedule would be thrown off, because this would not be an in and out visit. It never is. Not my greatest moment as a mother, but I didn't cry in front of M and I pulled myself together before I walked back into the kitchen.
One of the things I've learned through The Orange Rhino Challenge (http://theorangerhino.com), is things are likely not as bad as they could be. "At least it's not the throw up bug," I said to The Doctor as I was getting ready to take the girls to school. After that, I felt instantly better.
My beef with this article is this: Why are SAHM's not allowed to complain when things are tough? Does venting to our friends mean we don't like what we do? I know plenty of people who work in offices and out of the house and they love what they do, but still have moments where they need to vent. Just because you are having an off day (or week) doesn't mean you don't feel blessed to have what you have.
For the record, once my Pity Party for One was over, I found out the pediatrician didn't want to see M and I still made Kickboxing. My daily scheduled cleaning didn't get thrown off course and as a bonus, M got to see that I'm not kidding when I point out to the girls how hard I work around the house. See? Always a silver lining and at least M can go to school tomorrow!
Monday, October 13, 2014
Sunday, October 12, 2014
It Has Been Too Long
I apologize for the lateness of this post, but to be fair, I did state that I wasn't very good at keeping up with blogging. Believe me, I've thought about blogging many times over the last 3 weeks, but something has always stopped me before I could get started. Actually, it's been 3 little things that have taken over my house and are attempting to take over my life. Hmm. . . That's not true. If they wanted to take over my life, they'd take over the laundry, cooking, cleaning and shopping duties, but whenever I offer those up, they go darting off in different directions saying, "No way!"
We have a rotating chore schedule which the girls rotate through weekly. Every week one of them is on laundry, one on kitchen and one on bathroom. This week is M's turn for kitchen duty.
"M, when you are finished eating breakfast, please empty the dishwasher and load it up with the dirty dishes," I said to her this morning, while getting ready to make eggs for everyone.
"Aww," she groaned.
"Why does everyone do that when I ask them to empty the dishwasher?," I mused.
"Because," M explained. "None of us like being on kitchen."
"I am well aware of that, M, but think of it like this," I said to her. "All 3 of you take so long getting ready during the week, that ultimately I end up doing kitchen duty after you go to school. The only time you really have to do it is today."
"Oh!," she exclaimed, with her eyes lighting up. "That's great! Thanks, Mommy!"
"So, do you think you'll be able empty the dishwasher and load it up again after breakfast?," I asked her while scrambling the eggs.
"I'm getting started on it now!," she exclaimed happily, opening up the dishwasher.
And so she did. That dishwasher was emptied in a jiffy. Sadly, breakfast dishes sat out for about 2 hours before she finally got along to loading them, and in reality, her version of loading of them was to stick everything into the sink.
I came into the kitchen in the early afternoon to get my shopping list together and saw the sink was overflowing with dirty dishes, a huge pet peeve of mine.
"M!," I called out, taking deep breaths (I've been not yelling for nearly 11 months now and I'm breaking that over this).
"What??," she shouted from her room.
Sometimes I truly feel like we are the Wolowitz family (The Big Bang Theory) with all the shouting across the house we do.
"Come here!," I called.
"I'm cleaning my room!," she shouted (read: playing with all the toys she took out this morning).
I marched over to her room and said, "Great. When you're finished with that, please load up the dishwasher."
She gasped and said, "I can't believe I forgot to do that!"
Uh huh.
"Cleaning the kitchen is such hard work," she whined, putting a shoe on her Barbie doll.
"Yep. Believe me, I know. I clean the kitchen 3 times a day," I told her, with no sympathy.
"3 times?," she exclaimed.
"3 times," I agreed. "I love a clean kitchen and I'd love it even more if you would please load up the dirty dishes."
"I will, Mommy," she said examining the now dressed Barbie doll.
I left for my journey to the grocery store, and what a journey that was. The place was a zoo, my patience was tried several times over and I didn't even have a Starbucks to keep me company since our grocery store doesn't have one (though they should).
I got home nearly 2 hours later and started unloading the car. Now, normally I put The Curly Girly Trio to work unloading, but B and M had been begging to watch last week's Once Upon a Time before I left. I had called from the store to tell them if they were both showered, they could watch. L was sleeping and that girl is a bear when woken up, so she was exempt from helping. The Doctor was doing some work and the last thing I wanted was to pull him away (have I ever mentioned asking for help is not my strong suit?). I started to drag in my bags and saw the sink still overflowing. I ate a Ho Ho to keep from yelling.
After I put everything away, we left for dinner and as we were coming home, I gave out directions to the girls.
"When we get home, girls, B has to shower {because she negotiated her way out of showering before. This kid is going to end up an attorney, I tell ya!} and M and L have to get ready for bed. Oh, and M, you need to load the dishwasher with the dirties from the sink."
"Ahh!," she cried out. "Why do I keep forgetting to do that??"
"Well, you are the one who pointed out no one likes kitchen," I said wryly.
I guess the third time really is the charm, though, because after she was in her pajamas she went into the kitchen and loaded up the dishwasher.
"All done, Mommy!," she said gleefully, after the 5 minutes it took her to load up the dishwasher. "May I watch some TV now?"
"Sure, " I replied.
It took all day, but at least it's done. . . until tomorrow.
We have a rotating chore schedule which the girls rotate through weekly. Every week one of them is on laundry, one on kitchen and one on bathroom. This week is M's turn for kitchen duty.
"M, when you are finished eating breakfast, please empty the dishwasher and load it up with the dirty dishes," I said to her this morning, while getting ready to make eggs for everyone.
"Aww," she groaned.
"Why does everyone do that when I ask them to empty the dishwasher?," I mused.
"Because," M explained. "None of us like being on kitchen."
"I am well aware of that, M, but think of it like this," I said to her. "All 3 of you take so long getting ready during the week, that ultimately I end up doing kitchen duty after you go to school. The only time you really have to do it is today."
"Oh!," she exclaimed, with her eyes lighting up. "That's great! Thanks, Mommy!"
"So, do you think you'll be able empty the dishwasher and load it up again after breakfast?," I asked her while scrambling the eggs.
"I'm getting started on it now!," she exclaimed happily, opening up the dishwasher.
And so she did. That dishwasher was emptied in a jiffy. Sadly, breakfast dishes sat out for about 2 hours before she finally got along to loading them, and in reality, her version of loading of them was to stick everything into the sink.
I came into the kitchen in the early afternoon to get my shopping list together and saw the sink was overflowing with dirty dishes, a huge pet peeve of mine.
"M!," I called out, taking deep breaths (I've been not yelling for nearly 11 months now and I'm breaking that over this).
"What??," she shouted from her room.
Sometimes I truly feel like we are the Wolowitz family (The Big Bang Theory) with all the shouting across the house we do.
"Come here!," I called.
"I'm cleaning my room!," she shouted (read: playing with all the toys she took out this morning).
I marched over to her room and said, "Great. When you're finished with that, please load up the dishwasher."
She gasped and said, "I can't believe I forgot to do that!"
Uh huh.
"Cleaning the kitchen is such hard work," she whined, putting a shoe on her Barbie doll.
"Yep. Believe me, I know. I clean the kitchen 3 times a day," I told her, with no sympathy.
"3 times?," she exclaimed.
"3 times," I agreed. "I love a clean kitchen and I'd love it even more if you would please load up the dirty dishes."
"I will, Mommy," she said examining the now dressed Barbie doll.
I left for my journey to the grocery store, and what a journey that was. The place was a zoo, my patience was tried several times over and I didn't even have a Starbucks to keep me company since our grocery store doesn't have one (though they should).
I got home nearly 2 hours later and started unloading the car. Now, normally I put The Curly Girly Trio to work unloading, but B and M had been begging to watch last week's Once Upon a Time before I left. I had called from the store to tell them if they were both showered, they could watch. L was sleeping and that girl is a bear when woken up, so she was exempt from helping. The Doctor was doing some work and the last thing I wanted was to pull him away (have I ever mentioned asking for help is not my strong suit?). I started to drag in my bags and saw the sink still overflowing. I ate a Ho Ho to keep from yelling.
After I put everything away, we left for dinner and as we were coming home, I gave out directions to the girls.
"When we get home, girls, B has to shower {because she negotiated her way out of showering before. This kid is going to end up an attorney, I tell ya!} and M and L have to get ready for bed. Oh, and M, you need to load the dishwasher with the dirties from the sink."
"Ahh!," she cried out. "Why do I keep forgetting to do that??"
"Well, you are the one who pointed out no one likes kitchen," I said wryly.
I guess the third time really is the charm, though, because after she was in her pajamas she went into the kitchen and loaded up the dishwasher.
"All done, Mommy!," she said gleefully, after the 5 minutes it took her to load up the dishwasher. "May I watch some TV now?"
"Sure, " I replied.
It took all day, but at least it's done. . . until tomorrow.
Sunday, September 28, 2014
Manic Mondays? How's About Stressed Out Sundays?
The Doctor has a shirt that L loves quoting. The shirt has 3 half filled glasses on it. The first glass is smiling and says, "I'm half full!". The second glass is frowning and says, "I'm half empty!" and the third glass looks disgusted and says, "I think I'm full of pee."
I try so hard to be the half full glass. I don't like being grumpy and I always try to have an optimistic view on life. It takes a lot of strength to be sad, bitter, angry and I'm quite a lazy person. I'd rather save my energy and be happy. Sometimes, though, being happy isn't an easy choice.
Every once in a while, I wake up with a gray rain cloud over my head. My sweet, sunny disposition is replaced by the grumps and it is a shock for all of us. No matter how hard I try, I only see the half empty view.
Days like this, I need to try even harder to choose happy. Days like this, not yelling is very hard and while I've gotten pretty good about not yelling, my poor pen got the brunt of my frustration this morning when B's tweeny ways got the better of me. "But, you didn't yell," The Doctor pointed out facetiously. Perhaps my next challenge will be being nicer to writing utensils.
When the girls are grumps in the morning, I always hit their do-over button. I push their belly button and make a few "beep, boop, beep" noises. It always gets a smile and their attitudes suddenly change. I need a do over button (that doesn't involve my body).
Sundays are the worst. I love weekends, don't get me wrong, but by Sunday I'm overwhelmed with what has to take place to get us ready for the week. Usually, Saturday was a Sloth day where we lounge around doing nothing, so Sunday is spent putting the house in order, making my grocery list and updating my weekly lunch and dinner menus. The girls still lay around complaining when I put them to work and I end up feeling frustrated beyond belief.
I often feel like I need to do something to shake the grumpies. The first thought that comes to mind is running. In my head, I envision myself lacing up a pair of sneakers and going out for a run around the block. Then, I come to my senses and remember why I don't run. I don't even like thinking about running!
By Sunday night, when the girls are in bed with clothes laid out, lunches are made and I'm sitting down with The Doctor to veg out, all is right again in my little world, the gray cloud having dissipated into a sun again somewhere in the late afternoon and I feel more like myself. If only I could feel like that throughout the day. . . Sundays would be great.
Wednesday, September 24, 2014
Flu Shot Fun
I took the Curly Girlies to get flu shots yesterday. We don't do the mist and for us, that's not even an option. Last year, I made the mistake of telling the girls what we were doing and when we got to the clinic in Target (of course!), L took one look around and went running out, managing to get half way down the store before I caught up to her. This year, I decided to be more sneaky.
"We have to run to Target," I told the girls after they had finished their homework yesterday.
"Why?," M asked.
"I forgot to get something this morning," I said, not really fibbing, since I really did forget 2 things.
"Can we get a cookie?," she asked eagerly.
"We'll see," I said. "Maybe when we're finished."
We walked into the store and directly to the clinic. L was none the wiser and just followed along.
"Why are we here?," asked M.
"Oh, just because," I replied.
"I know why we're here!," exclaimed B, rather happily.
"Do not say a word," I said, nodding my head towards L.
"Wait," M said, hesitantly. "Are we here for a-"
"Do not say it!," I said through clenched teeth.
"I'll spell it. Are we here for a s-h-o-t?"
"Yes," I answered, giving my insurance card to the girl behind the desk.
"A shot?!?," L asked fearfully. "We're here for a shot???"
The good news is, L knows how to spell "shot"!
"I don't like shots!," she sobbed, crying big, fat crocodile tears. "I'm afraid of them!"
"You aren't getting a shot right now," a nurse practitioner said, trying to calm her.
"I'm not?," L asked, instantly perking up. "Only B and M are getting it?"
"Nope, you are too!," I answered cheerfully, popping her bubble.
That set off a fresh set of tears. While we were waiting, L calmed down a bit and I explained how we were going to do this to the girls.
"I go first, then L, M and lastly B."
"I want to go last!!!," L cried.
"What?? You hate being last," I reminded her.
"No, I don't!," she argued. "I don't want to be first."
"Can I be first?," B begged eagerly.
"Yeah!," L exclaimed, brightening up. "Let B go first!"
"But, L," I replied. "You always say how much you hate being last."
"I do hate being last," she finally agreed, with her head cocked to one side. "But I think it would be nicest to let B go first."
At that, we were called into the room. I popped up on to the examine table and said, "See, this is going to be just fine."
The nurse gave me my shot, and it didn't hurt a bit!
"Wow!," I smiled. "That didn't hurt at all! OK, L, you're next."
"No! No!! No!!!," she cried.
The nurse suggested B go next, to show her sisters how to be brave. Now, B is the oddity who loves shots and finger sticks for blood samples, so she's really not your average child. She took the shot like a champ and agreed that it didn't hurt at all.
"OK, M. Your turn, let's show L how to do this," I said, turning to M.
"Aaaguh!!!," M screamed, backing away. "NO!! I don't want too!"
For a minute, I forgot who I was dealing with and thought it was L.
"Come on, M," I said. "How old are you?"
"8, but I hate shots," she sobbed, sitting in the chair and not on the table.
"You know, the nurse can give you the shot anywhere, You don't need to be sitting on the table," I told her, quite annoyed.
She put out her arms and said in a robotic voice, "I am not M. I am the chair. Chairs don't get shots."
"Alright. Enough of this," I grunted, heaving her up. Finally, after much cajoling and tears, we finally got M onto the table and she took her shot like a champ, well a scared champ. Perhaps the vowel is wrong and the word should be chimp. Yeah, she took her shot like a scared chimp.
"Wow!," she exclaimed to L. "That didn't hurt at all!"
"Great," I said dryly. "All L is going to remember is how you screamed and carried on like a 4 year old."
"I did not!," she retorted. Right. . . OK.
"Come on, L," I said cheerily. "Let's get this over with."
L started screaming the way I scream on roller coasters.
"Aaugh! Aaugh!!! Aaugh!!!! I hate shots!! Aaugh! Aaugh!! Aaugh!!! I'm afraid of shots!! Aaugh! Aaugh!! Aaugh!!!!," she was sobbing and screaming at the same time, while running for the door and trying to open it.
"Nope," I said, lifting her up.
"I don't want to get a shot," she hiccuped.
"Look," the nurse said, showing L her open hands. "I'm not holding anything. Let's just talk."
"I'm not getting a shot?," L asked cautiously.
"Oh, you are," I said. "The sooner we do this, the sooner we can leave."
"Aaugh!!!," the tears and the screams started up again.
I sat down on the table and lifted her on to my lap. She was so wriggly and as hard as I tried to keep her hands away, she kept getting her right hand up to push away the needle. Finally, the nurse called in one of the other nurses, and it took the 2 of us to hold this 35 pound child down.
You never realize how strong a 5 year old is until you go to give them a shot.
"L," I bribed. "If you get your shot, I'll buy you a present." I am not above bribery, though I admit, it's not my finest parenting moment.
"Aaugh!!!," she screamed. While she was screaming, the nurse poked her with the syringe.
"It's over!," the nurse exclaimed.
"It is?," asked L, with tears streaming down her face. "That wasn't so bad!"
"Really?," I asked.
"Really!," she agreed. "It only hurt a pinch and I was very brave! Can we go get my toy now?"
I suppose since she actually stayed in the clinic, this is a step up from last year. We walked out of the room to stares from the full waiting room. "Well, that wasn't so bad, was it?," I asked the Curly Girlies as we marched into the store.
"It wasn't bad at all," crowed L. "Next year I won't scream at all."
I only wish I'd recorded that so I can play it next year when the screaming resumes.
"We have to run to Target," I told the girls after they had finished their homework yesterday.
"Why?," M asked.
"I forgot to get something this morning," I said, not really fibbing, since I really did forget 2 things.
"Can we get a cookie?," she asked eagerly.
"We'll see," I said. "Maybe when we're finished."
We walked into the store and directly to the clinic. L was none the wiser and just followed along.
"Why are we here?," asked M.
"Oh, just because," I replied.
"I know why we're here!," exclaimed B, rather happily.
"Do not say a word," I said, nodding my head towards L.
"Wait," M said, hesitantly. "Are we here for a-"
"Do not say it!," I said through clenched teeth.
"I'll spell it. Are we here for a s-h-o-t?"
"Yes," I answered, giving my insurance card to the girl behind the desk.
"A shot?!?," L asked fearfully. "We're here for a shot???"
The good news is, L knows how to spell "shot"!
"I don't like shots!," she sobbed, crying big, fat crocodile tears. "I'm afraid of them!"
"You aren't getting a shot right now," a nurse practitioner said, trying to calm her.
"I'm not?," L asked, instantly perking up. "Only B and M are getting it?"
"Nope, you are too!," I answered cheerfully, popping her bubble.
That set off a fresh set of tears. While we were waiting, L calmed down a bit and I explained how we were going to do this to the girls.
"I go first, then L, M and lastly B."
"I want to go last!!!," L cried.
"What?? You hate being last," I reminded her.
"No, I don't!," she argued. "I don't want to be first."
"Can I be first?," B begged eagerly.
"Yeah!," L exclaimed, brightening up. "Let B go first!"
"But, L," I replied. "You always say how much you hate being last."
"I do hate being last," she finally agreed, with her head cocked to one side. "But I think it would be nicest to let B go first."
At that, we were called into the room. I popped up on to the examine table and said, "See, this is going to be just fine."
The nurse gave me my shot, and it didn't hurt a bit!
"Wow!," I smiled. "That didn't hurt at all! OK, L, you're next."
"No! No!! No!!!," she cried.
The nurse suggested B go next, to show her sisters how to be brave. Now, B is the oddity who loves shots and finger sticks for blood samples, so she's really not your average child. She took the shot like a champ and agreed that it didn't hurt at all.
"OK, M. Your turn, let's show L how to do this," I said, turning to M.
"Aaaguh!!!," M screamed, backing away. "NO!! I don't want too!"
For a minute, I forgot who I was dealing with and thought it was L.
"Come on, M," I said. "How old are you?"
"8, but I hate shots," she sobbed, sitting in the chair and not on the table.
"You know, the nurse can give you the shot anywhere, You don't need to be sitting on the table," I told her, quite annoyed.
She put out her arms and said in a robotic voice, "I am not M. I am the chair. Chairs don't get shots."
"Alright. Enough of this," I grunted, heaving her up. Finally, after much cajoling and tears, we finally got M onto the table and she took her shot like a champ, well a scared champ. Perhaps the vowel is wrong and the word should be chimp. Yeah, she took her shot like a scared chimp.
"Wow!," she exclaimed to L. "That didn't hurt at all!"
"Great," I said dryly. "All L is going to remember is how you screamed and carried on like a 4 year old."
"I did not!," she retorted. Right. . . OK.
"Come on, L," I said cheerily. "Let's get this over with."
L started screaming the way I scream on roller coasters.
"Aaugh! Aaugh!!! Aaugh!!!! I hate shots!! Aaugh! Aaugh!! Aaugh!!! I'm afraid of shots!! Aaugh! Aaugh!! Aaugh!!!!," she was sobbing and screaming at the same time, while running for the door and trying to open it.
"Nope," I said, lifting her up.
"I don't want to get a shot," she hiccuped.
"Look," the nurse said, showing L her open hands. "I'm not holding anything. Let's just talk."
"I'm not getting a shot?," L asked cautiously.
"Oh, you are," I said. "The sooner we do this, the sooner we can leave."
"Aaugh!!!," the tears and the screams started up again.
I sat down on the table and lifted her on to my lap. She was so wriggly and as hard as I tried to keep her hands away, she kept getting her right hand up to push away the needle. Finally, the nurse called in one of the other nurses, and it took the 2 of us to hold this 35 pound child down.
You never realize how strong a 5 year old is until you go to give them a shot.
"L," I bribed. "If you get your shot, I'll buy you a present." I am not above bribery, though I admit, it's not my finest parenting moment.
"Aaugh!!!," she screamed. While she was screaming, the nurse poked her with the syringe.
"It's over!," the nurse exclaimed.
"It is?," asked L, with tears streaming down her face. "That wasn't so bad!"
"Really?," I asked.
"Really!," she agreed. "It only hurt a pinch and I was very brave! Can we go get my toy now?"
I suppose since she actually stayed in the clinic, this is a step up from last year. We walked out of the room to stares from the full waiting room. "Well, that wasn't so bad, was it?," I asked the Curly Girlies as we marched into the store.
"It wasn't bad at all," crowed L. "Next year I won't scream at all."
I only wish I'd recorded that so I can play it next year when the screaming resumes.
Sunday, September 21, 2014
Home Sweet Home
After our adventure filled weekend, we took the girls back in time with a car ride straight from 1985. Sadly, they have never known a car trip without movies. Even though they bring books and toys in the car, the items are soon forgotten as soon as the DVD screen comes down. Insert glazed over eyes and vacant stares. It's a small price to pay for the peace and quiet we get while trapped in the car with these little people for hours on end.
"How are we going to get home?," M asked The Doctor this morning.
"We're going yo take the rental car," he replied, packing up some things.
"But there are no movies!," she protested.
"You're right!," The Doctor said, looking up. "It'll be like going back to 1985. The best road trip era ever."
I remember my family's car trips from 1985. The 3 of us were crammed in the back of my Mom's Buick and my parents were up front with their carafe of coffee (to this day, the smell of old coffee makes me feel warm and fuzzy inside) and cassette tapes of Billy Joel and George Michael. My Mom had her big bag of toys that rode up front. When we wanted something, she'd hand it to us with the warning, "Don't lose any pieces!" and "I need it back before I give you anything else!"
My brother, sister and I did plenty if whining. We tried dividing the backseat equally, but ultimately, one of us sat in someone else's zone and the tattling and bickering would begin.
While we had a bit of a throwback trip our car was modern and for that I am grateful. Gone were the whines of, " She's breathing on me!!" and "she's on my side!" They found other ways to cause mischievous. L had to go to the bathroom every 45 minutes or so and H figured her stuffed animal made a great ball and threw it too L.
The Curly Girlies survived their first no frills car trip. I'm not so sure The Doctor and I can say the same.
"How are we going to get home?," M asked The Doctor this morning.
"We're going yo take the rental car," he replied, packing up some things.
"But there are no movies!," she protested.
"You're right!," The Doctor said, looking up. "It'll be like going back to 1985. The best road trip era ever."
I remember my family's car trips from 1985. The 3 of us were crammed in the back of my Mom's Buick and my parents were up front with their carafe of coffee (to this day, the smell of old coffee makes me feel warm and fuzzy inside) and cassette tapes of Billy Joel and George Michael. My Mom had her big bag of toys that rode up front. When we wanted something, she'd hand it to us with the warning, "Don't lose any pieces!" and "I need it back before I give you anything else!"
My brother, sister and I did plenty if whining. We tried dividing the backseat equally, but ultimately, one of us sat in someone else's zone and the tattling and bickering would begin.
While we had a bit of a throwback trip our car was modern and for that I am grateful. Gone were the whines of, " She's breathing on me!!" and "she's on my side!" They found other ways to cause mischievous. L had to go to the bathroom every 45 minutes or so and H figured her stuffed animal made a great ball and threw it too L.
The Curly Girlies survived their first no frills car trip. I'm not so sure The Doctor and I can say the same.
Saturday, September 20, 2014
My Guardian Angel
I am very blessed to have 2 sisters; one whom I talk to and see quite a bit and one who lives in my heart. My oldest little sister tragically died in a car accident 22 years ago. She would have been 33 today.
We talk about Aunt Ashley all the time and when I told the girls what today was, all three of them looked up at the sky and chorused, "Happy Birthday, Aunt Ashley!!!" In the beginning of life without Ashley, I used to feel she was with me all the time. In later years, though, that feeling has slowly dissipated. I still think about her, but she seems farther away than ever. Last night, though, it felt like she was watching us.
I am an iffy spiritual person. Sometimes I really feel like G-D is with me and other times I'm not so sure. I remember after Ashley died, someone said to me, in an attempt to be comforting, "You have a guardian angel now."
"I don't want a guardian angel!," I sobbed. "I want my sister!!!"
I never really thought of Ashley as a "guardian angel" before last night. In fact, I didn't really think of it until a couple of people mentioned she was totally watching over us. I have played and replayed this accident over and over in my head. I don't know how I knew to over steer the wheel to keep from hitting the guard rail head on. I don't know how I knew to shift into park when my car wouldn't stop, ben with my foot on the break. I managed to not hit any other cars. All of this occurred at the exact same time The Doctor's flight landed. Coincidence? Probably, but maybe not.
We celebrated Ashley's birthday with ice cream sandwiches for lunch. I think she would have approved.
We talk about Aunt Ashley all the time and when I told the girls what today was, all three of them looked up at the sky and chorused, "Happy Birthday, Aunt Ashley!!!" In the beginning of life without Ashley, I used to feel she was with me all the time. In later years, though, that feeling has slowly dissipated. I still think about her, but she seems farther away than ever. Last night, though, it felt like she was watching us.
I am an iffy spiritual person. Sometimes I really feel like G-D is with me and other times I'm not so sure. I remember after Ashley died, someone said to me, in an attempt to be comforting, "You have a guardian angel now."
"I don't want a guardian angel!," I sobbed. "I want my sister!!!"
I never really thought of Ashley as a "guardian angel" before last night. In fact, I didn't really think of it until a couple of people mentioned she was totally watching over us. I have played and replayed this accident over and over in my head. I don't know how I knew to over steer the wheel to keep from hitting the guard rail head on. I don't know how I knew to shift into park when my car wouldn't stop, ben with my foot on the break. I managed to not hit any other cars. All of this occurred at the exact same time The Doctor's flight landed. Coincidence? Probably, but maybe not.
We celebrated Ashley's birthday with ice cream sandwiches for lunch. I think she would have approved.
Friday, September 19, 2014
It's Always an Adventure on the Road
The Curly Girlies and I were driving up to meet The Doctor at his meeting 4 hours away from home. The Doctor has been on a business trip since Wednesday, and all of us were excited to meet him at the hotel.
We got on the road about an after school let out. The trip started off uneventful enough. The girls tuned in to their movie, I jammed to some tunes and talked to my Sister From Another Mister. After we hung up, I got into a great groove and started to enjoy myself.
Doing this drive by myself is a huge deal. I hate driving. I try to avoid it at all costs. I've driven long trips by myself before and my transmission died on the turnpike about halfway to our destination. I was hoping this trip would be less adventurous.
There is about a 2 hour stretch of turnpike where there are no rest areas whatsoever. Before we left the house I told the girls to go to the bathroom.
As we were walking out, I asked, "Did everyone use the bathroom?"
"Yes!," the girls chorused in unison.
We stopped off at MickeyD's for a snack of fries and juice boxes and hit the road.
About halfway across the long, no pit stop stretch of highway, one of the girls cried out urgently, "I have to use the bathroom!"
"My darlin', I'm sorry. We have about an hour to go before we come to a place to stop."
"Unnh!," she replied.
About 10 minutes later, she cried, "How much longer, Mommy? I really have to go!"
"A little less than an hour," I replied. "Didn't you go before we left the house?"
"I tried," she retorted.
"'Tried?' When I asked if everyone went, you replied 'yes'. If all you did was try, you should have told me. I would have had you go before we got on the highway."
"Unnh! I have to poop now too and I can't hold it," she said tearfully.
"Ok," I said, easing my car onto the shoulder and putting on my four ways. "Get out the passenger and do your business right next to the car."
"Here?," she asked incredulously.
"Do you have to go or don't you?," I asked impatiently.
"I do! I do!," she cried, scampering out of the car.
"I have to go too!," another sister called.
10 minutes later we were back on the road and my girls had a new experience to file away. The drive was going swimmingly and I was thrilled I was doing a great job. All went great up until 30 minutes away from our destination.
I was traveling in the right lane and it had been raining nearly the entire time. There was a car on the right shoulder (potty break, perhaps?) and without looking, the driver swerved into my path. I immediately moved into the left lane, to avoid hitting this guy head on and felt us get hit from the back. My car went careening into the left grassy median, heading straight to the guardrail. I spun the wheel and ended up hitting the rail with the drivers side of the car. We kept careening down the median until I shifted into park and we coasted to a stop some 300 feet away from the point where we were hit.
I pulled out my phone to text The Doctor and as I was writing, I received a text from him saying he had landed. All 3 girls were hysterical, but completely uninjured. My car, however, wasn't so lucky.
Now, I know the most important thing is that we are all ok and we are. Totally and completely. I must admit, I'm devastated about my car. It was a brand spanking new Honda Pilot that I've only had for a week. I love this car so much that I actually felt like hugging it the other day (I settled for caressing the steering wheel and proclaiming my love for it). It wasn't totaled, but it'll likely be close to a month before I get it back. *sob*
I did my best to keep calm in front of the girls and The Doctor scrapped his plans of going to his meeting. He rented a car and drove out to meet us. It was only after we were all in the rental car that he pointed out that I never bothered telling him all, of us were fine until he asked a bunch of times. I told him we were in an accident, airbags deployed, EMS was coming and I was on with 911. How he managed to stay calm enough to rent a car and find us is beyond me. Had it been me, I would have been freaking out. I guess that's why he's The Doctor!
At some point during this, B moaned, "I've always hoped I'd never be in a car accident, and now I have been!"
"Everyone gets into at least 1 car accident in their life, B. I hope this is the only one you're ever in," I told her.
After The Doctor arrived in the rental car, he settled the girls in while I gathered my things and my emotions in my Pilot. After I got into the rental car I asked the girls, "Are you all OK?"
"Yes, Mommy," said B. "How are you, Mommy?"
My heart about melted and a fresh new wave of tears started.
I keep thinking how much worse this could have been. I wish it hadn't happened, but you know what? All of us, including the driver who hit me, walked away without any injuries. That is the best thing in an awful situation. I know I have a guardian angel, but that's a story for another time.
We got on the road about an after school let out. The trip started off uneventful enough. The girls tuned in to their movie, I jammed to some tunes and talked to my Sister From Another Mister. After we hung up, I got into a great groove and started to enjoy myself.
Doing this drive by myself is a huge deal. I hate driving. I try to avoid it at all costs. I've driven long trips by myself before and my transmission died on the turnpike about halfway to our destination. I was hoping this trip would be less adventurous.
There is about a 2 hour stretch of turnpike where there are no rest areas whatsoever. Before we left the house I told the girls to go to the bathroom.
As we were walking out, I asked, "Did everyone use the bathroom?"
"Yes!," the girls chorused in unison.
We stopped off at MickeyD's for a snack of fries and juice boxes and hit the road.
About halfway across the long, no pit stop stretch of highway, one of the girls cried out urgently, "I have to use the bathroom!"
"My darlin', I'm sorry. We have about an hour to go before we come to a place to stop."
"Unnh!," she replied.
About 10 minutes later, she cried, "How much longer, Mommy? I really have to go!"
"A little less than an hour," I replied. "Didn't you go before we left the house?"
"I tried," she retorted.
"'Tried?' When I asked if everyone went, you replied 'yes'. If all you did was try, you should have told me. I would have had you go before we got on the highway."
"Unnh! I have to poop now too and I can't hold it," she said tearfully.
"Ok," I said, easing my car onto the shoulder and putting on my four ways. "Get out the passenger and do your business right next to the car."
"Here?," she asked incredulously.
"Do you have to go or don't you?," I asked impatiently.
"I do! I do!," she cried, scampering out of the car.
"I have to go too!," another sister called.
10 minutes later we were back on the road and my girls had a new experience to file away. The drive was going swimmingly and I was thrilled I was doing a great job. All went great up until 30 minutes away from our destination.
I was traveling in the right lane and it had been raining nearly the entire time. There was a car on the right shoulder (potty break, perhaps?) and without looking, the driver swerved into my path. I immediately moved into the left lane, to avoid hitting this guy head on and felt us get hit from the back. My car went careening into the left grassy median, heading straight to the guardrail. I spun the wheel and ended up hitting the rail with the drivers side of the car. We kept careening down the median until I shifted into park and we coasted to a stop some 300 feet away from the point where we were hit.
I pulled out my phone to text The Doctor and as I was writing, I received a text from him saying he had landed. All 3 girls were hysterical, but completely uninjured. My car, however, wasn't so lucky.
Now, I know the most important thing is that we are all ok and we are. Totally and completely. I must admit, I'm devastated about my car. It was a brand spanking new Honda Pilot that I've only had for a week. I love this car so much that I actually felt like hugging it the other day (I settled for caressing the steering wheel and proclaiming my love for it). It wasn't totaled, but it'll likely be close to a month before I get it back. *sob*
I did my best to keep calm in front of the girls and The Doctor scrapped his plans of going to his meeting. He rented a car and drove out to meet us. It was only after we were all in the rental car that he pointed out that I never bothered telling him all, of us were fine until he asked a bunch of times. I told him we were in an accident, airbags deployed, EMS was coming and I was on with 911. How he managed to stay calm enough to rent a car and find us is beyond me. Had it been me, I would have been freaking out. I guess that's why he's The Doctor!
At some point during this, B moaned, "I've always hoped I'd never be in a car accident, and now I have been!"
"Everyone gets into at least 1 car accident in their life, B. I hope this is the only one you're ever in," I told her.
After The Doctor arrived in the rental car, he settled the girls in while I gathered my things and my emotions in my Pilot. After I got into the rental car I asked the girls, "Are you all OK?"
"Yes, Mommy," said B. "How are you, Mommy?"
My heart about melted and a fresh new wave of tears started.
I keep thinking how much worse this could have been. I wish it hadn't happened, but you know what? All of us, including the driver who hit me, walked away without any injuries. That is the best thing in an awful situation. I know I have a guardian angel, but that's a story for another time.
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