I am not worthy

I don't even know where to start.  Usually, a good rule of thumb would be to start at the beginning, but in this case, I'm not sure where the beginning, well...begins.

I guess it begins with a visit from my dad. He lives in Massachusetts with my younger (though significantly taller) brother and his family. This is his third visit in the last 2 years and we absolutely LOVE having him. Boy-child and Girl-child think Grandpa is THE BOMB and Uncle J., quite literally, hung the moon. For my part, I am encouraging all of this. I LOVE that my kiddos love their grandfather and uncle, and I love that my father and brother love my kiddos. If spoiling happens when they're around, well...who am I to argue? They get enough structure from hubby and me.

But that's really not why I'm writing this post.

You see, when I knew dad was coming to visit, I remembered what a horrendous mess my house was the last time he came, and how he quietly and sweetly chastised me for my awful housewifery. He never criticized or yelled, but I felt terrible about bad things were. So...I resolved NOT to let my busy life get in the way of making the place habitable and hospitable for his visit this time around.

I especially focused on the kitchen. Not only because the kitchen is usually the hub of any home, but because, in my opinion, it needed the most TLC. Once I started, I had a tough time stopping. I usually HATE cleaning and look upon it as the drudgery it is. But this time, I found some peace in it.

I began by taking everything off the tops of the cabinets. Everything had been up there for uncountable years and was covered in a thick, disgusting mix of dust and air-borne kitchen muck. I washed everything, cleaned off the tops of the cabinets, and put everything back. 

Then everything came out of each cabinet. I culled what was not needed or had expired, donated stuff to charity, washed everything, cleaned each shelf, and put everything back.

Then the counters. Everything off, counters scrubbed to within an inch of their lives, everything wiped down or washed off, and put back.

You see where I'm going. Literally every surface was cleaned. Every item was washed. Everything was rearranged and organized.

Hubby did the fridge (Bless him. I could not do it. I was to scared. I'm pretty sure something was alive in there.). Hubby scrubbed the floor. (I came home to the scent of Lavender Pine Sol. My fav!)

When the kitchen was done, I felt almost...free. Like this awful weight had been lifted and I wanted to make more good things happen in my house. So, I bought a bunch of air-tight glass containers and began "decanting" things into them. Dry beans and coffee, brown and white rice, flour, sugar, salt... I added hand-written labels. 

The rest of the house got a good cleaning, too, but the kitchen...well, that was my prize. Since then, I've been making sure the sink is gleaming at me every night. I've been setting the dishwasher to run overnight. And just knowing this small task is done makes me feel so much calmer in my soul. 

But, it is quite possible this has turned into a bit of an obsession. Good or bad, I don't know.

Let me explain.

I began finding these videos on YouTube: Extreme Cleaning, Clean with Me, Ultimate Deep Clean... They're fascinating. I'm not entirely sure why I would find watching some random woman cleaning her home (which, quite frankly, is already far cleaner when she starts than mine is when I'm done), but I do. 

Here's why I believe I am not (and never will be) worthy.

These women...these people who post videos of themselves cleaning their homes...are amazing. I chuckle a little bit (but not in any serious way) that they dress in casual clothing, or even yoga pants and a tank top, for these videos, but they've done their make-up (full face on), hair up in a pony tail or messy bun, and manage to look more vogue they I could ever be even after a full day prepping for a formal event. (Ha! That'll never happen!) They've got beautiful, bright, open homes, and, even at their messiest, are cleaner than mine.

I think...no one would ever want to watch ME do an Ultimate Deep Clean of my little 1000 sq. ft. Oak Ridge, Tennessee home.  Not that I want to video myself cleaning.

And, though I am kind of obsessed with these videos, they are also kind of disheartening. I will never have a home like one of those. I will never have pretty granite counter-tops, a crystal chandelier over my dining room table, or anything close to resembling a stainless steel, tri-cool refrigerator.

I wonder how I can get so much enjoyment from cleaning my home, and be so fascinated by these videos, and yet still feel so awful, and so much like a failure? It's weird to feel so torn in two like this. Happy about how it feels when I walk into my very small, but clean kitchen vs. how I feel when I begin wishing for things I know I cannot have.

I really WANT to be happy with what I've got. And mostly, I am. But there are days when I wish I could afford to remodel not only my bathroom (because it is in desperate need) but my kitchen, too. And, while I'm at it, I might as well go for gold and wish to have the kitchen look right out onto the living area in a pretty, open-concept floor plan.

Ah...if money were no option and the only thing holding me back was my imagination.

TTFN

JMS

The Messy, Crazy, Chaotic Life With Kids

What parent, at some point in their Parenting Career, hasn't thought, "Geez...kids are hard!"?

Yeah, you love them and they're cute and you're glad they're around, and truthfully you cannot imagine your life without them, but...

• They're messy
• They smell
• They leave their clothes all over the place and don't seem to understand what a hamper is for. Or, they'll jump-shot the clothes in the general direction of the hamper, but if the item falls short, it will stay where it lands.
• They're picky - about food, about the way their clothes fit, about their hair, about the color of the sky or the grass
• They can be super annoying
• They don't listen - or, at the very least, have selective hearing. ("Huh? What did you say?")
• They neglect their chores unless you remind them and when you remind them they get irritated that you reminded them because they're not dumb, mo-om! Sheesh!
• They talk...like, all the time. Sometimes it's exhausting.
• They need you when you're peeing or showering behind a closed door and feel a driving need to knock and ask you what you're doing as if it weren't obvious. (At least they don't stick furry paws under the door and try to get in, or snag the nearest whatever on the floor with their claws, or cry obsessively until you let them in. Oh...wait, yeah - they kinda do, but it depends on their age.)
• They almost never go to sleep when you tell them to. There's always one more thing.
• They have fifty-eleven hobbies or obsessions or collections going at any one time so there's stuff everywhere.
• They haven't figured out how to file yet, so there's paperwork everywhere. (Oh, wait...that's...uh...never mind.)

On the flip-side of that coin, though...

• They love you, and find lots of little ways to show it. Hugs are huge in our family and Girl-child could probably squeeze you to death if you let her. She's very effusive.
• They enjoy spending time with you - and miss you when you're peeing or showering and therefore must simply remind themselves that you're there...somewhere...in the house with them.
• They think you're pretty funny - most of the time - and laugh at your stupid jokes, silly stories, and goofy voices.
• They talk to you...like, all the time...because they need to. They need someone they trust to talk to and I am grateful every day my kids are little chatterboxes and that they come to me when something's up. Sometimes I need to drag it out of them, but that's really pretty rare.
• They have good, comfy beds and whether or not they get in them when I tell them to, they do sleep and have a safe, warm place to do it.
• The stuff they're picky about? I don't really care so much any more. It used to bug me to no end when (for example) Girl-child absolutely refused to wear jeans of any kind (I'm a jeans and tee shirt kind of gal and she's not) but now, provided she's dressed modestly and comfortably, I just don't care what she wears. She's her own person, right? Boy-child has never really been too picky about his clothes, he just gets dressed and that's that. When they're picky about food, they know I'm not going to cater to them and make them another meal. They can figure out what to eat if they're not going to eat what I (or hubby) put in front of them. They won't starve.
• They have fifty-eleven hobbies, obsessions, or collections because they're still figuring out what they like to do. They're developing those things and it's a hands-on experience. So all the fishing gear, all the electronics, all the pieces of cut cardboard, foam-core board, paper, all the doll clothes, all the colored pencils and drawing pads, well...yeah - they're everywhere and I would sometimes like to throw it all out and turn my house into a museum, but...my kids live there.
• They want to snuggle with you - even at 13 years old. That time is so precious to me. It is sometimes - admittedly - hard for me to stop being selfish and go spend that time with them. And I'll be the first to admit I sometimes tell them, "Not tonight," because, frankly, I'm tired. But they still ask. And I won't always be there to tuck them in, so I should take full advantage of this, right?
• When they're asleep, the sound of their even breathing calms me down.
• When hubby and kiddos are gone, I don't sleep well AT ALL. So it's better when they're there.

Life with kids is busy and messy and crazy and chaotic and there's always stuff to do all the time and stuff everywhere all the time. Do I wish sometimes it were quiet? Just me and my thoughts and maybe the cats or a good book? Absolutely. (Though, me, alone with my thoughts, might not be such a good idea, really.) That doesn't mean I don't want my family around. It just means I'm human and need some Me Time occasionally. But I wouldn't trade my kiddos for the world. 

I know it's going to get more difficult as we really push our way into the teenage years (they're currently 13 and 10) and there will be a time or two that they think they hate me. But I'm OK with that, I guess. I know it will upset me, but I'll deal with it when the time comes. Right now, I'm just reminding myself to be grateful for them, for the mess (even though I hate living in chaos) because it reminds me that my kids are living their lives and are happy.

TTFN
JMS

Wild Things

If you have anyone else living in your home (doesn't matter who) have you ever felt like you're constantly stepping on, stepping over, stepping around or picking up stuff that doesn't belong wherever it is? (Usually on the floor.)

I had a rough night last night. I watched the time on the clock slowly creep toward midnight and was still mentally wired. I had a zillion things zinging around inside my skull so it was impossible to settle. As my brain played pinball, (TILT!) I fussed at things, picked stuff up, looked through a file for something I was trying to find, did laundry, fixed the dishwasher, took the trash out (twice), made sure everything I could recycle was in the recycle bin, scooped the litter box, and generally buzzed around (another analogy) like a fly caught in a Mason jar.

Eventually, I gravitated toward the bedroom realizing that the clock had gone well past midnight and was closing solidly in on 2:30AM. Physically, I was exhausted. Mentally, I was wired. Those two things don't make for restful sleep. Further, both fur kids decided it was time to seek revenge for earlier in the day when I played Alpha Female and captured them to clip nails and apply their monthly flea meds. There was much roaring of terrible roars, gnashing of terrible teeth, rolling of terrible eyes, and showing of terrible claws. (Usually directed at my feet under the covers.) Thanks, Maurice Sendak.

Needless to say, I'm not myself today. I'm tired, my head feels fuzzy, and I can't concentrate very well. Thank goodness for being busy or I'd be taking a nap under my desk. I'm expecting a busy night tonight, as well. Maybe I'll be able to get in bed before 10PM?

Wish me luck!

TTFN
JMS

Go me?

Yesterday was Memorial Day. Please don't misunderstand when I don't really talk about Memorial Day. I'm not dismissing it, or its importance. It's just not what I want to talk about.

I started CrossFit (which I genuinely like) a few weeks ago, and decided to go to the 9AM class. Yes, there was one on Memorial Day.

I already knew my regular trainer would be there, we'd discussed it. I either didn't know, or didn't remember, that they'd be doing "The Murph" workout; way beyond my current skill level. Although, I don't think my gym uses a 20lb vest or body armor for added weight. Either way, I was there at 9AM.

Usually, there are about 8 people in class when I'm there. Yesterday, there were closer to 30!

I already don't like crowds. My anxiety was already high. Too many people + high anxiety = I couldn't handle it, so I left. I ran away like a frightened dog with her tail between her legs. I chickened out. I was so disappointed in myself. I cried all the way home, and on Hubby's shoulder, and alone in my room. It took a while for me to settle down. It was not a full-blown anxiety attack, but it was up there. Add in the disappointment and...well...it wasn't pretty.

I finally channeled some of my energy into cleaning. I completely cleaned the bathroom, did a few loads of laundry, stripped the bed, washed the sheets, the blankets - everything, and completely cleaned the cat box and surrounding area.

I was still in a funk, but somewhat less so.

I'm going back to CrossFit tonight. I don't want to quit. I'm sure my trainer will want to know what happened to me yesterday; why I just disappeared. I'm embarrassed to tell him, but I will. He needs to understand I'm challenging myself in more ways than just fitness.

Go me?

TTFN
JMS

My pants are wet...and other nonsense

There once was a girl from Nantucket...

Okay, Connecticut.  Close enough, right?

***

Besides kids, coffee, and cats, do you know what my favorite thing is?  You don't?  Good, because neither do I.  Probably music.  Or food.  Yeah, food is always good.  But music is food for the soul, and that's equally as important.

***

The parking lot behind the building where I work is not large enough to accommodate everyone who works in the building.  Also, folks who work in other buildings park there, too, because they'd rather do that than park any further away.  What that means is, I have to park quite a ways from the building.  On most days, it's not an issue.  I don't mind walking.  But this morning, not only did I have a bunch of stuff to bring into the building for our annual holiday party, but it was pouring rain.  I was loaded down!  So now, my pants are wet.  My boots are wet.  My socks are wet because my boots apparently leak.  And, as an observation and a public safety message, it is difficult, not to mention un-fun (yes, it is a word), to try to juggle both an umbrella, and a box containing a carefully prepared red berry fruit salad, without fumbling anything.

***

Contrary to belief, I am not a horrible, nagging hag.  I do not live to annoy you.  Not everything which comes out of my mouth is intended to be snippy.  I apologize if my normal voice offends you, but sometimes it's hard to maintain this sweet personality everyone knows and loves.  (Say nothing further and I might allow you to keep your appendages.  "Fezzik, tear his arms off!")  Lots of folks have said how nice I am (which is wonderful and makes my heart soar) and my automatic, and honest, response is, "Well then I guess you don't know me very well!"

***

I've always wondered...

Why can't people shut doors, or turn off lights, or not pee on the toilet seat?

Why didn't God gift me with more musical talent?

Why am I not smarter?  Or, rather, why do things which seem so simple for some people confuse the heck outta me?

Why can't I convince my kids that clean rooms are a good thing?

***

Just some random ramblings on a rainy Tuesday.

TTFN
JMS

Nag, nag, nag...

There's a saying that goes something like this: 'The hardest thing about being on a diet is shutting up about it."

I get that.  No one really wants to hear about what a pain in the butt it is to lose weight or your trials and tribulations toward a healthier (happier?) you.  Really – just eat the silly rabbit food and move on with your day.

Here's my (similar, yet not) saying: "The hardest part about giving your kids chores to do is waiting to see if the chores will get done without you having to nag the crap out of the kids."

The answer?  Nope.  They really won't do it if you don't bug them.

Therefore, please do not tell me to stop nagging because, aside from royally ticking me off, if I don't strongly encourage a thing to be done - with frustrating regularity - nothing (and I do mean nothing) will get done. Ever.

***

I decided it was finally time to start bribing…um…I mean giving my kids an allowance.  But, before you start wondering why I would do that if they're not doing anything, let me explain.

Boy child has a chart and a set of chores to do daily, and he gets a set amount of money (a small amount) per chore, per day.  He has the ability to earn up to $8.00 a week.  Boy child has been making a concerted – and voluntary – effort to get all his chores done before going to bed and seems to be excited about the prospect of earning a little bit of money.

Girl child also has a chart and a set of chores – same rules apply – and she has the ability to earn up to $6.00 a week.  (Different, age-appropriate chores + different kiddos = different allowance earnings.)  I do not anticipate she will earn the entire amount each week because she's not particularly enthused about the whole thing.  She does like the idea of being able to earn a little bit of money, but does not like the idea of having to do anything to get it. I have one word for you: Lazy. 

Bottom line – and they both know this – is that they must do the work or they do not get paid.  Also, mommy and daddy are not allowed to assist – their chores must be done by them.  The chores are not hard, and every single one of them is completely attainable – they just need to “buckle down” (I loathe that phrase, but it fits) and do the work.

So, I guess we’ll just have to see what happens. I'm not holding my breath, though.  Wish me luck, will ya?

(I wonder if a chore chart for hubby would work?  Kinda like a honey-do list, only with regular, daily chores – and he wouldn’t get paid.  No?  Yeah…I thought not.  Was worth a try.)

TTFN

JMS

My Christmas Spirit took a hike...

Recently, I was asked by girl-child what I wanted for Christmas.  It was odd, because I had, just that afternoon, thought of an answer to the very same question.  I think it would behoove me to explain just a bit. 

I was driving home from the World of Wally and I got to thinking - admittedly selfishly - about how I have spent all this time, effort and yes, money, finding gifts fit for each of my family members and then some.  It's not easy and I am not Mrs. Moneybags and I'm tired, by golly!  (My Christmas Spirit had, apparently, taken a hike.)  Then I thought of how no one ever asks me what I want for Christmas.  Then I thought, if someone were to ask me what I want for Christmas, what would I even say?  There's really nothing I need.  Really nothing I want that badly that I would ask someone else to buy it for me as a gift.  So how would I answer?

Here was my inner monologue: Well, I would love to have a tablet.  And, either Adrian the momma cat who is at the Shelter or Promise the beautiful, sleek, black cat who is being fostered.  They both really need a mommy.  But really, I can't think of anything else I'd like to have, other than a clean house.  Hey!  That's it!  I want a clean house for Christmas!  One I didn't have to clean myself!  And, of course, World Peace.  I always want World Peace.  And I want people to stop being mean to each other...

I was satisfied.  Should anyone ask, I had my answer.

Getting back to that question asked to me by girl-child:

Girl-Child: Mom, what do you want for Christmas?

Me: Oh, honey.  That's kind of a complicated question.  I would like a clean house for Christmas.  And someone to set up the Christmas tree.  And I don't want to do it myself.

Girl-Child: Mo-om!  It needs to be something I can give you!

Me: I would love to have a tablet.  And, either Adrian the momma cat who is at the Shelter or Promise the pretty black cat.  And a hug from you!

Girl-Child rolled her eyes at me, gave me a hug, and walked away.  Shortly thereafter I left for a meeting at church.  I was gone for about 2 hours.

When I got home, boy-child met me at the door and said, "Mom!  I need you to close your eyes and trust me."  Uh-oh, I think to myself.  What's going on?  But I close my eyes and he takes my hand, telling me he won't let me run into anything but advising me not to open my eyes.  I trust, give him my hand, and follow - eyes firmly shut.

He leads me to the bathroom and tells me to open my eyes; I can hear the excitement and pride in his voice.  I open my eyes to see a sparkling clean bathroom and boy-child bouncing on the balls of his feet with a HUGE grin on his face.  "You said you wanted a clean house for Christmas, so I cleaned the bathroom for you, mom!"  And I hugged him so tight and whispered an emphatic thank you. 

I was so touched - and proud of my sweet boy - I could hardly talk.  I know it's just a bathroom, but he must have worked his butt off to do that for me in the 2 hours I was gone.  A better gift I could not have asked for, or received.

Not to be outdone, girl-child snags my hand and says, "Mom!  Close your eyes and come with me."  I obey, and she leads me down the hall to her bedroom and says, "Now hold out your hands, like you're going to hold a box," and places a box in my hands and says, "Open your eyes!"  I can hear the excitement in her voice, too.  I open my eyes to see a plain, cardboard box, with a multi-colored yarn bow tied around it.  Girl-child instructs me to open the box, and inside I find a hand-made trophy with TO: The Best Mom In The World written in pencil on the plate.  Undone, I cried. 

I couldn't have better kids.  I'm going to brag about them whenever I can to whomever I can, without apology.  I will follow the rules about bathroom maintenance boy-child so carefully wrote out and posted on the wall.  I will treasure my cardboard trophy and show it off with pride.  And for me, I think Christmas has already come.  I hope yours is as meaningful as mine.

TTFN
JMS

One Mom's Honest Wish List

It bears repeating: Piss poor planning on your part does not constitute an emergency on mine!  (Maybe I just wanted an excuse to use this graphic.)  Yeah, I guess I'm being snarky.  I feel like the last few weeks I've been in emergency-management-mode rather than my usual, and preferred, mode of planning things out (to the best of my ability) ahead of time.  And, quite frankly, I'm tired. 

I guess being a parent (and, sometimes, a wife) automagically means you're in a constant state of crisis.  Mom!  I can't find my...  Mom!  I'm hungry.  Mom!  Can you help me with...  Mom!  I hate these pants!  Honey?  Have you see my...?  This crisis-mode sort of spills over into other aspects of my life (like work) and at this point, I'm kinda over it.  (I've been using that hashtag a lot lately, it seems.  #overit)  Below are a few things which, were they to occur, would, with minimal effort on the part of the others in my home, make my life so much easier.  **Fair warning, this could also be considered a list of Mom/Wife Peeves.  I'm certain I'm not the first person to come up with this list.

MOM'S WISH LIST

1. I don't want to have to uncover the dining table in order to be able to use it.  Your dishes should have been put in the sink after you were done eating.  This isn't difficult, really.  Just a matter of habit which you should be in already.  Breakfast dishes, especially.  Those icky, congealed bowls of leftover milk are disgusting.
2. I do not want to have to empty the dishwasher before I can fill it.  The dishwasher is not storage for clean dishes or a drying rack for wet ones.  Please put the dishes away, in the cabinets, where they belong.  If you can't reach, ask for help.
3. I do not want to empty the washing machine before I can use it.  Clothes which have been washed and have been left to sit - wet -  in the closed confines of the washing machine, have this awful habit of starting to stink (or wrinkle horribly) after a couple of hours.  This is the best reason to move the laundry along in a timely manner.  However, the other reason - the honest one - is that it just ticks me off when I go to use the machine and there is another load in there waiting to be dried.  I wash, you wash, I wash, you wash - we cannot wash at the same time.
4. I do not want to put away the ironing board so I can get to the dryer.  The small room which houses the dryer is not the place to iron your clothes.  Further, it is not the place to leave the ironing board set up.  The excuse that you were waiting for the iron to cool down is a weak one; there are other options.
5. I do not want to step on it.  If you spill it or drop it, pick it up.  Period.  If I find it on the floor, it will become mine - to do with as I please.  Up to, and including, throwing it away.  (This includes change.   If I find your forgotten or discarded nickles and dimes, they will become mine, too.)
6. If you pee in it, spit in it, or bathe in it, don't leave stuff on it.  Meaning, rinse out the sink after you're done brushing your teeth (or shaving your whiskers).  Wipe off the seat if you sprinkle when you tinkle.  Ring around the tub?  Mr. Clean Magic Erasers work wonders.  Just sayin'.
7. If you take it out, put it back.  Or, if you remove it from where it was, put it back where you found it.  This includes laundry which may be hanging up to dry which will not get dry lumped into a pile on the back of a closet door so you can shower.  This also goes for food, toys, games, and other items.

I've gotten to a point where I am just not doing anything because whenever I do something, someone goes right behind me and messes it up again.  I don't expect to live in a perfectly clean home; I have children and am aware that a clean home, at this point in my life, is next to impossible.  I do not want to live in an untouchable museum.  But I do expect the home I pay for (and all the stuff in it) to be treated with respect and taken care of.  Plus, treating my home (and all the stuff in it) like crap kinda feels like you're treating me that way, too.  And no, I'm not projecting your animated feelings onto an inanimate situation.  I know you love me - I love you, too - but I'm tired now, OK?

Please clean your own rooms, clear off your own dishes, wash your own clothes, etc.  Everyone in the house is now old enough to handle these things.  You are not too tired.  You are not too sick.  You are not too busy.  You are too lazy.  I will try to do better, too, because I know I'm not perfect. 

Signed, 

Exasperated Mom

When Life Happens...

I took a day off today (Monday, as I write this).  Not for any reason other than I needed a mental health day.  I think we’re allowed one of those every now and then.  I talked to my boss well in advance and we agreed this was acceptable, I got someone to cover the phones and handle any administrative-type things that might come up, so all my responsible little ducks were in their happy little rows.  I had intended to spend a good portion of the day doing absolutely nothing.  Yes, you heard me: Nothing.  No thing.  Not one thing.  And it was going to be good.  Plus, the story I was making up in my head was the day would include copious amounts of coffee.  So…excellent plan, right?

Then, life happened.

Get kids up and ready for school, showered and completely dressed, hair dry, breakfast in bellies, teeth brushed, backpacks ready, lunches made, planners signed.  (We do this every morning, except most mornings I’m gone by 6:30 so whatever happens after that is a mystery to me.)  And then I got to go with them to drop them off at school, and it was nice for me to be part of the routine my kids are so used to and flow through so well.  (To answer your question: Yes, I did get coffee.   Hubby drove to McDonald’s and went inside – in the rain – to get me a large cup of the black brew that flows through my veins and keeps me alive.  Boy-child didn’t dub it my Life Juice for no reason.)

We went home, and then the frenzy began.  First with the living room – because I couldn’t stand looking at it anymore; then with girl-child’s room – for the same reason.  At some point late morning hubby and I went to see SPECTRE (“Bond, James Bond.”) which was awesome.  It prompted me to go back and start watching all the Bond movies again; more on that later.

Then hubby went to get girl-child (I later went and picked up boy-child because he had a Cross Country party and didn't get done until 4:30) and when she came home, she almost flipped out about her room suddenly being mostly clean, but checked herself before a Full-blown Flip actually occurred and decided to help.  I think she decided to help to make sure nothing else got thrown away, but I’d been kind and hadn’t relieved her of anything she truly loved even though I was sorely tempted.  (Remember that hashtag?  #overit.) 

Anyway, we sorted books, stuffed animals, dolls, clothing…  It occurs to me the kid has more stuffed animals than she does clothes.  Is that a bad thing?  (Maybe if I could get her to wear stuff normal kids wear – like jeans – we would be OK but she’s so sensitive about her clothes and how they fit and the way they feel it’s hard to buy her anything she’ll actually wear.  And sometimes we buy something she loves but when we get it home and try to actually wear it, she decides it won’t work and will never touch it again.  This occurs after we’ve washed it and thrown away all the tags so returning it isn’t possible.  So frustrating.  Ok – I just left the tracks in true Tangent style…)

Boy-child had Scouts, so while he and Hubby were off doing boy-stuff, the girls (that’s us) hung out.  I taught her how to properly make her bed (including hospital corners), and then we played checkers, where she promptly – solidly and legitimately – beat me.  Little stinker.  She wanted to learn how to play chess, and at some point in my life I knew how (Grandma Tennie taught me) but it’s been so long I couldn’t remember.  So off to the good old inter of net and I started teaching girl-child about the pieces; what they’re called and how they move.  Memory served me pretty well, but the internet helped where my memory failed.  We didn’t actually get into a game, because by that time it was late, but we had fun.  She giggled – a lot – when I called the Bishop “The little frowny dude.”  I think that’s what he’ll be ever after in our house.

Anyway – with the cleaning and the normal life stuff and just hanging out with kiddos it was late before I knew it.  I did watch Dr. No (Hubby, who tried to watch it with me, fell asleep) but after that, and typing up this post, it was lights out.  Back to work tomorrow (Tuesday, as I write this).

I like it when life happens.

TTFN
JMS

With apologies...

...headache today.

          One of those awful, make-you-sick headaches.

One of those keep-the-lights-off headaches.

     Where really, you just should have stayed in bed.

With the covers over your head.

              But there is work to be done.

Which, after actual work, could possibly include black, plastic trash bags and the overabundance of things mysteriously (or not-so-mysteriously) disappearing from the kids' rooms.

                                And as much as I dislike hashtags:

#overit

TTFN
JMS

Raw

I suppose I should begin this post with another disclaimer to let you know this is soul-bearing, raw, and completely honest.  It's somewhat cathartic, although I know it really won't fix anything.  And I know this is a side of things some people will say shouldn't be shown to the public, but...

I sat on the floor in the bathroom last night at 11 o’clock and leaned against the bathroom sink and just cried.  Sobbed, really.  I think I need a break.  A real one.  One where I'm not worrying about my kids and if they're okay or what they’re thinking, doing, saying, eating, if they’re warm and comfortable or need me.  One where I’m not worrying about cleaning my house or figuring out what to put into a yard sale or about keeping up appearances or saying the right thing.  One where I can have the squishy floor in the bathroom fixed without breaking a sweat over finances.  One where I don’t have to worry about money or how I’m going to put gas in my car so I can get to work or where I don’t have to scrounge around for something to take for my own lunch so the kids can have a decent lunch at school.  One where I wish I could be truly selfish, just for once.  One where I don't have to worry about getting up if I'd rather sleep until noon.  One where no friends are dying and where people aren't saying or doing hurtful things.  One where if I ask someone to do something they'll do it, with no questions asked and I won't have to repeat myself.  One where when I say something, it will actually be heard and no one will later say, “You never told me that!”

I guess I'm just tired in my body and in my soul.

I wish I didn't have to be ON all the time.  That I didn't have to force myself not to cry at work when my "upset" has nothing to do with work.

I don't think the tears are done yet.

Bear with me.

TTFN

JMS

Not just a house...

I tend to spend quite a bit of time thinking things over before I do anything about them, especially if those things are important.  I like spontaneity, but I’m a better planner.  Having said as much, I explained to my family the other evening about how I have spent several days ruminating on multiple things and arrived at a conclusion: these several things all stem from one, single thing.

Allow me to explain.

I am not a neat freak.  I prefer things to be neat and tidy, and I am a little (ha ha) obsessive about organization, but unfortunately, my house has never, ever reflected these tendencies.   If I was on my own, I would most likely have no problem making sure my living space…well…lived up to my particular standards.  But I am not on my own.  I have a husband and two children.  Let me just say: it's hard to be two adults raising two children in a barely-over-1000-square-foot home with one potty.

Anyone with children understands no matter how old those children are, you always seem to be cleaning up after them in one way or another.  They also tend to go right behind you to wreak havoc on any spot you just cleaned.  It is their way.  Up until now, I've barely kept my head above water when it comes to the state of my house.  Ok, who am I kidding?  My house is a DISASTER AREA!  No, really – it is.  I could make the full-time job excuse, but said excuse would be labeled avoidance. 

Boxes are stacked in the living room due to items we have no place to store, yet, for whatever reason, refuse to get rid of.  We are not hoarders by any stretch of the imagination, but to the innocent bystander it may easily be misinterpreted.  With regard to clothes, we lack storage of the closet kind and of the dresser kind, too.  Granted, we desperately need to go through our clothes (all of us) and reduce, reuse, recycle.  Kids grow.  Clothes simply stop fitting.  Why, please tell me, do we need to keep the ones which no longer fit? You get the picture.

The washing machine complains about every load we feed it and expresses its displeasure by leaking water all over the kitchen floor.  The dryer sneakily vents warm air around the seams at the door and in other places it thinks we don't know about.  The refrigerator is cracked and broken in several places.  Who can afford to replace three major appliances at once, might I ask?  Certainly not I. (Sorry – just needed one small paragraph to whine a little bit.  I’m done now.)

Anyway – last night I read aloud a letter I had written to my family about some desperately needed changes within our family and with our daily routine.  Up until now, we have been inconsistent with our kids about chores they are responsible for.  Those inconsistencies ended last night.  Each kid (adult kids included) now has a clearly-defined list of expectations.  Mommy (that’s me) also made it clear there would be no more excuses allowed.  This sounds harsh, but it was presented in a positive light; the best way I knew how: by writing it out.  Here's just one small portion of the letter, shown to you as an example:

"I am sorry, but I will no longer be OK with complaining or excuses.  This is our family.  This is our home.  We are all responsible.  We are a team.  I would be perfectly happy to get rid of it all and start from scratch, but I don’t think that will be necessary.  I think we can do it!"

We'll see how well this goes over, but I know very well I made an impression on everyone.  I am hoping 2015 can be a year of good, positive changes, and one of those changes will be making our home into a place not just where we sleep, but where we live.

TTFN
JMS

Random Rant *or* Angry At The World

I know when someone is mad at me.  I may not always understand the reasons why, but I have no doubt I messed up somewhere.  I just wish, when I've hurt or offended someone in some way, they’d tell me what I've done.  If I don’t know what I’ve done to hurt you, I can’t make it right.  It bothers me deeply to know I've hurt someone, but not know how or why.  I dislike hurting people, immensely, and I certainly don’t wake up in the morning and think, “Hm…who can I mess with today?”  And please don’t tell me, “You know what you did!” expecting me to know, because half the time I can’t remember my own name and the other half I can’t remember what I had for dinner the night before.  I’m not trying to be flippant, or glib, but I think we’d all be much better off if we communicated with one another; especially when an offense is involved.

Hubby seems to think I worry too much about people being mad at me.  When I ask, “Are you mad at me?” he gets upset and says, “Why do you always think you’re the one I’m upset with?” Mainly because he’s always mad at me for one thing or another (that's marriage, I guess) but also because body language speaks volumes and the silent treatment doesn't usually happen unless there’s an issue.

But here's the current issue that's plaguing me: I don’t understand all this anger I've got within myself right now.  I’m FURIOUS AT EVERYTHING!  I’m trying not to be.  I’m making a concerted effort to speak kindly or at least politely.  Counting to ten when I feel myself on auto-response and leaning toward pissed off.  I’m trying to temper…uh…my temper.  I’m trying to clear my mind of all the nasty things rolling around inside of me, without much luck. 

The other day, I was drinking a nice glass of white wine from a lovely winery in Townsend, TN (Cades Cove Winery).  I don’t remember exactly what else I was doing – cleaning, I think – but I was so angry!  Everything I saw, everything I touched just made me mad.  I was slamming around and snapping at everyone.  My poor family was hiding from me.  Eventually, hubby confiscated my glass of wine (which made me mad) and replaced it with a large mug of freshly-brewed chamomile tea (which confused me, and pleased me all at the same time).  I guess it was bedtime for Bonzo.  

I’m still mad.  I still want to lash out.  I don’t feel like being pleasant and friendly.  I want to rail against the universe and I can’t understand why.  Folks may say it's grief talking, which is a possibility, though I think probably unlikely.  Or the depression which has been setting in for a while now and which I’m fighting tooth and nail.  Which is probably why I’m angry.  But it doesn't matter.

And, since we were just discussing cleaning while angry, I need to say I would very much like to get one of those small bobcat bulldozer thingies and ‘doze everything (EVERYTHING) out of my house and start over.

TTFN
JMS

Including the kitchen sink

There was a great surprise awaiting me in the break room this morning.  A surprise that made this gloomy, rainy day seem bright and shiny. 

Our wonderful and supremely talented janitorial staff (that’s not sarcasm) scrubbed the sink until it shone.  No more coffee stained stainless steel.  No more tidbits of other peoples’ lunches.  No more stomach-turning gunk.  It was a beautiful thing.  I’m not exactly sure why this made me so happy, but it did. 

I suppose a sink (especially a stainless steel one) is just one of those things that should be clean.

TTFN

JMS