Snow Day

You know the hard part about disappearing for months? When you finally reemerge from the abyss you have a million things to talk about, but not a single good starting place. I told myself I would not recap and I won't. I will do my best to fill in the gaps as we go along.

 

"Mama," five and a half year old Alice yelled up to me from the back door. "I'm not having any fun."

"Why not?"

"There are spider webs in my play house and I'm too heavy to slide on the kick board."

It had snowed this morning, but with above freezing temps it has begun melting. Sidewalks have been cleared, leaving the only good snow in our back yard. "Have you made snow angels yet?" I suggested.

"No. That's a good idea," she stated with a hint of a smile on her lips.

Gone for mere seconds I heard the familiar click of the back door knob followed by her happy voice.

"Mama! I am having so much fun! I found the best game ever!"

"What's that?" I asked.

"I'm brushing Marley's tail with ice!"

"Hmm. Really?"

"Yes. And it's so much fun. But I am getting ice in her fur. But she doesn't mind it. I'm so glad I thought of this game!!"

 

I, too, am glad she thought of the game. Does it make me the worst pet owner ever that I didn't demand she stop? Or when, fifteen minutes later, I went on the back porch to check on them and she was still brushing the dog with handfuls of ice packed snow and, still, I did nothing? No. I stand firm. I love my dog and I love my child and if this is how they choose to entertain themselves on our third snow day in a row, so be it. Her wonderful game was allowing me peace and quiet. I mean really, if the dog was truly being hurt she'd bite Alice, right?

Overdue

I'm back.

 

That's all.

Under Construction

Under construction
Under a spell
Under the weather

In a daze
In a haze
Waiting

Waiting on health
On time for the dust to settle
Waiting for the ducks to fall in a row

Any day now the haze will lift

Happily Ever After

Once upon a time, there was a beautiful girl. She lived with her father and her evil stepmother. One day, disappointed in his daughter, the father spoke to her with the harshest of words. He punished her, withheld his love, and forced her to wear a scarlet letter. The dear, sweet child didn't mean to do wrong. She was trying to find her way in a world that hadn't been explained to her.

Feeling immense sorrow and anger towards her father, the girl sought comfort from her best friend. She turned to him for validation, she needed to know she was not what her scarlet letter told the world she was. She turned to him for a shoulder to cry on. She turned to him for love. And, before she knew it, he turned to someone else.

Broken hearted, sad, and confused the girl went on. She held her head high, as though she was not scarred. She continued to seek love, the love her father withheld all those days ago, the love her best friend tossed aside. Try as she might, she couldn't find it. She found lust and excitement, but never love.

And then, one day, the girl trusted her heart to a man not worthy. He took every ounce of her soul and crushed it between his hands. He laughed at her pain...the pain he caused for his own satisfaction. He took everything the girl thought she knew about life and threw it up against the wall. The pieces crumbled to the ground much like the girl.

sigh

Cold and empty the girl trudged on. She was no longer looking for love. Love was gone. In its place was a wall. What the girl wanted now was to feel nothing at all. She sought out opportunities to numb the hurt as it crept in. The opportunities, though all different, were plentiful. They allowed the girl to go on, pretend her soul was still hers, pretend she was fine.

And eventually, the beautiful, broken girl was fine. Sort of. The foundation to her wall stays strong year after year. Occasionally someone manages to knock a brick or two down, never much more. The girl, so broken, finds love and comfort from her wall. She clings to it to keep her safe, to keep the pieces of her heart together. With a wall so high, trust in others isn't necessary. How scary it would be for the girl to bring her wall down, to expose her heart to the potential pain, to place her trust in others when some are not worthy. How can the girl determine who she can trust? She can't. Her father broke her heart. Her best friend broke her heart. And another broke her soul completely. So, the girl lives behind her wall. Every once in awhile she sticks her head out, looks around, begins to trust, grows scared and returns to the safety of her wall.

Witch Bitch

"I have a joke Mama. Wanna hear it?" Alice asked lying next to me in bed.

"Tell it fast, it's time to sleep," I told her.

"Witch bitch. Isn't that funny Mama? Cause witch rhymes with bitch."

I had no idea what to say. The only funny part of the joke was hearing my four year old say bitch.

"You know that buh word you said after witch?"

"Bitch?"

"We don't say that word, Alice."

"Why not?" she asked. With no reason up to this point, we hadn't ventured into curse word territory yet.

"You know how we don't say hate or stupid because they aren't nice words? The b word is like that. It's a mean word," I tried explaining.

"Well then, it's okay because the witch is mean. So witch bitch is fine."

She had a point. I was realizing the concept of curse words is very abstract.

"Alice, that word is so bad it hurts people's feelings when you say it. It makes people very sad if you call them that word."

"What if I had said witch bitch at school? I wouldn't have known it was bad and if I'd asked my teachers they might have thought I was calling them a witch bitch?"

Now I think she was on a mission to say bitch as many times as she could.

"Don't say that word at school, Alice. Not to your teachers or your friends. You don't want to hurt anyone's. feelings."

So that's that. Alice said bitch for the first time. Actually she said it for the first, second, third, fourth...it felt like she was never going to stop. I didn't laugh, I played it cool, but inside I was dying, listening to my innocent little sweet pea chanting bitch like she was....well, me. All in all, I think I passed this parenting moment with flying colors. I mean I'm not a pro, but I'm holding my own here in wonderland.

Summertime and the livin's easy

You guys, you know what today is? Wednesday, right. But not just any Wednesday. Last lunch bunch of the school year Wednesday.

Sob...sob...sob.

The school year is ending. It's happening regardless of what I say or do. I thought I was powerful, turns out I'm not. I do not have the power to stop school from ending. See, here's the thing. I love Alice to pieces, and I love the boys. But, if I'm being completely honest, I'm a tiny bit scared of the summer. Day in day out, Alice and Owen best of friends, worst enemies. I'm not sure who's gonna kill who first, me or them.

Don't misunderstand, I love summer. The long days spent primarily outside soaking in the sun, the freedom to spend the day at the zoo or a museum with no looming school pick up time hindering our fun, and the pool. I do so love spending hours at the pool playing. But I can see it now, to spend the day at the pool I need a certain amount of time to pack all the shit required for a days worth of enjoyment. I can hear the unsupervised screams of, "She hit me," "He kicked me first," "Crosby's wrecking my train," "I'm hungry, I'm thirsty!" Never ending whining and yelling all so I can get us the hell out of the house. Maybe it's not worth it, oh but it is...to stay home is worse. Constantly having to find entertainment to keep everyone happy, otherwise an impromptu game of "beat each other with plastic arrows" might break out.

Yesterday, I spent nap time googling summer schedule, stay at home mom schedule, homeschooling schedule, etc. I'm craving order and it's not even summer, school hasn't even ended. I've downloaded and printed fifty or so schedule cards with pictures of the days activity. Somehow I feel if I glue them to pretty card stock and involve the kids in following our daily schedule I will prevent war from breaking out. Maybe if they have less down time, there will be less opportunities for creative mutiny. Time will tell. I want to have a good summer, an enjoyable summer filled with fantastic memories of adventure and nature, of daily outings and happy togetherness...peace love blah blah blah.

What's your summer secret? Share, I need all the advice I can get!

Creative Differences

In case you were sitting there thinking, "I wonder how dear, sweet, artistic Alice has been lately?"

So now you wanna see her handiwork, don't you? For your viewing pleasure...

When will this destructive, artistic phase end??? Please, someone tell me! I don't know if I can tolerate anymore, she's worse than a puppy! And, on a completely unrelated note, can someone please teach my husband about hashtags?

 

Duck Pond

During my time of avoidance we celebrated my mother's birthday. I was dreading it.

I love my mother more than I ever knew and I hate being reminded how much I miss her. It's this pain that is completely indescribable. It hurts Iike no other pain. It engulfs me in such sadness I'm left sobbing and shaking at everything that should have been and everything that isn't.

Unlike June 9th, April 20th isn't supposed to be a sorrow filled day. By its very definition, a birth day is always a celebration. That's where I struggle. I have an internal battle with my emotions, trying to be happy for the life my mom lived, celebrating her, keeping her day alive for my daughter, all the while I'm drowning in sorrow.

Somehow I managed. I'm quite sure my mom was proud of me. I had my moments, the night before her birthday and the night of, alone in my house drowning in my tears, unable to stop. But, I managed to keep the depressing feelings at bay during her day. My mother was the eternal family motivator/organizer. She kept us together and connected. I try really hard to keep that alive, though I'm often met with resistance from family members, I still try for Alice. This year I made arrangements for my sisters and our families to go to brunch together and visit a duck pond afterwards. In all honesty, it was nice. Alice picked out a balloon to take to the restaurant for her and her cousin, because no birthday celebration is complete without a balloon. It was my way of reminding Alice and my niece why we were gathering together, why this day was so special. The girls had a good time playing together, at brunch and at the duck pond.

Something happened at the duck pond. At the time I didn't think anything of it, only afterwards when I was reviewing the pictures I took did it hit me. When we ran out of bread to feed the ducks, the girls took to playing and climbing on the trees, and of course we started taking pictures. Sitting on the couch, looking at the pictures, it reminded me of being a child. My mom was never without her camera, and I remember this one photo shoot she did of us climbing trees. Now, my mom was far more overbearing, forcing us into bizarre poses and positions, often resulting in grumpy frowns. But that day, taking pictures of Alice and my niece in the tree, I got it. I got why my mom did what she did at that photo shoot. It's just what moms do. We love our babies so much we want to freeze every moment, never to be forgotten. If there was one thing I never doubted growing up, it was my mother's love for me. And I make it my mission every singe day of my life to show Alice how much I love her. I don't want a single day to go by where she doubts it.

My True Love

It's Friday and I'm feeling über grateful to my bestest best friend in the whole wide world. I would like to dedicate today to...Amazon.

Two days ago my tub was clogged. I had been showering in two inches of my own filth, and the filth of every other member of my house. So freakin gross. There really is not much as gross as standing in soap and grime and hair and feeling it all swirl around you as you attempt to bathe. The solution was obvious, drain cleaner. But obvious and easy are not one in the same. Unless I'm intending to buy Alice a toy, I despise taking the kids to Target. It's a meltdown waiting to happen. I spend too much money, it takes too long, there's entirely too much whine (and not nearly enough wine) and in the end I'm exhausted and usually forgot the one item I drove to Target for in the first place. And then, standing in pubes (not my own, I have you know) I had an aha moment.

Amazon.com

I love amazon and buy an outlandish number of items from there every year. Birthday presents, applesauce, mason jars...you name it, I've likely bought it on Amazon. But sometimes it takes me a few days or weeks to remember the magical Mecca Amazon really is. Sometimes I get in my car and drive from store to store looking for a specific item before my moment of enlightenment....Amazon. Why waste gas and precious time when I can buy leather cleaner in my pajamas? Amazon delivers to me for free. FOR FREE PEOPLE. With gas at $3.50 a gallon, do you know how much it costs me to drive the forty minute round trip to target? And I have to get dressed and make children behave like they have a brain. Amazon loves me so much they will bring me my things for free. It's a no-brainer.

But, in case you aren't yet sold on the wonders of Amazon, there are the reviews. Hundreds and thousands of reviews. Why would I blindly buy a shower curtain liner from Target when I can read 503 people's opinion of one specific liner on Amazon? Literally 503 people took the time to post a review about a shower curtain liner. And let me tell you, they were right. So far the liner kind of kicks ass. Honestly, I'm addicted to reviews. I hardly buy a thing without reading a handful first. I want to know what I'm in for. If the thermos leaks after a month or so, I wanna know. No surprises.

I present to you my list of top ten life changing items I've purchased on Amazon. Without Amazon, I would have had to drive to actual brick and mortar stores to purchase these items. Some items I didn't even know I needed. Others I didn't know existed until I started reading reviews. In most cases I paid far less, and in all cases it was easy. One item may have even saved me from killing Hatta.

1. Ceiling fan light bulb
2. Drain cleaner
3. Glass straws
4. iPhone case
5. Nivea hand cream
6. Wireless router
7. Breville juicer
8. French press
9. Bona wood floor cleaner
10. Nivea kiss of smoothness lip care

My love for Amazon is growing by leaps and bounds. In fact, I'm expecting a date with the UPS man later this afternoon. Maybe tomorrow, too.

Balloon String

What can I say about my sweet Ellie girl. She was my true first girl.

She was one itty bitty kitten in a litter of five, born in the high temperatures of August. Ellie was a barn kitty. Her feral mother, young and inexperienced, kept her kittens tucked between bales of hay in the barn loft, away from human contact. Little did she know, her poor babies couldn't handle the heat or the fleas. On several occasions I moved the litter away from the tightly stacked bails of hay to a location in the loft where the air could flow, hoping Mama would adjust to the new location. No such luck, she always carried them back. Slowly but surely the kittens were dying, and left hopeless to nature I could merely watch. One by one, three kittens died, and I could no longer sit back and allow nature to run its course. I pleaded with my father to allow me to rescue the last two kittens from imminent death. On our farm cats were meant to stay outside, but I made my case anyway. I begged him to allow me to keep the kittens in my room. I reasoned, it would only be a month and then I would take them with me when I moved out. I left him little choice.

I became the proud new owner of two feral kittens, Ellie and Moo. Not at all appreciative, they wanted nothing to do with me. They lived under my bed, in the very center where my arms could not reach. As they grew, still very fearful of humans, they woud occasionally dart after my feet as I walked past the bed or as I dangled my legs over the edge. That was all the contact they wanted.

As time past, they came to accept me as their own. They grew to love me. One more than the other. There was just something about Ellie I was drawn to. I'm quite positive if she had been a person, we would have been great friends. The kind of friend you can share anything with and know you won't be judged. We would have drank tequila together. But instead, she was a cat. She had this aloof quality I always admired, as opposed to her brother who is and always has been so in your face needy. Ellie was best friends with my childhood dog, a black lab. They spent many hours of life together curled up on the dog bed, cleaning each other. It was the type of friendship cheesy Hollywood movies with talking animals are made of. They followed each other around the apartment and genuinely played together.

I sit here and think about the life Ellie lived, she was dealt a rough hand but you never would have known it. She was tough. She lived through a lot with me. In my current life, those two kittens were here before anything else. Before I was a wife or a mom or a homeowner. They were there before college, before responsibilities, when life was so simple. Together, Ellie and Moo began this journey of adulthood with me. We grew together. They were crazy kittens, destroying my apartment, while I was partying without a care in the world. Their wildness settled down right in line with my own. And now the duo has been split up.

Ellie had a fondness for balloon string and anything in that same family of string. I think fondness is an understatement, addiction is more accurate. She was hooked, she could sense its presence, she could smell it. She ate so much balloon string I was convinced it would be the death of her. Obviously I was wrong. Like most kids, Alice loves balloons. The placement of balloons was a constant concern in our house. The weighted string couldn't be on the coffee table or a side table, oh no, they had to be way up high. More occasions than I can recall we'd awake in the morning to a balloon floating on the ceiling with only a few inches of string attached. One day she discovered Alice's bike streamers and went to town. After that the bike was added to our list of things not to be left in Ellie's reach. This past Saturday we arrived home from brunch, Alice carrying a balloon in honor of my mother's birthday. And that sad moment occurred...I will never have to worry about balloons and their strings again. Ellie is missed dearly by every member of my house. But on the bright side, if there is one, my mom gained one more pet in heaven.

The Oath

I haven't been writing. More accurately I've been avoiding writing. Even more honest, I've been avoiding processing and dealing with difficult events in my life. If I don't write about them, I am only forced to address them as much as life requires. If I don't write, I don't have to swim in my feelings. I can just go on.

The problem with this logic, I can't seem to go on. I can't just skip over them and write as if they didn't occur. To do so feels as if I'm lying.

Do you solemnly swear that you will tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you God?

I will tell the whole truth. On the 8th, I had to take Ellie to the vet to be euthanized. My mother's birthday was this past Saturday. I haven't had the words or the energy to write about either. But both deserve a proper post. I will give them this much. I will tell their story in their own separate posts. I do solemnly swear.

Juicing

I'm juicing. Not like Lance Armstrong or anything. Fruits and Vegetables. Today is day three of nothing but juice, herbal tea, and water. And I freakin want a triscuit so bad I can taste it. Ooh, I wish I could taste it. Last night I asked Hattta if he thought if would be cheating if I just licked the cracker. Mmm, salt. I also want black olives. Every damn time I open the fridge I see them, so pretty in the jar. I wanna drizzle olive oil on 'em and sprinkle with oregano. The weather has been beautiful lately, yesterday nearly 90 degrees, today should definitely reach it. I love sitting on the back deck with a homemade margarita, maybe muddle some cucumber in it. I want to walk down to the Avenue and sit outside any of the restaurants and drink and eat and celebrate spring's arrival. But I can't.

I've committed myself to this and I'm seeing it through. I have a tendency to start strong and never finish. The bag of yarn and knitting needles staring at me on the hutch is proof. I took a knitting class last summer, learned how and never knitted a thing. I had grand plans to knit Alice a doll hat and a matching hat for her, I don't even know if I'm on the second row. I will finish this. Before I started, I decided I would do a seven day juice fast. Then I upped it to ten days, and now that I'm in it full swing, I'm saying I can't stop until five days. After five days I will assess the situation and make a decision. Five days of nothing but juice will make me proud of myself.

I've been told by the countless success stories I've read, day three is the sweet spot. Some have used words like euphoria, clear headed, and even high as a kite. Fingers crossed on that one. Right now, I feel nothing other than a headache. Caffeine withdrawal is a bitch, and I had gradually weened myself down before I started the fast. I'm just waiting, any moment I'm going to feel amaaazing I just know it. I'm going to wake before Alice, feeling rested with a sparkle in my eyes. I'll have a new spring in my step, a new thirst for life. I dunno. Maybe I have to do the thirty day fast for that one.

At the present moment, I'm drinking a glass of one pear, one beet, two inches of ginger, and a quarter of a pineapple. To be honest, it's not my favorite juice so far, but it's better than the V28 recipe I made yesterday, that juice sucked. Do you guys eat beets? I never had prior to this, and I guess technically I'm still not eating them. Anyway. Beets make bathroom time rather interesting. Give it a try if you haven't. Thanks to the fast I'm familiarizing myself with the entire produce section of the market. I'm buying things I never knew existed. And even if I never enter the euphoric state, that in and of itself is a huge benefit.

When the fast is over, I intend to continue juicing. I will incorporate juice into my life while eating fruits, vegetables, and nuts and smaller portions of meat and dairy. I will eat healthier. I will still indulge in unhealthy eating every now and then, life is meant to be lived well after all. But, a diet of junk is not a life well lived.

Rubbermaid Containers

Can I share with you my most hated aspect of parenting? The clothes. The endless buying and washing and outgrowing and changing seasons, over and over again and again. I despise the entire process.

For starters, I am the only one in charge of the clothes. I guess the day Alice was conceived, Hatta and I signed an invisible contract stating that I would oversee all things clothing. I would be in charge of ensuring our baby had warm clothing in the winter and bathing suits in the summer...every single year for the rest of her childhood. Easter dresses and Christmas tights, all on me, and do be sure you buy during a sale. I suppose I should just shut up and be thankful that we can afford to buy Alice clothing, first world problem I know. Still, it's exhausting.

Please, someone, explain to me why I'm the only one to notice when her pants become capris? Which presents another aspect of this problem, what to do with the outgrown clothing. Not only is it my responsibility to purchase new size 5 leggings in the middle of the season (hmm, does Hatta even know what size Alice wears?) I have to sort and box up the size 4 leggings that are no longer an acceptable length. Every season it's a juggling act to comb through boxes of hand-me-downs, pull out the appropriate clothing for the season and box up everything else. This all translates to piles of outgrown clothing stacked up in various places as the season starts winding down. And please repeat this process every single freakin season for years and years and years.

Four times a year, it's the same, survey the clothing, force Alice to try on clothing, sort through hand-me-downs, force Alice to try on more clothing, wash everything, buy new clothing to fill the gaps in the wardrobe, wash more clothing, remove old clothing from drawers, stack around the room, wonder where in the hell you are going to stack yet another large Rubbermaid container in the basement, cry tears into your tequila, repeat over and over again.

I do apologize for this rant, I suppose I'm just a touch bitter after four and a half years of the same and with another season change barreling down upon me I'm feeling the blood boiling inside at the upcoming task. My mind is already in spring clothing mode, with preparations for summer being made when sales arise. The only comfort is knowing I'm not alone. All of my girlfriends with children are also solely responsible for the children's clothing too. Maybe I should coordinate a strike, instead.

Not Fat or Sick or Nearly Dead

I'm about to disclose something that may change your perception of me forever. A week ago I bought a juicer. Please, please don't run away. It's still me. I love you, you love me...remember? I was desperate.

Remember the weight gain and the endless eating of Doritos? I needed to fix the problem drastically. I tried the normal approach, the calorie counting. For two weeks I kept track of my calories and nearly every evening I would bust my daily allowance. I was failing and there's no better way to reward myself than with more Doritos. And beer. Good beer. Relying on my good judgement wasn't working. Maybe I don't have good judgement? Maybe that's the root of the problem.

I needed drastic changes. If I couldn't be trusted to eat good food, maybe I could drink good food...and for the first time I'm not talking beer, wine, or vodka. Enter Fat, Sick, and Nearly Dead. Now, I know I'm neither fat, sick, nor nearly dead...at least I hope not. Though I suppose I could find myself nearly dead in a car accident this afternoon or from the sting of a colony of bees on my next trip to the park, but that's neither here nor there. At the present I am not nearly dead. I would like to be healthier. I would like to crave fruits and vegetables instead of juicy cheesteaks and ramen noodles. So, with the encouragement of a close friend I have been juicing for a week now. And it's been good.

For a week I have not eaten breakfast or lunch, I have drank it. I'm buying produce I have never touched before, like Swiss chard. I was the freak at the zoo picnic table drinking green juice for lunch while everyone else ate like normal human beings. Surprisingly, I like the green juice. I think it actually tastes good. I've also been making juice for Hatta to take to work, at his request. A co-worker said it best when she compared his lunch to pond water.

Brace yourself for the best part...next week I'm starting a ten day juice fast. Ten days with no food to chew, no coffee to drink and no alcohol to celebrate with at the end of a stressful day. Ten whole days of juice, water, and herbal tea. Stay tuned to hear how happy I am, how much energy I have, and about all the pounds I've shed. But even more important stay tuned to days 1-3 when I'm irritable and hurting while detoxing from my coffee addiction, when I rip some unsuspecting person's face off for daring to speak when I'm starving and bitter for agreeing to fast. It ought to be a good time had by all. I imagine by the end of day ten, I'll be willing to lick the goldfish crumbs off Alice's face, shit I imagine I'll lick them off the floor.

Eating Bon Bons

I can't write today. I mean, I get this is technically writing, but it's not a solid story. It's my excuse. I am typing letters to form words to explain away why I can't write something compelling today.

I am addicted to The Young and the Restless.

There, it's out for the world to judge me based on my daytime tv guilty pleasure. I have been watching Y&R for as long as I can remember. I recall at daycare listening to the show when I was supposed to be napping. I learned all I need to know about life from the Newman's and Abbott's. I remember when Nicholas was just a baby and Victoria was sent away to boarding school, Christine was Cricket and Don Diamont was Brad Carlton not "Dollar Bill" Spencer.

But the thing is, I suppose I am not a true addict. Sadly, I function on a regular basis without my Y&R fix. I do not have TiVo or DVR or some other technological advancement in tv recording. So, if I'm not home with kids already napping between the hours of 12:30-1:30 I'm screwed. Occasionally I catch the last fifteen minutes, but most of the time I'm left with the shakes because I don't know if Adam is out of the comma yet. To combat the twitchiness I seek out episodes online. I will not admit how many hours of my life I have wasted searching YouTube for Young and the Restless videos. For awhile, it was easy. I could go to my usual YouTube subscription and watch grainy full length episodes. Then Sony started effing with us. From the chatter, I gathered they didn't want users posting their content on YouTube for addicts like myself to watch for free. Son of a bitch, they made me getting my dose ridiculously hard. I had to search and search and follow users because they followed an account that posted an episode yesterday which Sony removed within an hour all in hopes of being led to the next dealer, I mean poster. Then, I started settling for clips of episodes, just enough of a high to get me by. I suppose the day I watched clips of six year old episodes was the day I staged an intervention for myself. It had gone too far and I knew it. Without cable or DVR or a working PC, I was not going to be able to watch my soap opera. I quit cold turkey and never looked back. Until I heard the promotion on CBS for a brand new IPad App.

Now I can watch day old episodes anytime I want. Any. Time. I. Want. Which brings me back to my point. I can't write today because I have to watch Young and the Restless. I am many months behind and I must catch up. I'm like an addict who just moved in with their dealer. I'll resurface in a few days, don't worry.

The Other Ones

Up until this moment, there has been an aspect of my life with Alice I have intentionally left out. This little space in the sky was meant to be my reflections on Alice and the life we live together. In doing so, I have left out two little boys, we will call them Owen and Crosby. Owen is three and Crosby, just a baby, at nine months. They are our best friend's children. When Owen was an itty bitty baby, they couldn't get him into daycare for a few months. And being the person I am, unable to say no when they asked, I agreed to watch Owen until he was old enough for daycare. Fast forward a few years, add another baby, and that's my story. I am part time Mama to two very sweet and crazy boys and I love them dearly. They are basically an extension of our family and Alice loves them to pieces. She refers to herself as a big sister and in every way that matters she is. And she's amazing.

"So, why today to tell us this fact?" you ask. "Why tell us at all? And why didn't you tell us from the start?" you wonder.

Certainly not to deceive you. My thought was this, Alice sacrifices a lot in her daily life so Owen and Crosby can be in it. She has to share everything, her toys, her Mama, and our time together. This little space in the sky was going to be the one place free of the boys. Our space based just around our little family. But I feel it would be remiss of me to not share this side of Alice. If one day I never complete the baby books, Alice will always have these stories. I want her to know what a kind big sister she was.

Her relationship with Owen is entirely love hate sibling rivalry. They play hard and they fight just as hard. One second it's peaceful dollhouse play, the next someone's screaming and hitting the other. All day, every day. They are each others best friends and worst enemies all in one.

The dynamics between her and baby Crosby are what has prompted me to write this post. They are so sweet together. Alice has all the patience in the world for Crosby. And he absolutely adores her. He lights up when she enters the room. Alice makes it her place to be the little mama for Crosby. She wants to feed him and supervise his play. She's worked very hard to learn how to safely pick him up and she practices it every chance she gets. She loves being big sister to Crosby and most of the time she is truly very helpful. I love seeing her softer side come out when she interacts with the baby. And in those moments I am so very proud of my baby.

March Mad-ness

Every year it's the same. Every year, it's only March Madness. I'm so very sick of it.

Let me back up a bit. When we were much more kids than adults, my dear husband and his boys started a tradition. A very bad tradition, in my opinion. They decided, being the avid sport's fans they were, to go out to the bar full time for the NCAA basketball tournament. They'd take a few days off work from their entry level jobs and party all day and night, like the kids they were. Fast forward to now when they are much more adults than kids and the tradition is still going strong. March Madness makes me a single mom.

Now, I'm the first to agree, husbands and wives need time apart. We need our space. We need our own hobbies and interests. We need friends other than each other. I really do agree with all this. But...March Madness and everything it brings makes my blood boil. Year after year, this tradition has become too big. I heard talk from one of the wives of a birth being missed if the baby should happen to come during March Madness. Last year a wife had to rearrange her annual girls weekend gateway because it was accidentally planned during the tournament. I will have two extra house guests until Saturday. Which means I will have three drunk boys coming home several nights in a row waking me and Alice up. Seriously friends, don't get the wrong impression, I like a good party just as much as the next guy. When this tradition was started, us girlfriends took part. We all had little responsibility and it was a great excuse to let loose. Fast forward ten years, we all have huge responsibilities and don't have the luxury to party like we used to. And yet, the boys still do. Maybe they do a few less shots than they use to, but they still demand the March Madness freedom from work and home.

Last year I was fortunate enough to get away for a night of it. My sister had Alice for a sleepover and I got out of town and stayed with a friend. This year I am not so fortunate. With Ellie's well being depending upon me, I can not leave. I'm forced to witness the men become boys. I think I should start planning now for next year. I'm going on a trip. Somewhere great, a spa retreat!

Pretty Pretty Princess

It's finally happened. I've given in. You can't see it because, well you're there and I'm here, but I'm waving the white flag. I bought Alice this booster seat. Did you click? No? Well, I'll wait, go look. That's right. Pretty, pretty princess, shoot me in the eye, hot pink. I agreed to strap that thing in my sleek, sophisticated vehicle.

I'm waving the flag in acceptance of who my daughter truly is...a makeup wearing, pink lovely, purse toting girly girl princess. That's Alice. As hard as I tried to convince her she loved trains as much as dolls, the pirate costume as much as Rapunzel's dress, and Darth Maul as much as Flynn Ryder...wait, that one may be true, but not so on all the rest. She will play trains and cars, but Barbies and dollhouse will always be her first choice.

Let the record show, I'm not against pink and plastic Cinderella high heels, it's just all so foreign to me. I am not a girly girl. I grew up on a horse farm wearing muck boots and ponytails. I spent my days outside in the barn. I shoveled horse shit. Alice is afraid of flys. She wouldn't have made it. In middle school I begged my father to paint my room black, and when he wouldn't I had to settle for black bedding instead. You couldn't have paid me to wear pink. In high school the extent of my morning primping was brushing my teeth. The first time I purchased makeup was when I was 26 years old. Seriously. Up until then, if I wore makeup at all, I used the free Clinique samples my sisters would pass along to me. As you can see, I'm at a disadvantage raising Alice.

Parenting is a juggling act, try to balance the world for your child. I try to show Alice that there is more to life than just princesses. I don't want her to grow up thinking beauty is only on the outside and her worth comes from her physical appearance. I want her to know she's beautiful with or without the pink frilly dress, with or without lip gloss, and my favorite part of her body will always be her round tummy. I let her see girls can do anything boys can. She sees me with a screwdriver in my hand far more than her father. And I'm proud to say I'm learning from her. She's taught me that it's fun to be a little fancy and that a dash of pink here and there is A-okay. She enjoys watching me get dressed up to go out for a girls night or a date. She's making me appreciate shoes, pretty shoes. So, if this is who Alice is, I'm on board. I will support her and her girlyness as long as she ventures to the dirty tomboy side every now and again, she can even do it wearing five necklaces, two rings, high heels and a tutu if she wants.

Not So Truthful Tuesday

I had all intentions today to tell the story of my one secret I carry around every where I go. It's with me when I wake in the morning and right by my side when my head hits the pillow every night. My one truth that only the closest to me know. The one thing I don't speak of, because it's just that painful. The truth that haunts me and my future.

But I can't.

I suppose I don't have the courage, yet, to put it out there for the world to read. To be that vulnerable. If I put it in print it will be too real. I hope to be brave enough soon, for I do think it will be helpful. There's something therapeutic about seeing it in letters.

Defining Moments

There are certain moments in life, after them things are changed. Defining moments, I suppose. The thing that makes these moments unique is the way you feel after them, stunned and stupefied. I can only describe it is an out of body experience where you are in utter disbelief, for one moment you forget what has happened and then like an anvil it comes crashing down on you with a weight like no other, never to be forgotten again.

I think back to high school, I remember this feeling vividly the day I got caught with alcohol at my grandparents house having a pseudo party. Try as hard as I might, I could never go back to the day before. Things had changed permanently because of one little moment in time. And in that moment I was stressed and frazzled, clueless as to how to proceed with the recent discovery.

There's one specific second, literally a second, that changed everything concerning my mom and her illness. In that defining moment I could never go back to the other side. I had learned too much, and in my head my brain was stuck repeating "Oh my God." A day spent in shock.

And again the day I found out I was pregnant with Alice. Not all life changing moments are bad, there are just as many good ones. They still have the same affect on a person. Alice was planned, we tried for months to conceive. Yet, the moment the test showed a positive, I lost all breath. It could not be undone. And that is earth shattering. The idea that the world would never again be the same sent me into a frenzy of thought that stayed with me until my head hit the pillow that night.

The thing about these moments is you go on. You can not live in a state of shock forever. The next day you wake up. And the recent change infiltrates itself into your life. The mind blowingness of it all gradually lessens. Day after day you shower and eat lunch and feed the dog, all the while it becomes just another part of life again.

A few days ago, I woke with much hope for Ellie girl. She was scheduled for a simple surgery that should have made life better for quite awhile. I spent the day thinking of Ellie, eager to hear good news from the doctor, instead I was told the previous days diagnosis was in fact wrong. Instead of a simple, removable polyp in her ear, I was told it was a very large inoperable cancerous tumor. She had weeks left at best. Words were said about quality of life and having to make a decision in the near future. I was in disbelief. How could it be possible? I dropped her off at the vets that morning happy. And now my poor Ellie cat is home no better than before. The tumor, in the side of her head, is making eating extremely difficult. At this point, her breathing is barely affected, but we've been told that will change. So, for as many days as she wants I will syringe feed her five times a day. Every day I will watch her a little different than before. Every day I will watch to see if it's time.