Sugar and Spice and Everything Nice

When I was 14, my next door neighbor had a baby while her husband was on an aircraft carrier, somewhere in the middle of the ocean.  I helped her every day after school, and throughout the weekend when I was home, with feeding, bathing, and changing Sam's diapers, while Lori could get some rest.  I loved every single minute I spent with that little guy, and I knew then that I wanted to be a mother someday.

I've never been too much of a girly girl.  Fashion and makeup weren't all that important to me until I was a full fledged adult.  Aside from my 2 years of cheerleading in high school, I didn't run (still don't!) with a gaggle of girls.  So when I thought of having kids, I thought I preferred to have boys.  I figured they'd be much easier to raise.  Totally sexist, I know.  But I wouldn't have to deal with girl tween-hood!  Periods, body issues, cattiness from other little girls... Ugh.

My firstborn is a boy.  I somehow knew it when I found out I was pregnant and I was ecstatic.  I rejoiced with a fist pump (I was in New Jersey after all) when I had the ultrasound confirming it.  I loved (love!) everything about having a little boy.  When TheBoy was about 18 months old, I decided I wanted another baby.  I don't know that it was wishful thinking, I just assumed that I'd have another boy.  When I found out I was pregnant a second time, I couldn't read my body like I did the first time. But when I was sitting in the waiting room for my 20 week ultrasound, I got this very distinct feeling that I was going to see a girl on the monitor.  And clear as day, there she was.  It was a very peaceful, satisfying moment.  

My daughter is 5 years old today, and I am so very proud of the loving, curious, intelligent, little person she is growing into.  Sometimes when I catch a glimpse of her playing, or hear her talking with a friend or her brother, I stop.  Because for now, I don't have to worry about puberty, drama or some boy breaking her heart.  I just soak up all these innocent, and joyful moments of her as I can.

Happy Birthday my sweet girl.

Thankful Thursday

I have so many things to be thankful for these days.  Some a big deal, like my daughter about to start kindergarten, already reading at a level beyond her age.  My son slowly overcoming all the crap happening at school. I have my very own Prince Charming.  But there are a lot of little things too - it's spring in San Diego, which, c'mon, enough said right?  Work has slowed down enough to keep me interested but not too slow that I'm twiddling my thumbs or looking for something to do.  Venti soy chai, dirty.  A Spotify premium account.  

But today I'm thankful for what all those big and little things add up to be - a content existence in this life.  This life that could very well be gone at no moments notice. The last few days, weeks, and months it seems, have been filled with violence and tragedy.  The bombings at the Boston Marathon that took the life of a young boy who'd just congratulated his father for crossing the finish line, two others, and seriously injured over a hundred people.  North Korea threatening nuclear missile attacks.  Natural disasters across the US.  The exhaustible list goes on and on.  

And yet, here I sit, happy. Thankful.  Grateful to be alive.

I was in a car accident recently on my way to work.  After dropping off TheGirl and leaving TheBoy's school from parent-teacher conference, I sat at a stop light at an intersection on my normal route to work.  

"Hold on to me as we go.  As we roll down this unfamiliar road.  And although this waaaaave is stringing us along..."

"I love this song," I thought, as I turned up the volume.

I was thrown forward, then back, hitting the back of my head against the head rest.  I sat there stunned.  WHAT just happened?  I looked around in a daze, everything in slow motion and a little blurry.  As I took inventory of my body, patting myself here and there, touching my face and head, fearful there would be blood, I heard the sound of something very heavy dragging across the road.  I looked to up to see a very large SUV with a flat tire, dragging it's front bumper along.  It came to a stop but no one got out.  Then it finally dawned on me, "I just got hit", and it was no fender bender.  

The other driver got out of her car, walked to the back of her Lincoln Navigator, and opened her trunk.  After rummaging around she pulled out a stadium seat pad, and very calmly set it on the curb and sat down.  That was the least of her bizarre behavior.  From that moment, to the sheriff's arrival, through the exchanging of information, the sobriety test she underwent, and the towing of our cars while I headed to the ER, this woman was void.

It's been a few weeks since that day.  I started physical therapy for the pain in my neck and shoulder, and to hopefully relieve the pressure on my spinal chord from the two herniated discs resulting from the accident.  My car is all but totaled, but fixable.

There are so many "could haves".  TheKids could have been in the car.  She could have been going faster. I could have been thrown further into the intersection, where I could have been hit by another car coming from another direction.  It could have been so much worse... I could have died.

Thankfully none of that happened.  Yes, I was hurt and my car was thrashed.  I've lost time from work from not being able to function that first week after the accident, and numerous doctor's appointments.

But I'm alive, and so very thankful that I'm here to enjoy all things large and small.

Besides this being a "what I'm thankful on this Thursday for" post, it's also a plea to anyone who might read this that needs to hear it:

PLEASE do not drive when you are not fit to, 

whether it be from alcohol, prescription medication, or lack of sleep. 

 

Shameless, and Proud of It, Plug

Over the years, I somehow lose my mojo and close whatever blog I'm writing at the time.  I swore to myself I wouldn't let this one fall by the wayside... and here I am posting for the first time in a couple months.  I'm not going to beat myself up over it though, I'm legitimately busy between work, Momming, and spending much (ok all) of my time, when the kids are with their father, with TheMan in my life.  I've also had a few extra blips on the monitor as of late, so I'm extra distracted.

I do try and keep updated with the blogs I follow, and today read the post of one of my favorite ladies that resonated.  

I am inspired on a frequent basis.  By my surroundings, by friends and family, and hell, when it's not kicking my ass - by my 8:30 to 5.  So, here it is.  My renewed promise to myself to keep this thing alive, not for anything or anyone, but for me.

The part that struck me about addeyB's post is just that. This thing is for me.  But I do, deep down, hope that someone can feel the joys, ride the ups and downs, and nod their head along with me. 

Enter the plugs.  I joined BlogHer a couple years ago, just to find some new blogs of women that I thought might inspire me.  That I would feel THEIR joys, THEIR ups and downs, and nod MY head at their words.  And I have.  Oh have I.  I never thought to enter the Voice of The Year contest, because honestly, I thought it was for the Big Girls.  The ones who spend a great deal of their time on their blogs, some making a living out of it.  But today?  I said, fuck it, why not?

Not that I'm saying "VOTE FOR ME!!!!", but if you are so inclined, you can find my entries here and here.

Divorce and Kids

Kind of sad that my last post was a happy birthday to my sweet little boy, and the next post is about how worried I am about him.

TheBoy is an intense kid.  Always has been.  I knew when his dad and I split that he was going to take it the hardest.  

We've tried to make the whole process as smooth and consistent as possible.  We never fought to begin with, so we've been cordial from the get go.  We're on a solid schedule - Friday to Friday with a day during the week, usually Tuesday, where the other parent comes over for a visit.  Once a month we do a one on one day to give each kid undivided attention from one parent.  TheKids seem to be used to the schedule.  We tried an arrangement similar to typical court orders - 3/2/2 - and it was a complete nightmare.  No one knew whether they were coming or going.  There were meltdowns galore (including me... wine and Klonopin say what?) so we went back to our week on/week off.

Both kids have expressed their sadness, mostly by saying "why can't we live together anymore?", to which we've given the same answers as each other,

"Sometimes mommies and daddies don't want to be married anymore, so they live in two places.  But we both love you and will always be your mommy and daddy, that will never change".  

I don't think TheBoy is believing it though.

He's been in trouble at school more times than I can believe in the past few weeks.  As intense as he's always been, he's never been mean or angry.  He gets into trouble by purposely not listening or following basic classroom/school rules, and getting somewhat physical with his friends - tripping and pushing.  All of it is funny to him.  He brings little things to school like Lego figures and Angry Bird toys and "trades" or "borrows" with other kids.  Except it's mostly him taking and not giving, and apparently demanding they bring him something or he won't be their friend.  This was deemed bullying by his teacher, which makes me sick inside.  My kid, a bully? 

He has a few other boys he runs with, and they all egg each other on to do and say dumb things.  I've seen it first hand at play dates and events at the school.  But TheBoy seems to be the one who takes it too far - peer pressure is a mofo.  Both his father and I have had discussions with him on appropriate behavior, but I'll be the first to admit he's had little real discipline.  Honestly, at least on my part, I'm afraid of being too hard on him because of how sensitive he is right now.  Any of the age appropriate discipline I've handed out make me feel like a total bad guy.  I know it's important to teach him consequences though, so I have to push that feeling aside and stick to my guns. 

This week while he was with his dad, he was sent home with a report from his teacher that he was flinging pencil erasers in class, lying and being generally disruptive.  His dad and I both talked to him about it when he brought them to my house last night for my week.  

This morning TheBoy asked me if we were going shopping for this toy he's been wanting for a little while.  I told him he needed to show me he could behave in school before I bought him anything... and then he lost it.

He cried so hard he was practically choking.  I got him to sit in my lap on the floor and let him cry for a few minutes.  When he started to calm down the words just came tumbling out,

"I can't control myself.  I try, I really do.  I'm so lonely.  I wish you could come to school with me, I miss you every day.  That's why I bring toys all the time because they're from home and I just want to be home with you instead of school."

I knew all of the nonsense at school was a cry for attention.  I thought we were doing a good job, talking with him as issues arose.  But I guess it's been more reactive than proactive.  I need to talk with his teachers, and probably the principal, since he's become a regular in her office.  And I need to help him feel more secure.  WE need to make that effort.  Funny how my communication with his dad has gotten better than it ever was when we were married. I may have had part in fucking up my marriage, but I'll be damned if I mess up my kids too.

Any resources you might have on how to handle these types of situations, or what to say to teachers for their help, and your kids to help them, would be greatly appreciated.  Thanks to those of my Twitter friends who've already reached out!

7 Year Old Love

My sweet baby boy

Growing into a sweet hearted child.

Happy 7th Birthday BooBoo.

Music Wednesday - Christmas Edition

Love this movie.  Love this song. 

Happy Holidays!

Thankful Thursday

Today I'm thankful for the power of prayer.

At one point in the not so distant past, I had this to say about religion.  At that time, I was going through a lot - the early stages of my separation, getting ready to move across country, and just general rough emotions.  I relied on myself, my BFF, (and a little medication, not gonna lie) to survive on the daily.

Fast forward to a little over a year later, and here I am.  Happy as the cliche bug in a rug.  Or a bedbug in a mattress. Whatever.  I'm freaking stoked on my life.  My kids are settled into school and their routine of alternating weeks between their dad and me.  I am perfectly happy with my dual mom/single woman lifestyle*.

*I met someone, and he's amazing. Shhhhhh

But the thing I get the most joy out of outside of my family life, is being home, back in San Diego.  I can't even begin to describe the heart bursting love I have for my city... The undercurrent of positive energy, my safe coastal suburbia, and the gorgeousness of the entire coast - which I have the fortune of spending a lot of time at or near during some point every day.  Believer in God or not, the sheer beauty of nature around here is something to appreciate.

So here's the thing about prayer and how it relates to me and my thankfulness.  But first, of course, there is back story.

I have some friends and family who are devoutly faithful Christians.  It's not that I never believed in God, but more that I, just like my 4 year old, could do everything "all ba ma self".  I attended the Catholic church as a kid.  I went to youth groups in high school.  But it never really registered what the purpose was.  As a kid it was tradition to dress nice, go to a church, stand, sit, kneel, murmur some words, stand some more, etc.  Youth group was a fun way to hang with kids from other schools without getting in trouble, singing fun songs and going camping.

Shortly after I moved home my mom asked me to come with her to church.  I'd heard about churches like this one before - modern, casual, live bands playing, really no formality. Sure, why not.  We went one Sunday and when I walked through the doors of the auditorium, I knew it was different.  It was one of the most diverse looking group at a church I'd ever seen.  The music rocked.  And then there was Miles. Between his life experiences, humor and charisma, and knowledge of the Bible, the man could sell ice cubes to the devil.  That service was the end of a series called "Wired For Love."  And it spoke to me.  From that day on, I gave it all up to the man upstairs.

All of my struggles and heart ache.  Gave it up.

Anxiety about my future.  Gave it up.

I started praying.  Not to make all my problems go away.  Not to ask to win the lottery so I could get out of debt.  I started praying, and still do for patience. For a clear head and heart when making decisions.  For my friends and strangers who I know are struggling.

Since that day, the stuff in my path that was tripping me up has almost all but cleared.  Yes, I still have a LOT of things to deal with that are not easy in the way of emotions or finances.  Yes, I'm not perfect. I curse like a sailor in frustration (and on Twitter and talking to my bestie over text).  But there is a very calm space in me that finds me when I need comforting.

I'm convinced all of the good in my life, from being home to my children doing well, is from prayer.  True, honest, faithful discussions with God.

Can I get an amen?