All this time writing a blog and all I had to do was try out for the Ben-Gal Cheerleaders!
Dag Nabit!!
http://sports.yahoo.com/nfl/blog/shutdown_corner/post/NFL-8217-s-oldest-cheerleader-will-have-her-lif?urn=nfl-wp574
Saturday, March 26, 2011
When life hands you lemons...
I hate this expression, because life has never actually handed me lemons, but it has handed me a big pile of ...
This story is life handing you lemons
http://www.thepostgame.com/features/201103/blind-leading-baylor-player-fights-through-freak-injury
and Melissa Jones made lemonade. Good for you Melissa!! Thank God you will get your sight back.
Unfortunately, we have had a recent barrage of sad news from friends and loved ones regarding cancer, surgery, and or a big move. I guess that's why this expression has been rattling around in my head. We have two friends, our age with young children, who are battling cancer. One neighbor who is probably in better health than me, that just had prostate surgery and awaits results. Two friends, whose parents have been battling cancer, are ending the fight, a third is already resting. My friends daughter who was born with physical and developmental delays will be undergoing yet another (#60?) surgery for a brain defect that is causing headaches. My best friend is moving 6 hours away, and two more from school who are moving this summer.
I'm sorry life, this no longer feels like lemons. Besides I can't drink lemonade because of the ulcer I know have in my stomach!
Try as I might to look at the positive side, like when I am standing at the sink and want to bitch about doing dishes for the fifth time in one day I say to myself, "I have a house to clean, and food to cook, and a family to cook for, everyone is healthy..."
There is just no way to spin this, it just sucks. Every time I turn around I am on the verge of tears. When I go into my children's room at night to tuck them back in, I sit on the edge of their bed and cry. I know that I can't cry forever, I know that life must go on, but right now I would like it to stop - for just a minute.
Maybe it's not lemonade that I'm suppose to make when life hands me lemons, maybe it's turtle soup?
This story is life handing you lemons
http://www.thepostgame.com/features/201103/blind-leading-baylor-player-fights-through-freak-injury
and Melissa Jones made lemonade. Good for you Melissa!! Thank God you will get your sight back.
Unfortunately, we have had a recent barrage of sad news from friends and loved ones regarding cancer, surgery, and or a big move. I guess that's why this expression has been rattling around in my head. We have two friends, our age with young children, who are battling cancer. One neighbor who is probably in better health than me, that just had prostate surgery and awaits results. Two friends, whose parents have been battling cancer, are ending the fight, a third is already resting. My friends daughter who was born with physical and developmental delays will be undergoing yet another (#60?) surgery for a brain defect that is causing headaches. My best friend is moving 6 hours away, and two more from school who are moving this summer.
I'm sorry life, this no longer feels like lemons. Besides I can't drink lemonade because of the ulcer I know have in my stomach!
Try as I might to look at the positive side, like when I am standing at the sink and want to bitch about doing dishes for the fifth time in one day I say to myself, "I have a house to clean, and food to cook, and a family to cook for, everyone is healthy..."
There is just no way to spin this, it just sucks. Every time I turn around I am on the verge of tears. When I go into my children's room at night to tuck them back in, I sit on the edge of their bed and cry. I know that I can't cry forever, I know that life must go on, but right now I would like it to stop - for just a minute.
Maybe it's not lemonade that I'm suppose to make when life hands me lemons, maybe it's turtle soup?
Saturday, March 12, 2011
Ode to Dr. Seuss
Oh the hunches you'll think when I Gertrude McMom won't get up, so please go away!
I Gertrude McMom I'm the Queen of this house!
Queen of the chaos, this mess, and this mouse.
I'm taking a day to just stay in bed
No work will be done I am resting my head!
My hair is quite crunchy cuz I don't get to showers
I just spray more perfume, now I smell like dead flowers.
My armpits need shaving the hair I can braid,
my leg hair has bugs, can I just use the Raid?
The make-up I put on three weeks ago Monday,
is making me look like a big DQ sundae.
Oh, the things I will do in my bed there all day,
the things I can think, I can do, I can say!
Oh the beauty of solitude - just me and my pillow
and movies and ice cream and my batteried friend Zillow!!
My dear friends, must I say what I'd do
with a day without watching Thing 1 and Thing 2-
and the biggest and hairiest and loudest of all
the husband thing- stands just 'bout 6 feet tall.
I wouldn't make breakfast, lunch, and then dinner
I'd go to the gym and make myself thinner.
I wouldn't be referee, judge, lawyer and jury
I wouldn't be rushing somewhere in a hurry.
I wouldn't be running to store and to errand
No milk in the house - Look! See if I'm carin'!!
Yes - I Gertrude McMomy am taking a day
to tell everyone - everyone - please Go Away.
I Gertrude McMom I'm the Queen of this house!
Queen of the chaos, this mess, and this mouse.
I'm taking a day to just stay in bed
No work will be done I am resting my head!
My hair is quite crunchy cuz I don't get to showers
I just spray more perfume, now I smell like dead flowers.
My armpits need shaving the hair I can braid,
my leg hair has bugs, can I just use the Raid?
The make-up I put on three weeks ago Monday,
is making me look like a big DQ sundae.
Oh, the things I will do in my bed there all day,
the things I can think, I can do, I can say!
Oh the beauty of solitude - just me and my pillow
and movies and ice cream and my batteried friend Zillow!!
My dear friends, must I say what I'd do
with a day without watching Thing 1 and Thing 2-
and the biggest and hairiest and loudest of all
the husband thing- stands just 'bout 6 feet tall.
I wouldn't make breakfast, lunch, and then dinner
I'd go to the gym and make myself thinner.
I wouldn't be referee, judge, lawyer and jury
I wouldn't be rushing somewhere in a hurry.
I wouldn't be running to store and to errand
No milk in the house - Look! See if I'm carin'!!
Yes - I Gertrude McMomy am taking a day
to tell everyone - everyone - please Go Away.
I'm not Crazy!!
OK- while the jury may still be out on that one, here is one thing I do know - I am not alone.
While walking and talking today with girlfriends, commiserating about kids, life, husbands, work, etc...I found people saying exactly what I sometimes think. These are people I respect as women, mothers, friends. And they too sometimes feel like sending their children to military school. Thank you!!
I am not alone. I have found that place where it is OK to say, "I love my children, but I don't always like them." What I have found as a mom is that there are very few places, and fewer people where I feel safe saying, "This job sucks! and so do I!" Other women seem to have time to organize a clothes drive for the homeless, volunteer in the classroom, and bake bread while making dinner from scratch.
I have trouble feeding two boys breakfast cereal, while packing a nutritious lunch, and getting everyone out the door with underwear on. And by everyone, I am including myself. Many of my friends are very dear, I truly love them, but they are not who I call when I need to say Supercalifragilisticexpealodocious!
( I trying to somewhat observe lent and give up cussing- let's see if that lasts 5 minutes.)
I revere that generation before me. The women that fought so hard so that I could have maternity leave and still have a job. The women who gave up families to break the glass ceiling and especially those who did both. My problem is they have set the bar so high. Somehow, someway my generation bought into an idea that we can do it all. And God love you sisters - some of you can.
I can not. I have a common and mediocre disease called normalcy. It causes a person to just be average - a C. That's me. But I'm consistent. I will consistently plop my butt on the couch on Tuesday night to watch Parenthood, even if one of the children is still up God forbid. I will forget at least three major milestones a year i.e., Birthday, yearly Dr.'s Appt., or school function. I will bake two dozen cookies for the school carnival every year, rake old man Schneider's leaves every fall, and make chicken chili for friends as needed.
I will vow to go to church more often, scream a lot less, and spend quality time with my husband. I will try to get to the gym to workout only to see an acquaintance who's been diagnosed with cancer and spend an hour crying together. I will pray every night to be a better, thinner, kinder person - starting tomorrow. I am average.
So ladies, find those friends, who will walk with you and talk with you and let you be exactly who God made you to be -even if it is just average.
While walking and talking today with girlfriends, commiserating about kids, life, husbands, work, etc...I found people saying exactly what I sometimes think. These are people I respect as women, mothers, friends. And they too sometimes feel like sending their children to military school. Thank you!!
I am not alone. I have found that place where it is OK to say, "I love my children, but I don't always like them." What I have found as a mom is that there are very few places, and fewer people where I feel safe saying, "This job sucks! and so do I!" Other women seem to have time to organize a clothes drive for the homeless, volunteer in the classroom, and bake bread while making dinner from scratch.
I have trouble feeding two boys breakfast cereal, while packing a nutritious lunch, and getting everyone out the door with underwear on. And by everyone, I am including myself. Many of my friends are very dear, I truly love them, but they are not who I call when I need to say Supercalifragilisticexpealodocious!
( I trying to somewhat observe lent and give up cussing- let's see if that lasts 5 minutes.)
I revere that generation before me. The women that fought so hard so that I could have maternity leave and still have a job. The women who gave up families to break the glass ceiling and especially those who did both. My problem is they have set the bar so high. Somehow, someway my generation bought into an idea that we can do it all. And God love you sisters - some of you can.
I can not. I have a common and mediocre disease called normalcy. It causes a person to just be average - a C. That's me. But I'm consistent. I will consistently plop my butt on the couch on Tuesday night to watch Parenthood, even if one of the children is still up God forbid. I will forget at least three major milestones a year i.e., Birthday, yearly Dr.'s Appt., or school function. I will bake two dozen cookies for the school carnival every year, rake old man Schneider's leaves every fall, and make chicken chili for friends as needed.
I will vow to go to church more often, scream a lot less, and spend quality time with my husband. I will try to get to the gym to workout only to see an acquaintance who's been diagnosed with cancer and spend an hour crying together. I will pray every night to be a better, thinner, kinder person - starting tomorrow. I am average.
So ladies, find those friends, who will walk with you and talk with you and let you be exactly who God made you to be -even if it is just average.
Friday, February 18, 2011
Patterns
If you had asked my Mama about patterns, she would have thought of sewing one of many dresses that she made for herself or perhaps the many quilts that she owned and made. Had you asked my Grandmas about patterns she may have thought about the needlepoint she did for so many years before the arthritis betrayed her.
If you ask me about patterns I would tell you that Mama had IBS, my dad has IBS, and so do I. I would tell you that there is a link between IBS and anxiety, and anxiety and depression and I know this first hand. I would tell you that Gia Gia has a stubborn streak a mile long that she has passed on to her son, that he has in turn pasted down to his children.
If you asked my second grader about patterns he would most likely give you examples of the ABAB pattern that they talk about, practise, and look for in mathematics. My four-year-old would say something, I guarantee you that he would vehemently back-up, but which most likely has no more of a connection to patterns then rice pudding.
Patterns. What an amazing word, what a difficult concept. Everyone has their own definition. Patterns in math, science, life, art, behavior. This is the one that trips me up every time. Why is it so difficult to break a pattern in behavior? Is it even possible? If an alcoholic is always "recovering", will I ever be the mom who isn't yelling? Or will I always be the mom is is a recovered yeller?
I can hear it now, said in a low raspy voice in some obscure but obvious church basement that smells of strong coffee and crayons...
"Hi, my name is Bad Mom, and I'm a fit thrower."
"Hi, Bad Mom."
What do we really know about changing behavior? I've confessed to not being the type of parent to run to a book to find the answers. In part because all the books say the same thing, this is your fault! I already know that in my heart. My kids didn't learn to throw a fit from the neighbor, nor the word idiot which the seven-year-old used on me this morning. They learned from their mom, bad mom.
For all that we do right, or try to, it still seems to all come down to those few moments when the bus is coming and I'm screaming again and he says, "This is all your fault you idiot!" And the words slap my face harder than even he could - you are right.
Anyone know which church basement???
If you ask me about patterns I would tell you that Mama had IBS, my dad has IBS, and so do I. I would tell you that there is a link between IBS and anxiety, and anxiety and depression and I know this first hand. I would tell you that Gia Gia has a stubborn streak a mile long that she has passed on to her son, that he has in turn pasted down to his children.
If you asked my second grader about patterns he would most likely give you examples of the ABAB pattern that they talk about, practise, and look for in mathematics. My four-year-old would say something, I guarantee you that he would vehemently back-up, but which most likely has no more of a connection to patterns then rice pudding.
Patterns. What an amazing word, what a difficult concept. Everyone has their own definition. Patterns in math, science, life, art, behavior. This is the one that trips me up every time. Why is it so difficult to break a pattern in behavior? Is it even possible? If an alcoholic is always "recovering", will I ever be the mom who isn't yelling? Or will I always be the mom is is a recovered yeller?
I can hear it now, said in a low raspy voice in some obscure but obvious church basement that smells of strong coffee and crayons...
"Hi, my name is Bad Mom, and I'm a fit thrower."
"Hi, Bad Mom."
What do we really know about changing behavior? I've confessed to not being the type of parent to run to a book to find the answers. In part because all the books say the same thing, this is your fault! I already know that in my heart. My kids didn't learn to throw a fit from the neighbor, nor the word idiot which the seven-year-old used on me this morning. They learned from their mom, bad mom.
For all that we do right, or try to, it still seems to all come down to those few moments when the bus is coming and I'm screaming again and he says, "This is all your fault you idiot!" And the words slap my face harder than even he could - you are right.
Anyone know which church basement???
Monday, February 14, 2011
Valentine's Day
What a wonderful holiday, maybe because my husband and I have never put any pressure on each other to outdo, overso, or even some years do-anything. That was more his doing than mine, what girl doesn't like a holiday centered around chocolate!
I will be headed off to the Elementary school after lunch to help with the seven-year-olds Valentine's party, last Friday it was the pre-school for the four-year-olds Valentine's party. At the pre-school it was all about the sugar - literally and figuratively. They scarfed down cupcakes, cookies, and juice boxes and wanted to hug. Me, the teacher, each other. Good thing I brought 5 games - they ended up all trying to sit in my lap as I read a story then rolled around on the floor together. It will be interesting to see what happens at the Elementary school.
My seven-year-old brought his Valentine's box in on Friday (so that his mother would not forget on Monday!) and right away noticed the differences. He didn't tell me until Saturday at bedtime after a long night of fighting over our Famous American report - Yes, I said OUR and you other mothers know why! That his box was different than all the others. The girls (surprise, surprise) were quick to point this out. When they got the assignment to make a Valentine's box my very crafty and creative son ran up stairs found a shoe box that was brown and green and decorated it with puffy animal stickers and googly eyes. He said everyone elses is red or pink and covered in hearts, flowers, and ribbon and one is even shaped like a mailbox. We talked about how his reflects his personality, he did it by himself, that he wouldn't want a pink one covered in flowers anyway, Done.
My husband whose only hope for Valentine's day is a little love, romance - ok he just wants a little something something. (Good Luck with that) Spent Sunday driving around looking for a Florist that was open - he found one! And brought home a gorgeous bouquet. (Alright, I'll throw him a bone) Now I'm wondering if what I found is appropriate? He asked for something to make him feel like a man....so I bought him IronMan underoos. What's more manly that that??
Happy Valentine's Day!!
I will be headed off to the Elementary school after lunch to help with the seven-year-olds Valentine's party, last Friday it was the pre-school for the four-year-olds Valentine's party. At the pre-school it was all about the sugar - literally and figuratively. They scarfed down cupcakes, cookies, and juice boxes and wanted to hug. Me, the teacher, each other. Good thing I brought 5 games - they ended up all trying to sit in my lap as I read a story then rolled around on the floor together. It will be interesting to see what happens at the Elementary school.
My seven-year-old brought his Valentine's box in on Friday (so that his mother would not forget on Monday!) and right away noticed the differences. He didn't tell me until Saturday at bedtime after a long night of fighting over our Famous American report - Yes, I said OUR and you other mothers know why! That his box was different than all the others. The girls (surprise, surprise) were quick to point this out. When they got the assignment to make a Valentine's box my very crafty and creative son ran up stairs found a shoe box that was brown and green and decorated it with puffy animal stickers and googly eyes. He said everyone elses is red or pink and covered in hearts, flowers, and ribbon and one is even shaped like a mailbox. We talked about how his reflects his personality, he did it by himself, that he wouldn't want a pink one covered in flowers anyway, Done.
My husband whose only hope for Valentine's day is a little love, romance - ok he just wants a little something something. (Good Luck with that) Spent Sunday driving around looking for a Florist that was open - he found one! And brought home a gorgeous bouquet. (Alright, I'll throw him a bone) Now I'm wondering if what I found is appropriate? He asked for something to make him feel like a man....so I bought him IronMan underoos. What's more manly that that??
Happy Valentine's Day!!
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