Adventures In Motherhood

This weekend feels like one big adventure in motherhood.  I sent my son and four of his buddies off on a spring break camping trip, without adults and with a hatchet and matches and food that could spoil if not cold enough, in our family car, with him driving.

I smiled, kissed him on the check, and stood in the driveway waving goodbye as they drove off....

And came inside and stopped pretending to be totally calm and worry free.  I worried they hadn't packed enough jackets or water or forks, and the only thing I insisted on them taking was tylenol and tweezers.  Splinters are plentiful in the mountainous wilderness, in my opinion!

I also watched my daughter walk downtown to meet a boy to just 'hang out'......

My heart was in my throat for both of those moments of letting go.  Just another motherhood adventure, one of a million steps we've done together, one of a million more to come!

When Loss Is A Gain

Over at TangledLou, she raised some very good questions on loss: the how's, who's, what's, and why's, and challenged us to write about it in 250 words or less.  If you don't count this first paragraph, and are cool with the cheating links to read previous posts, here are the thoughts I had this morning in 248 words.

I've written about loss before: the loss of my dad, of a treasured book, of a beautiful bowl, of an idea.

This morning, as I plugged in the toaster (because this blog isn't called Buttered Toast Rocks for nothing) I was pondering on what I could write about, if I should explore a previous idea or think new thoughts.

I reached for the loaf of bread, but came up empty handed.  I moved the bags of pears and oranges, the packages of tortilla shells, corn and flour, thinking, hoping, praying for even the crusty end pieces, but nope.  No bread, no toast for me.

This then is the loss to share.  Suddenly there is a run on bread eating in our house, more lunches are being packed, more egg and PB sandwiches are being snacked on.  So I, faithful buttered toast lover, mom to the very core, do without.

This feeling exploded within me when I gave birth to my son, a sense of self-less-ness, where I would go without before I take from my child.  My favorite quote is, "When there are four pieces of pie for a family of five, Mom suddenly doesn't like pie." (Tenneva Jordan)

I give of my time, my love, my energy, my very being, and these losses are counted as gains.

But it has reduced me to this: toasting a frozen hamburger bun and calling it buttered toast.  It doesn't rock quite as much, but it's still bread with melted butter.

Spring Light

What is it about spring that has me looking around and it's like the blinders are off and all I can think is, "Holy crap.  We've been living in this filth!"

It's not just blinds being taken down for scrubbing.  Blankets are washed and vents are vacuumed.

And outside, our yard is.....a wasteland.  It's like an abandoned piece of property that has harbored wild animals who hoard every scrap that blows through.

I just took a walk around the house and have decided some of the junk just has to go.  I don't care if a project pile can be salvaged into a working whatever.  Right now we are two steps from the worst yard on the block.

I think the Christmas tree on the front porch has got to be the first to go!

Currently.....Part Two

The shelves are painted....and now I'm adding a splash of color.....

The dining room is still undone, but I feel like I'm getting closer to the end!  

My daughter did find space to do homework at the table, a sign that it isn't as bad as it was.

Thank goodness!

Seven Years Ago Today....

We all talk about that moment when we become parents, when we hold our babies in our arms for the first time and feel that undeniable connection that fiercely declares, "Mine."

But seven years ago today, I held a baby that wasn't my own, and I felt that same fierce feeling.  There is quite an age difference between my kids and my sister's children, so I had several years to wait until my sisters made me an aunt.....but seven years ago today, I held my sister's son, my nephew, and I was overwhelmed with love and joy and this amazing sense of family.

This first born nephew has the honor of changing my name, from Aunt Chelle (because I hated the way Aunt Michelle sounded and asked to have it shortened a smidge) to my beloved name, Oh-Cho.  His version is so much cooler than any nickname I could have ever dreamed up.

Happy Birthday J!  I can't believe you are 7!  It seems like just yesterday we crowded into a hospital room to take turns meeting you.

A Two Point Check List

I have a simple, two point check list to see how sick I am.

1. Did I walk to work?  Now, me not walking isn't of itself an indication of illness.  Sometimes I have errands to run that can't be walked to.

Which leads to the second point:

2. Where did I park once I arrived at work?  Is my car down on the street?  Then I'm fine.  Did I park as close to the back door of our office as possible?  Then I'm sick.

Today I drove.  And parked five spaces from the door.

No amount of tea and lozenges could save my voice, and after a morning of backing up phones and answering questions, I was down to a harsh whisper.

I'm taking that as a sign that I should go home and rest.  I was never so glad to step outside and see my car parked so close, getting me that much closer to home and a nest on the couch!

A Broccoli Desire

When I was a kid, broccoli could only be eaten if it was smothered in cheese sauce.  Offer me a plain stalk, and I would zip my lips in refusal.  It was not a veggie I liked on it's own.  But as an adult, I love it.  I love it plain, I love it in a stir-fry, I really love it in a curry.  I just love it.

Tonight we took the kids to a restaurant where you create your own stir fry using your choice of meats, veggies, and noodles.  We all have different styles: I put some chicken in my bowl first, then pile on the vegetables, skipping noodles entirely.

Imagine my horror when I went to the vegetable section and my favorite veggie was missing! There was no broccoli!  Recently my husband said I don't do three things well: improvise, adapt and overcome.  This lack of broccoli is a perfect example of how right he is.

My mind could not process how to build my stir-fry without the key ingredient.  It didn't help that I was starving.  All I could think was a TV show I'd watched where the girl says she knows how to make a scene and that is why she is banned from two restaurants in her hometown.  I too know how to make a scene.....haven't been banned from any place, yet.

Just as my ire was reaching super red ear level (which, side note, if you every see me and my ears are bright red, hide.  It's a sign of irritation!), broccoli was brought out.  I took it all.

In my defense, they only brought out a tiny bit.

And, I just love broccoli!

Currently.....

Currently my dining room has been taken over by a project.  My table has been pushed to the wall, blocking the side door, and thus requiring a sign with an arrow directing traffic to the front door.  The table itself is piled high with various nick-nacks, crumbled papers and empty plastic bags.

And directly in the middle of the room stand two huge shelves on a large tarp.  I had every intention of painting these shelves today....one more step in the process of getting my house back to rights....

I'd take a picture and share the joy? Horror?  Astonishing wonder that so much stuff can fit into this one room?   But I can't find the camera!

Muzzy-Headed

I am so tired, so out of it, so dazed, befuddled, and muzzy-headed, that when the alarm went off and I got up, I almost went upstairs to wake up the kids.

It is Friday.  That is a school day.

Except, today is a day off for them.

I can imagine their horror if I had gone up and knocked on doors at 6 AM!

I am going to blame it all on the nyquil and hope I feel better as the day goes on......

Taking A Moment For Myself

Lately, I have been rushed, run ragged, every morning, trying to get myself ready for work.  Packing my lunch, eating cold cereal breakfast, ironing clothes.

This morning, I woke up after a LONG night of restless sleep.  I am starting to get the cold that everyone has been passing back and forth, from which I had seemed immune, and all during the night I kept waking up because my head hurt or my throat was dry or a weird little cough was percolating.  And when I wasn't dealing with cold issues, every dream I had was centered around vintage glass, which stands to reason since I pretty much fell asleep studying a guide book on that subject.  In my dream I couldn't find my book and couldn't figure out if I the candy dish in my hand was vintage or just junk.  It was a really frustrating night!

I'm not walking to work today, because I have to run some errands right at 5 tonight, so that actually has given me an extra 15-20 minutes to just be me, the old me before I had somewhere to be early every morning.

I got the kids off to school, my hair was halfway to just damp, my clothes were picked out and I knew I did not want cold cereal for breakfast.  The only thing that sounded good was something I hadn't had in ages: two fried eggs and a slice of buttered toast.  I turned on my playlist titled, "Country Songs From My Childhood," and it is as rocking as it sounds.

I sang along to the Oak Ridge Boys and Mac Davis as I made the most perfect eggs of my life.  When I sat down to eat, the joy I felt over something so simple reminded me that I must take moments for myself.  I'm no good as a mom or a wife when I get cranky and worn down.

Who knew two fried eggs and a slice of buttered toast would be so rejuvenating?  I feel ready to tackle the rest of my day, the rest of my week even!

Spring Into It

There is one part of spring that I can really get into.  It is not day light savings time, which I hate.  I get up early, and I really love seeing the sun rise with me.   It's so much easier to go out walking with the dogs when I have some daylight (and less chance of ramming my knee into a trailer hitch).

What I can get into is spring cleaning.  There is something so liberating when you can throw open the doors and push up the windows and sweep out a winter's worth of grime!  I have recently scrubbed my vinyl blinds back to white.  Nothing else, but just that has brightened up the entire kitchen, and let what little sun we are having shine through in a warm glow.

It is pleasing.

But, again, don't look up.  I have yet to dust my ceiling fans or get into the corners of the rooms.  Cobwebs give voice to my haphazard spring cleaning urges!

Starvation Times Dinner

My kids refer to the end of a paycheck, haven't had time to go the commissary yet, throw together whatever we have on hand into a meal, as starvation times dinners.

Are we starving?  Nope.  Tonight we had the last of the eggs and bacon and homemade biscuits (made by my daughter who asked me how does Grandma make her biscuits so darn good, and I had to say I have No Idea).  Did we have butter?  Not really.  Did we have honey?  Nope.

We just added those items to our grocery list, along with toilet paper and peanut butter and laundry soap....and I think I will try to hit the store tomorrow after work!

Sweet In All The Right Ways

It feels like my daughter was born knowing how to cook and bake.  As soon as she was old enough to stand on a chair next to the counter and help, she was.  She has taken turns at planning and cooking dinner, as my son has, but what both kids really love is baking, making delicious music through sweet treats.

This semester my daughter is taking a class called, "World of Foods," and it was very boring for her at the beginning when they were learning how to read recipes and make pancakes.  That was so five years ago for her!

Now they've moved beyond that.  They made chicken wings, which she hated as she has no love for meat and especially not wings of anything.  But then they made something she could really get into.....chocolate covered strawberries.

When my husband and I came home the other night, we found this on the counter:

 She had everything she needed to make chocolate covered strawberries, and a desire for a yummy treat to share with the family......I think our daughter is sweet in all the right ways!

It Lives!.......Almost

We bought this truck when our son was 13....and for over 3 years, my husband and son have been working on it, tearing it apart and building it back up.....and today, they hooked all the tubes and things together and put in some gas and turned the key......

And. It. Started.

Yeah!!!

It did sputter and there is troubles with the fuel getting from point A to point B, but the guys are on it and have the knowledge and skills to get it all back to running.

There may have been some crazy excited shouting from all of us.

Three Knee Strikes, You're Out!

After yesterday's tumble, my knee hurt.  I've had worse scraps, and blogged about them here and here too, but this was a jarring kind of fall, where I felt it from ankle to hip and super felt it in my knee.

This morning, I rolled out of bed, stretched in an extremely soul satisfying way, and decided I would walk the dogs.  Sure, it was pitch dark outside, and you bet our driveway light is burned out never to be replaced, but I would manage to wrangle three dogs into harnesses and leashes without the benefit of sight giving light, and we would walk.

First problem, in the ten minutes I took to wake the kids up and change out of my pajamas, it started to rain.  The dogs were so excited, though, I decided a little bit of rain was fine.  Second problem, the wind.  It was cutting right through my layers of clothing like they were butter and it was a red hot knife.  Since I am no wimpy walking babe, I stuck with it.

Third problem, when I went to set the invisible fence collars on the tailgate of the truck (so I'd know right were they were when we stepped back into the land of mild shocksville), I ran right into the tow hitch.

With my hurt knee.

And after skip hopping around in a circle while the dogs tapped out impatience with their little paws, I decided I could to a mile walk.  Rain, wind, cold, pain, nothing compares to the horror of disappointing the girls.

After barely half a block, I knew I wasn't interested in going a mile.  A half mile it was, and boy was I glad to get home! Ice for my knee, hot coffee for everything else, and everyone was satisfied.

Until I got to work and started to scoot myself and my chair in, and rammed my knee into the desk edge.

That's when I went for some pain reliever and a cookie and it felt better.  I'm positive it was the cookie that helped the most!

Laughing While It Hurts

In our family, if my sisters and I get a fit of the giggles, it is all over.  We lose ourselves in laughter, we can't catch our breath, our eyes water, and we have zero arm strength.  So of course, we often find ourselves laughing when we are trying to movie heavy-ish furniture.

It's actually pretty funny.  Unless you are the husband trying to get help from a couple of giggling, weak limbed girls.  I think it's less funny for him.

Laughter is ingrained in me.  I try to see the humor in things, so later, after the sharp edges of a bad moment wear down, I can give a chuckle over bleached sheets or metal springs hidden in butter.  If it will make a good story, I will do my best to make it a great story!

Today, I tripped in front of the bank and tore my tights (no amount of clear nail polish or tiny stitches holding round holes closed can save them this time) and my knees were skinned.  My wallet popped open on the sidewalk and my paycheck started blowing down the sidewalk thanks to the wind storm we are having.

Now, if that's not the making of a good story, I don't know what is!

I'm going to hold a cold rag to my bruised knee, and laugh while it hurts.  It was pretty funny, seeing that rectangle of paper decide to make a break for freedom, while I was stuck in slow motion, regaining my feet in an alarming lackadaisical manner.

I caught it, switched over to my regular glasses, and made sure I was watching for the dastardly curb that caught my feet but not my eyes!


This post inspired by prompt #5 at Mama's Losin' It!

Typing Fingers Making Music

My childhood was alive with the sound of my Mom's typewriter.  She can type like nobody's business and used her talent to be gainfully employed, to type my step-dad's seminary papers, to help each of her girls turn in typo free essays.

I can remember begging to be allowed to type, and when I sat down at the little typewriter desk, it was a long painful process to write a few sentences.  My Mom didn't have to look at the keys and peck out her ideas.  Her fingers flew over the keys as her eyes focused on the handwritten rough drafts.  It was a super awesome talent, and I longed to have it for my own.

Tonight as I sat at our computer, my fingers know where to move to find each key to spell out my daughter's carefully worded essay.  I am thankful for my 9th grade keyboarding class.  But I am even more thankful for my Mom's inspiration!

Now if I can only piece out what the line that looks like "phone fiddlers and pasty skinned address" really is.  My family does not have the best handwriting, but by golly, both of my kids can type!

Frankenstein Tights

I had just left the hospital, prepared to walk 2 blocks back to my office, when I felt it, that horrible moment when a weak spot in my tights break, and I feel a laddering run begin to creep.  It's very soft, almost like an insect's delicate steps on my leg, but I feel it.

As usual, it started at my toes.  I balanced on one foot and took off my shoe to see the extent of the damage.  Oh, bad.  Horror!  I limited my swearing to, "Oh poops!"  Then I put my shoe on and walked back to the office, so very aware of how fast the run was advancing.

I got inside and thought, okay.  It's still salvageable if the run does not move past the top of my foot....so of course, I felt the other foot sprout a ruinous hole.  And it was only the start of my work day.  Oh poops!

But all is not lost.  I am a firm believer in clear nail polish and putting tights on 'backward' so what used to be kissing cousins with the bottom of my feet is now viewing the world from the tops.  If it's a bad hole, I will sew it up, and as long as the problem can be turned over or hidden by shoes, I will continue to wear those tights until the elastic gives out.

And be very proud of how thrifty and economical and unwasteful I am when I view those Frankenstein stitches.

On the plus side, I can easily tell which is the front and which is the back of my tights now!  That actually had been a bigger issue than one would think!

And One More For The Troops

I usually write funny things, romantic things, motherhood things, heart-string tugging things, rarely do I take my blog into the realm of politics or religion or any combination thereof.

But after seeing Girl Scouts stand out in the cold rain, asking if anyone would like to buy a box of cookies, and knowing there is a question as to what organization cookie money might be going to, I am going to explain why I still buy a box or to be honest, quite a few more than one.

When my husband was deployed to Kuwait, and the war was starting up in earnest and things were scary as all get out, a Girl Scout troop adopted his unit.  They sent cookies and letters and it made all the guys feel like a part of home was right there in that hot, sandy place.  It's been nine years, but every year when we see Girl Scouts set up their tables and stacks of cookie boxes, my husband talks about how good he felt, how much he appreciated those cookies and all the prayers and well wishes that accompanied them.

Tucked away in his shoe box of letters from home, are letters from a Girl Scout Troop that gave a bright moment in a hard deployment.

So I am going to keep buying cookies.  And buying an extra box to send to our troops, along with all my prayers and well wishes to those soldiers, far from home, needing a little bit of home and kindness.

Where The Big Bad Monsters Lurk

In the  mornings, I will admit, I have been having a bit of a hesitant step as the dogs and I venture out for our walk.  It didn't help that we heard a scary noise in the tree tops or that a bigger dog leaped over it's fence to menace us or that an air compressor firing up sounded like the fiercest growl from the fiercest monster.

It's been so dark and spooky and I have let my imagination get away from me.

Until the other morning, when the girls and I met a nice young lady walking a young pup and I realized I needed to stop worrying about where the big bad monsters lurk....because I've got three of the meanest beasts tethered to my arm.

I am horribly ashamed to say that our girls made that little puppy cower in absolute terror.  And days later when we walked by his home, he ran away and hid at the sight of us.

And yet....while shame does fill a small part of me, I filled the rest with relief.  If the girls scare off other dogs (and puppies), and make the Fed-Ex guy throw our packages onto our porch, I feel safe with them walking next to me.

That is nice to ponder as we are back walking in the dark, darn you daylight savings time!

Insert futile fist shaking at the sky here.

Making Chocolate Milk

I am not sure how everyone makes chocolate milk, but here in my house, we start with a tall glass of cold milk (skim thank you very much) and a healthy amount of syrup squirted in said glass.  Now, syrup may end up drizzled on the counters, or the side of the glass, and I could see how it could get on your fingers and make your spoon a sticky mess.

I don't see how it sprayed in an arching splatter that stretched from the ceiling of one wall, down over coats and purses, across the floor (although my son cleaned that up), up the opposite wall, on the clean dishes drying in the dish drainer, into every shelf of dishes (man, I really wish I had cupboard doors right now) and almost to the ceiling again.

I will admit when I first saw the mess I was pretty mad.  Coming home from work to find an unusual mess is not much fun!  But 24 hours gives some perspective and 48 hours gives it a bit of humor and now I can step back and shake my head and chuckle and see how this will make a very funny story and wonder what goes through their heads when they do something like that....

My husband called it.  He said if the bottle of syrup was almost empty, the resulting mess was probably someone trying to shake the last bit out.

He was right.

I attribute his rightness to him being a boy and having a better understanding of how a teenage boy operates!

Sweaty Hands & Queasy Stomach

Dreams and ideas can merge into

One Goal

In that in between step, before it's real

When it's still just newly formed,

It's all excitement

And Joy

And I am giddy

It's the next step 

When the Nerves will hit

I will still jump anyway

Sweating hands and queasy stomach

Questioning my sanity

Catching air with my fingers

The pride I feel 

When I land on solid ground

Is worth all the Nerves

This post inspired by prompt #2 atMama's Losin' It!.

 

Synchronized Sleepers

I've been lying beside this guy for almost 19 years and as I rolled over last night, and he rolled too so we were still snug as two bugs in a rug, I thought, "Like a well oiled machine."

Like two synchronized sleepers, whose turns and leg lifts and pillow flips are in perfect timing.

Even in his sleep, my husband knows I do not want to be face to face due to my desire to breath air that hasn't directly come out of any one's lungs.  Even in his sleep, he knows me and rolls to accommodate me.

I woke up enough to give him a pat on his arm, which he correctly interpreted to mean, "I love you," and he sleepily murmured, "Love you too."

We are in tune to each other, even when we are dead to the world asleep.  It's not magic.  It's the power of spooning!

Kisses & Scolds

My mother voice kisses and scolds, scolds and kisses
I raise it loud in praise and warning and encouragement
They teeter on a tightrope cliff edge
Dreaming dreams bigger than I had dreamed for them
Proud of their fierce bravery
Worried I'll need a needle and thread to help them mend
Worried I won't be able to help
They reach for a passing cloud
My heart is in my throat
Kisses and scolds, scolds and kisses: it is all my love


TangledLou challenged fellow bloggers to the "Ten Minute Spill", a writing exercise by Rita Dove.  Write ten lines in ten minutes, include a proverb, quote or saying you have changed in some way, and five of these words: cliff, needle, voice, whir, blackberry, cloud, mother, lick.  I read Papa is a Preacher's post and was so inspired, I had to try it.  Challenge accepted.

Hardest part?  Picking a quote!  I have to thank Pearl S. Buck for her quote of Mothers who kiss and scold together.

I Am The Goldilocks

I am the Goldilocks of rubber fingertips.  You see, I have a very strict finger licking rule.  As in, you don't do it. It started years ago with PTA fundraisers.  All those dirty, grimy (lovely, wonderful) dollars were hard to count, but after seeing how my fingers were literally dirty after handling the cash, I could never lick my finger to help unstick the bills.

Fast forward to working in a doctor's office and there is NO WAY I am going to lick my finger, then page through papers that have been in floating around the clinic, picking up all sorts of germs and viruses.

When I started working here, I asked for a rubber fingertip.  I got a box of 12 and they were perfect; the right shape, size, texture and all mine!  I used each one until it wore out and some days when I don't have it on, I get a phantom finger tip pain, as if my finger misses it.

My supply of fingertips was low, so more were ordered.  Carefully checking my current box, and the catalogue and ordering exactly the same ones.

I was giddy to get my box and open it and dashedly disappointed to discover they were too small.  Okay.  Try again.  This time a tape measure was employed to make sure I was ordering the right size.  The new new ones arrived today.

They are too big.

I'm the Goldilocks of rubber fingertips, only in reverse.  It was just right, then too small, then too big.  I'm down to my last one, so I better get the order right next time!

It Is Sunday Night

It is Sunday night.  I can hear one of the dogs in her crate, moving around.  I can hear my husband in our room, getting into bed.  I can hear a TV on upstairs, my son finishing his bedtime routine.

And I sit here in front of the blank screen, completely devoid of ideas.

Well, that's not entirely true.  I've had several ideas, but no true inspiration.  Not one thing has formed into a creative, witty, and delightful post.

All I'm thinking is how late it is, and that zombie show we just watched riled me up, and tomorrow will be here soon.

Instead of writing, I will share a picture.

Someone is trying to take over my perfect groove spot!  

And she brought a furry friend.....

All is Right With The World

My floors are swept and mopped and my kitchen rag rug is washed and clean and back in it's place of honor in front of my sink.

Oh how I missed it when I was washing dishes!  I love the feel of it under my feet.  I love how my dogs like to lie there as I work.  I love the colors: the pale yellows and blues with hints of green and white.  I love that when I see the rug, fresh and fluffy and so beautiful, I feel that all is right with the world.

It's almost enough to make me wish I had some more dishes to do!  Almost, but not quite!!

Today Was A Big Day!

Today my son toured the UW campus and drove us home in bad weather and worse traffic.....

Tonight my daughter played piano in the orchestra pit for opening night of our high school musical......

I am so proud of them both!  And so very, very tired!  I'm headed back to bed.

Yes, back to bed.  I was almost asleep when I realized I hadn't blogged!

My Perfect Groove

There is a certain place on our love seat, that has my perfect groove in it.  It is my favorite place to sit, to read, to watch TV, to visit with guests.  I find the arms are the perfect height, and the pillow actually adds to my comfort and I tuck my legs under me and I just relax.

Yes, that is a TV tray being used as a side table.  You'd be correct in assuming that I am older than that behavior would attest, but the fact is the TV tray gives my retro lamp just the right height to cast the perfect circle of light. And since my books and magazines and notebooks and various pens cover the rest of the table, I never can see the surface and I totally forget it is a TV tray.

There is only one thing that makes my perfect spot not so perfect.  When I sit, I can't help but see this horrible, hoarders-in-the-making, mess.

It is not mine.  It belongs to my husband and daughter.  This lovely little side table once held phone books and Bibles (all the help you could possibly need in one handy spot!) and now it seems to be the catch all for every sheet of music my family has ever printed.

It's hard to relax when that is right in front of me!  But somehow, I've managed.

This post inspired by prompt number 3 at Mama's Losin' It!