2 minutes

Yesterday, I walked my daughter to school and thought how warm the day was and how beautiful the trees looked.  My 2 year old sat quietly in her stroller, licking a lollipop, and we silently walked home.  The only noises were my feet crunching on the fallen leaves.  Every once in a while, we get a glimpse of that stillness and it gives off such a feeling of contentment.  I silently counted my blessings.

45 minutes later, I get a text that the school my daughter is at, is on lockdown.

There are no words.

You hear the word, “LOCKDOWN” and you basically lose your mind.

Immediately I think of Newton and Columbine and I feel panic.  I feel helpless. 

My daughter is 4.  She is a baby.  She is so innocent.  I cry silent tears, clutch the phone with shaky hands and call the classroom.  The teacher answers and tells me that they don’t know anything, but nobody is allowed in or out.  She tried to soothe me but my only solace would be seeing my child.  That’s it.  End of story.  My only relief would be seeing her!

The lack of information was what drove the fear like a rocket shooting through the sky without direction.  As information gathered, my fears lessened.  But still, I did not relax until I held her.  When I did, relief flooded me but a piece of fear stayed with me, nipping at my ear, speaking slowly and softly, “we are all susceptible,” it said.  We are susceptible to being at the wrong place, at the wrong time.  We are not immune to it.  We can live in a quiet town and do the right things.  We can be good and happy and quiet in our living.  We can decide not to take risks; to live simply.  But, it just doesn’t matter.  Our lives can change in the span of a second.   If we walk in the middle of New York City at 3am alone, or walk our child around the block to school, anything can happen.  If I’m being honest, that is the scariest thought of all.    

Everything ended up being fine.  The lockdown was a precaution based on a threatening phone call directed at another elementary school in town, but that feels insignificant to me.  What feels significant is the fact that my quiet contented life, spun out of control for only 2 minutes.  But that was enough.  2 minutes was all it took for me to realize what matters the most in life.  Forget about the little things that bother us.  Forget about the fact that my 2 year old cried all morning.  Forget about the fact that I still have to call my bank to resolve a check problem.  Forget about the fact that I still haven’t picked up soap for the kitchen sink.  Insignificant.  What matters more than anything, is our children; our little innocent children.  We don’t want to lose that innocence just yet.  Not yet.  Not now.  There is plenty of time for that.  I want to keep them close and safe.  I want to hug and squeeze and love. 

I really hate the people that threaten that.

So, after I gave my daughter a big squeeze, I sat at the table, stared off into space and ate Halloween candy.  I looked out the window and ate one peanut butter cup after another.  It actually helped.  My girls dressed up in pretty white dresses and smiled and laughed.  I counted my blessings.  For 2 minutes I might have felt helpless, but each minute after that, I will be sure to make it count.    

It's not you, it's me

My husband and I have a quote that we bought in Arizona on vacation and it has blessed all of our apartments and now our home.  It states, “Everyone is crazy besides you and me, and I’m beginning to wonder about you.”  We thought it was hilarious.  We always talk about the “extremes;” those bizarre people we have met along the way which makes us look at each other with a questioning eye and then try to validate that it can’t be us.  “It can’t be us, right??”  It has to be them, yeah?  We thought this quote was funny because sometimes we look at each other and say, “It’s us.”  We are nuts.  NUTS!  Then all of the sudden, you will catch a glimpse of someone else’s ‘wild’ eyes and that will be it; friendship aborted.  It’s them.  Yes, it has to be them.

Everything in moderation; I believe that is the sentence of normalcy.  We can gossip, but not too much. ”Can you believe Noreen and her husband fought over a SOAKED DISH???”

We can feed organic, but give the kid a chicken nugget for lunch and a lollipop for dessert for god’s sake.  Let them LIVE!  Let them have a sugar high, a sugar low, and then scream and cry.  Let it happen!  “I’ll give them Kale tomorrow, I swear to it!!” 

We should care but we should not become a helicopter mom, you know…hovering and micromanaging.  The extremes are what I find to be over the top and at times, a little bit ridiculous.  Someone who is extreme in thoughts or actions, make me question their motives.  Are you doing it because you believe it, or because you believe you are better than me?  Are you judging me if I don’t do the same things?  Those are the questions to dig deep in to with a shovel, a garbage pail and a heavy duty face mask.  As my 2 year old says, “PEE-YOU!!!”

Peel the onion, layer by layer and you will find the core; inside at the heart of it all, the truth. 

And this concept does not just live in parenting decisions.  It resides in relationships and friendships as well.  

What sparked this post is because I’m upset about a few moms who were cold to me today and it bothered me tremendously.  Nobody likes to feel awkward and uncomfortable, if we can help it.  I left asking my husband the same question…is it me?  I don’t understand how some people who used to be nice to me are now cold because a circumstance has changed and it wasn’t to their liking.  It made me feel like I was the foolish one, in this case.  I felt upset and questioned myself; my normalcy.  But, as my husband and I talked it over, we decided that our realities are just different.  I just have to move forward and be confident enough in myself.  I’m not the one being catty, so I’m not the one who should feel bad.      

So, how do we deal with it, ‘the extremes?’  As parents, we try to be as centered and grounded as possible.  We try to teach our children balance.  We try not to let them be too extreme in all things; a lot can be said for a middle of ground approach.  If I put on the TV for the kids a lot in the morning, I try to do stimulating activities in the afternoon.  If they eat one too many cookies after lunch, I try to stuff their face with broccoli at dinner.  Balance.   If someone tells me that TV causes underdeveloped brain activity in 4 year olds, well, I’m going to walk right by you next week and pretend I don’t see you. 

As adults, we try to do the same.  Lead by example.  Show others friendliness and kindness and shrug off the ‘extremes’ that are trying to tell you that you are doing it wrong.  If you feel like you are put off by someone else’s approach to life, it is probably best to steer clear of them.  Maybe they think it is you, maybe you think it is them.  Whoever it is does not matter.  Just steer clear.  Lead your life how you want to lead it, but don’t judge others who do not lead it the same way.  There are no experts here; just a large amount of information that we have to sift through.  If someone tells me (with wild eyes) that Johnson and Johnson shampoo causes cancer as I’m lathering my children’s hair with it, I’m going to take note and then rinse.  My phone will ring off the hook when you call.  I’m just saying.  Help, yes.  Don’t try and convict me.  I don’t see your gavel.

The truth is we are all just trying to do our best.  Right now, if you feel like you are being a tad extreme and feeling a bit senseless yourself, put on some sunglasses to hide those telling eyes.

But, if you are working hard to stay grounded and sensible, you can show those eyes in the sun and be proud of yourself.

Fleeting Moments

I don’t like big changes.  Sometimes I wish everything could stay the same.  I know change is inevitable but sometimes it hits hard, like a death in the family or a new stage in life.  I want my kids to stay this age.  As hard as it may be at times, I don’t wish it away.  I love the fact that my 2 year old will sing happy birthday to me when I get her out of her crib in the morning.  I don’t know what I did to deserve that!  I think it is funny when my 4 year old stalks off with her arms crossed stating that she does not “appreciate sharing!”  This morning, she was getting herself dressed and got all tangled and squealed, “I can’t do it. I’m so frustrated.”  I like that she can communicate her feelings a little better now.  And I laugh a little when she does so with a huff of frustration and an eyebrow crease.  It’s funny.  I snicker.  She definitely doesn’t appreciate my laughter though.  “Don’t laugh MOM!”

“Please,” I say to myself.  “Don’t let me forget this.”

Do you ever have those moments?  Where you desperately cling to it and don’t know how to hold on to it, because it is fleeting. 

Me and my girls bought new dresses for a wedding this weekend and then skipped to the car holding hands.  Fleeting.

My 2 year old quietly looked out the window on the way home and sang, “Once upon a Dream” Fleeting.

My 4 year old daughter told me yesterday, “You are the best mommy in the world.”  Fleeting.  I know she will not say that when she is 14.  If she does it is probably because she will want something from me.

Tears emerge as I think about all that I have and all that I stand to lose as time ticks away…

I read a post the other day on how we shouldn’t “wish away” the stages of life.  We shouldn’t say, “When my baby does this…then it will get better.”  I happen to agree wholeheartedly with that post.  The “if only” thought will only serve one purpose in life, unhappiness.  Then we will always be waiting and what we are waiting for will never come.  We will be grasping at straws; happiness never within our reach.

I have to remind myself of this, constantly…especially when I am knee deep in nebulizer treatments, the croup, ear infections and antibiotics.  Welcome to fall.  It is hard to remember this mantra when I am chasing a 2 year old around the house with a face mask.  “For the love of God, BREATHE IN THE STEAM!”  Or holding my 4 year old in a wrestling tackle to squirt steroids into her mouth.  “OPEN!…SWALLOW!!!”

I have to remind myself to embrace each and every stage and phase while it is happening.  I mean, the 2 year old molars emerging aren’t pretty.  But, if I wish it away, I wish away the constant snuggles and the chubby thighs.  If I wish for my 4 year old to be in school all day, I will miss her singing out loud with her dolls, “Listen to the beat of your heart,” she sings, “keep on dancing!”  Very fitting.   

I’m not ready for 5^th grade clicks at school.  I’m not ready for high school boyfriends that cheat.  I’m not ready for any of it right now.  At this moment, I am ready for whatever happens today.  I have to be.  We all have to be.  I am ready for this stage.  Hopefully when the next stage comes, I will welcome it and be ready.  I’m sure I will.  We are only given everything that we can handle, facemasks and steroids included.  Because each stage/phase serves it purpose.  Time keeps moving, seasons change, and children grow…and these present moments with our children are elusive.  We have to remember that.  We cannot take hold of them because they are fleeting.  We can try to etch them into our brains, write them down, take pictures, but it won’t matter.  They will be gone.  But we can wrap our arms around them with our hearts and hold on for dear life; trying, if we can to embrace them while we have them and appreciate the now…

 

The Soaked Dish

I wrote a post called “The Soaked Dish.”  Normally, I don’t let anyone see anything I write before I send it, but I had a nagging guilt about this one.  I asked my husband to read it first and tell me if it was ok to send.  It got DENIED!

I think he decided it was horrible when it got to the part where I pictured his face as a soaked dish not done, “bubbles popping from his ears.”  I think it was that part that he stopped reading and stated emphatically, “I hate it.” 

Yikes! 

I was having a bad day and I vented.  “How would you feel if I wrote a blog about how you are a witch if you don’t have 8 hours of sleep,” he asked.  “Been there, done that,” I responded.  I’ve said it all.  I’m not shy.  I lay it out there, the good and the bad.  “Should I write about my spare tire again,” I asked with a twinge of sarcasm.

“Look,” I went on, “you are wonderful and helpful, but you have such a busy life.  Things slip through the cracks and it isn’t your fault.  It’s ok.  It is the way it is.”

We ALL cannot do it ALL.  Nobody claims to be perfect.  Nobody is.

 And I am so grateful for everything that he does and how helpful he is to me and this family. 

One in a million.  With that said, I have been allowed to share “The Soaked Dish” 

Enjoy.

The Soaked Dish

You know when the smoke alarm starts running out of batteries, it starts chirping.  It starts off slow, a chirp every 45 minutes or so.  You tip toe around the house trying to find the direction of the chirp.  Is it coming through the baby monitor?  The kitchen?  Upstairs?  Downstairs?  Finally you give up or get distracted by a little person that needs your attention.  But, you hear it, every so often.  And then all of the sudden, you go downstairs a few days later to throw a load of laundry in and you hit it dead on.  CHIRP!  Ahhh, it is the basement one.  You know now, but you don’t change the battery, because that one isn’t your responsibility.  That one’s not mine, I think.  I’m not touching it.

You tell your husband and he hears you, so you think.  “Can you change the smoke alarm battery in the basement? I’m not tall enough.”

The chirps get closer together. 

Weeks go by; the chirps come at you every 3.25 minutes.  CHIRP!!!!!!!!

And with each chirp, your patience starts to wear down until the chirps become a resentment that festers and bothers you almost as bad as the soaked dish.  You know, the one not scrubbed but soaked overnight for you to take care of in the morning.  That one.  My friend tells me I need to coin my phrase, “a soaked dish is not a done dish.”  There. Coined.

We have so much going on as moms, how are we expected to take care of everything?  At some point, the tasks alone can drive you mad as a hatter until you are running around with an irritating tick.  Was the garbage taken out?  Tick.  Did the recyclables get taken to the curb?  Tick.  Did you call about the gutters?  Tick.  Eventually, you look at your husband and all you can see is the soaked dish as his face, bubbles popping from his ears.  Then you give a weak smile trying to forget the image of yourself dragging the recyclables to the curb in your bare feet and polka dot pajama pants that morning.  The grass is wet.  Your hair is in a messy knot of a bun.  And your neighbor drives by…

And then you think to yourself, I just can’t do everything.

And we can’t.

Mothers are extraordinary human beings.  We can birth babies like warriors and run a household like a business.  Nobody is running out of toilet paper, not on my watch. (A sound of a whip cracking).

But at the same time, we are human and we need help.  Our husbands or partners need a present role in our lives and need to be actively participating in SOME of those aggravating tasks.  Otherwise, they will be married to aggravating women.  Nobody wants that.  Truth be told, we don’t like ourselves like that. A scrubbed dish and a battery change will go a long way.  We just want a little help and we would love it if we didn’t have to ask sometimes.  That’s all.  It isn’t hard, I promise and I am not dogging my husband.  This isn’t about him.  This is about me.  We all just need a little understanding.  He does, I do, we do, and you do.  I guess we cannot let it fester.  I THINK we have to communicate.  Give and take.

My husband and I are actually in a wonderful place and I’m sure this is the first he is hearing about the chirping smoke alarm.  Actually, I know it.  After all, he isn’t the one who hears that infuriating noise all day long.  And, I’m sure I told him at a very distracting moment as he was slugging his work bag on the arm of the chair and 2 little rug rats were running full speed at him.  In any event, here is my communication… “Honey, the basement smoke alarm is chirping, can you change it?”