A Feel Good Post

I have really amazing children.

The stains on the couch, the stretchmarks on my oversized hips, the late night whispers in the dark where Tom and I ask each other "do we suck at parenting? are we doing this right?"---these things tell a different story. But I do, I have really amazing children. 

Even the grumpy ones,

and the can't sit still silly ones,

these children are F-U-L-L of character,

and I hope I do enough to help them realize that, and embrace who they are. I want them to be proud to be the silly, grumpy, frustrating, couch staining children that they are. Because really, they are really really amazing. 

Of all the things they are going to doubt in their lives, I never want them to question how blessed I am to be their mother. I love the phrase "the pleasure was all mine," and I understand it now. It makes me think of some old movie, probably a black and white 1950's film, where one man in a fine suit shakes hands with another man in a fine suit and one says "thank you," and the other replies "no no, the pleasure was all mine." But no, this is a parenting phrase. When these children turn into adults I want them to look back on their childhood and know for certain that the pleasure was all mine. It doesn't always seem like it now, but it is a pleasure. It is a pleasure to calm every fear, kiss every scrape, cuddle every whimper in the middle of the night, tame every tantrum. It is a pleasure. 

Since we lost my grandfather and had to drive the kids all the way down the middle of the country to Texas it seems that Tom and I haven't been able to shake a feeling of bad luck. We are exhausted. Teebs refuses his sleep training, we're behind on projects in the house, there's an unfinished bathroom remodel in the basement waiting for someone to pick up where they left off,

and the list of Bub's phobias is growing daily and now includes even moderately loud noise,

but I think that's even more reason to appreciate the things that we have that are amazing. Like a husband who is a provider and a comforter,

who may not be really good at finishing projects, but he is really good at starting them, and it's that ambition that inspires me.

We have afternoons to spend in the park.

We have time to stop and appreciate.

A lot of things just feel good right now. Some things feel a little bad. But a lot of things feel pretty good. I like to remind myself of the good things. Like when I'm on the verge of really, really wallowing in pity and dwelling on the things that just aren't quite the right that I think they should be, I like to pause, spread my fingers out for just a moment all the way to the fingertips, and feel the air. There is a lot of good energy in that air.

Even when it feels better, and more natural, to only see the bad and to wallow. The goodness is still all around.

 So why wallow? When we could play---

Even Bub has his own way of feeling the goodness in the air,

he collides with life. Throws himself right into the thick of it. Sucks it up. Absorbs. Begs for more. Bub loves the goodness in life. Bub is the goodness in life.

Tomorrow is Friday, and I am about to end the week and start the weekend with no laundry to tackle and a clean house. It won't last long, but it puts just a little more goodness into the air. So this weekend I'm going to be surrounded by amazing children, an organized house, a loving husband, good energy, and a lot of warm weather and free time. And yes, like usual we will still be tired. We will still have things we wish we would have accomplished, but didn't. Things will go wrong. Messes will be made. Tears will be shed. Tantrums will be had. But the pleasure is most certainly all mine.

***You can purchase greeting cards with pictures from this post and previous posts by clicking here

Prairieland Dairy Day

I love living in a place, where on the right day, it's impossible to tell if the ground is flatter than the sky is wide.

A place where you can see the entire shadow of a cloud. The entire shadow. All of the bits and blobs of spongy circumference spread out, a dark soup, on the ground. Because, why not? It's June, it's amazing, and there is nothing, nothing but land and sky and small blips of traffic on the highway between cities. Why not.


I love living in a place where in just 10 minutes from anywhere is a spot where the road ahead of you---

---is the same, and just as embracing, as the road behind you. And it doesn't judge or ask why, it just lets you drive, because it is what it is. It is a dirt road.

And back to that sky, that big, bulbous sky---it's breathtaking. I'm sure there are nice beaches, picturesque mountains, calming deserts---but I can't imagine anything as soothing as the scene of that sky from a flat dirt road. It just makes everything seem so understandable, as if you can ask any question and look at that sky and say "Oooh, so that's how it is supposed to be."

On Saturday we drove down that dirt road, admiring all the blueness and green that was everywhere, and went to the Priarieland Dairy Day

As poetic as I could make being on a farm sound, it doesn't come naturally for me. I sneezed, and I had frequent bug seizures while being a spazz swatting at anything that had buzzing wings or more legs than I do. Even so, in that little place in my mind where I dream of the "what ifs..." and the "wouldn't it be perfect..." I always picture myself out in the country, with nothing but the house we sleep in and the ground below it and the sky above us capping it all in. I just don't think you can go to a farm and not have even one small piece of you think "this is really amazing."

But Teebs was not amused

This child smiles, I swear. And it is enchanting. But for the most part, Teebs has really just mastered being. He goes where I go, attached to some limb of my body, and he let's life happen without causing too much of a disturbance. It is what it is, and whatever it is, he is not amused.

Out of all the things to see, do, and eat, Bub was just happy to sit in a pile of corn and play.

And I got to admire his developing social skills, and his ability to say "Hey, I was playing with that!" And then look at me for help.

But Teebs was not amused.

Bub got to get his little city hands on a fake cow utter,

and ponder its complexities

and disappear behind a Bub-sized vat of delicious ice cream

But Teebs was not amused.

He looked on with his haunting glare, unimpressed. I am not joking when I say he is obsessed with me. It's endearing. It's adorable. It's exhausting. He refuses to be parted from his mother. When I think he is sleeping soundly, nestled in his stroller, and I look up to meet eyes with that vicious stare, I hear the soundtrack of a horror movie. Like that moment in a film when the audience bellows "get out!" "don't go in there!" or "turn around!"

But Teebs, with the miniature little grumpy old man scowl, is my baby. He is his mama's baby. A temperament only a mother could love. Teebs is mine.

But Teebs is not amused.

So Teebs got to watch over the day from underneath his deeply furrowed brow, while my dad and I laughed at his lackluster reaction, and after Bub got to fill the underneath of his fingernails with dirt without anybody telling him no,

and smell the realness of cows,

and after he had looked at the real tractors that his shiny metal models at home mimic, admiring them with his ears covered after hearing that real tractors make real noises that are much greater than the lip sputters he uses when pushing a big, red International across the carpet,

we piled ourselves, both the amused and unamused, back into the truck to go home. Back onto the dirt road, with nothing to our backs that was different than in front of us. Back under the sky, over the shadows but under the clouds, back to the rest of our day. 

And the more I think about it, I think maybe I'm being a little hard on Teebs. I think I love having a grumpy bear. And I think maybe it's not really grumpiness after all. Teebs is a dirt road. He is what he is. He is nothing if not consistent. I know the way he was yesterday, and the way he is today, and the way he will be tomorrow.  He doesn't really judge or ask why, he just lets life happen. He may not enjoy it, but he goes along with it, because it is what it is. It is Teebs. It is a dirt road.

And lastly, you can buy prints/greeting cards from this post and previous posts here

enjoy!

Our Bubby Goes to Cars 2

Before every big event, we always go through the car wash.

Usually we don't have time to stop at the car wash,

or it's way busier than we expected, and delays us just enough to put us just on the edge of that fine, narrow line between "running late" and "tardy."

There is always that moment when we're on our way to some sort of event, we pass our car wash, glance at the time, our eyes meet for one glimmer, we know we shouldn't---but we can't help ourselves. It's our tradition, it's what we do.

For some reason, having the truck check-your-lipstick-in-this-gleam kind of clean is just the right way to start a special evening.

Last night though, last night---we were not late. We weren't even on the brink of running late. We were the essence of prepared. Last night we took Bub to his very first movie at the theater. The biggest, little Lightning Mcqueen fanatic got to go to Cars 2, opening night, way past bed time, with no baby brother. Just his own special, big boy night.

We started the night with the car wash, and for once, it didn't matter if the car wash was wrapped with a curved line of a dozen cars waiting their turn ahead of us. We had time. We were prepared.

I even bought tickets in advance.

We all just felt a little bit victorious.

And this smile was stacked on top of a freshly ironed Lightning McQueen shirt, holding together a slithering body, bouncing on top of barely balancing feet, in tightly strapped Lightning McQueen shoes. His excitement was spellbinding.

The best part was seeing Bub match Tom's long and lofty strides with sleek trot-trot-trot strides, as we walked into the theater---thundering with our smug prepared-parents ego through the line of moms and dads waiting to purchase tickets.

It doesn't always happen. In fact it hardly ever happens. So when everyone is dressed in a decently clean outfit, and I don't have to run back in the house for my camera before we leave, and the truck gets washed, and we arrive on time, early even, and there are spare camera batteries in my purse, and everybody has gone potty, and nobody is crying, and everybody clearly understands what in the heck is going on----

Well, we're going to brag a little. Not brag so much that we would have to take a deep breath and swell with pride, because we need that breath. We need to hold that breath, that little snippet of anticipation that something could still go wrong. Bub could still cry when the lights go out, or shriek his eardrum bursting bat-like squeal that he uses when new situations make him uneasy. He could fall asleep and miss the whole movie. He could hate the whole movie. He could pee his pants.

Anything could still happen. We could still ruin this, still make one wrong move and go home striking one more meager notch on the "failure" side of parenting. It could turn into a funny story, a "remember when we tried so hard but..."

But---it didn't.

The movie...wasn't amazing. Even Bub realized that. It wasn't as dreamy as we promised him it would be, it didn't necessarily enthrall him, thrill him, and our lives were basically unchanged for having seen it. But Bubby got his own special night of trying new things. He got all of my attention, all ten of my fingers, all two of my arms, both sides of my brain. He got his night.

And we got ours.

 The Post Movie Victory Smile

We got our victory. We set out to make Bub's night, fill his little life vessel full of fun. And it's small, we know, an insignificant little movie that he will never really remember seeing ten years from now. It won't matter later. But for now, no matter how small, it was just really, really nice to win one.

Today, I drove the boys to a farm and completely cancelled out our truck wash from last night. The house is once again messy, making me once again unprepared, and there's a whole slew of new and old things still waiting to be tackled. But for every good thing that happens, there is just one more molecule of confidence that refuels me to keep going. And that little breath we were holding? That little bit of anticipation for something to go wrong? We get to let it out, or at least relax it a little, just until next time.

Mondays

Second to Saturdays, Monday mornings are my favorite of all mornings. It's a new beginning. Mondays are looming with inspiration, they hold so much potential. Mondays are overwhelming. It's another week and I can do anything. Succeed or fail or both, with everything in between.

I set the precedent for my entire week with Monday morning. Sometimes I get up in time to pack Tom's lunch, sometimes I barely remember him leaving. And sometimes I open my eyes to see him standing at the closet staring at a bare space of closet rod where his uniforms should be---if there were any clean ones. There's a whole mess of things that can happen on a Monday, and I think maybe I like them so much because if I can conquer Monday morning...I can conquer anything.

One of the best parts of any morning is this:

My boys loving each other. Bub has become absolutely infatuated with Teebs. He badgers me all day long, "I wanna touch him! I wanna TOUCH him!" So sometimes in the morning Bub gets to be the first one to touch him.

And sometimes he gets to be the first one Teeber pinches---

On Monday mornings, anything can happen.

On this particular Monday morning, Bub had his very first preschool day camp. He was skeptical, distrusting, reluctant. And that is an understatement. But I exhausted every ounce of coaxing I could muster, I rallied the grandparent troops for bribes. I got him to day camp.

He was not amused. But he was there. And as soon as he got his name tag, things started looking up. He talked to another little boy, they looked at a turtle together, while inside my head I screamed "He's making friends! He's making FRIENDS!" He sat on a log stool and demanded I take his picture. I was suddenly hit with the pride of a parental victory. "I have socialized my child," I thought, "I have succeeded."

For a solid five minutes, things were grand. Then the mothers starting fleeing the room in drones and I hid my panic, kissed Bub a reassuring kiss, and aimed my stroller towards the door. We're going to make it, we're going to make it, I can see the door...

Then things got messy. Bub hit his internal panic button, I could practically see the sirens and lights going off inside of him. He is an expressive, emotional child. He holds nothing back. He was screaming, flailing, pulling, begging. My heart was split clean in half for my agonizing baby, and after being told we were a distraction and the class needed to go on---we went home.

I was so upset by the scene we had just created, I didn't know what to feel. I drove away with tears lopping down my cheeks, and Bub sitting warmly in puddle of relief, chatting happily in the backseat. I couldn't figure out what I was feeling...but I felt betrayed...by Bub. I felt like I had given him an amazing opportunity to have fun, make friends, create memories. I knew he was scared but I gave him my word that everything would be ok. And he didn't believe me. He didn't trust me. And he embarrassed me.

I felt betrayed by my son. I wallowed in pity. I texted my mom. I quoted song lyrics "Mama said there'd be days like this..." I thought about why this one moment in my parenting career meant so much to me, and when I couldn't figure it out I threw my hands in the air and just went to the park...

...where I realized that that face is the reason that a 4 day long preschool day camp meant so much to my little beating mommy heart. I want him to have friends, and social skills, and successes. I want him to have the confidence to let go of my hand and command control of his little three year old life. Even if I have left him alone in a room of a dozen preschoolers for two and a half hours.

At the park he told me not to be sad anymore, and that he didn't want to play at camp, that he wanted to play where nobody else would bother us.

So we played.

And Bubby did command control of his little three year old life,

In his own little three year old ways, he did amazing things---

With sand, and dirt, and little boy sweat. And his mother by his side.

Plopping beside him in the playground sand, with pebbles stuck in clumps all over our legs, I realized that in spite of our tumultuous morning---I have never been prouder of him.

This morning there was a room full of 3 year olds who were ready and happy to leave their mothers for the 4 mornings of day camp. But not my Bub. And he was not ashamed to tell me.  

I respect his decision. And I can't overlook the little bouts of independence that he does have

In his own little Bubby ways

And I also can't neglect the fact that, especially since becoming a big brother, Bub is awkwardly placed in that strange world where he is too big for life's baby swing

But he is not quite ready to face the big kid swings without help

And I adore that about him. He can stay in that in-between stage as long as he needs to. Because I have no where else to go, except wherever he leads me. And I have all the time in the world to spend with him.

Someday he will be shoving me away with big guy hands that will still to me look like chubby baby hands, forcefully loosening my grip on his heart. But today he still wanted his mommy. And, for now, that is ok. Today I learned to follow his lead, to push when it is necessary, but respect his personal time line. He will make friends, he will learn social skills, even if it didn't happen today.

That---was our Monday. 

It ended with luminous clouds and a loud but quickly fleeting storm,

But in the realm of my mothering journey, it was a very, very memorable Monday.