I would have much preferred to catch her with her hand in the cookie jar. No such luck.
May 30, 2008
Sticky situation!
She strikes again. I was just changing my clothes. It took, at the most, 3 minutes. I guess, until Claire is in kindergarten, I will have to give up showering, using the bathroom and getting dressed. She can't be left alone. So if you see me and I am wearing filthy clothes, I smell foul and I am doing a potty dance, please love my anyway!
I would have much preferred to catch her with her hand in the cookie jar. No such luck.
I would have much preferred to catch her with her hand in the cookie jar. No such luck.
May 28, 2008
The Progenitor
A progenitor. That is what we called him. Not dad or daddy or even father. It was, among other things, something I regret.
Four years ago today I got the call. It was the type of phone call only understood by those who've received one. 1am. The blinds filtered in slivered streetlight, battling to make up for what darkness had suffocated. The shrill of the ring sliced the stillness. I fumbled for the phone from my makeshift bed on the couch. In my ninth month of pregnancy, it was the only place that offered a few minutes of comfort in between the routine bathroom breaks and jarring rib kicks.
When I heard my stepmom's voice on the other end of the line, I did not panic. I wrongly assumed she had forgotten the time difference and had called to see if the much anticipated first grandchild was any closer to making her appearance—I was after all due in 3 days. But then I heard the pain in her voice and I understood. I exhaled and my world shifted.
I remember her exact words, but I do not remember mine. I felt connected to the conversation but had little control over what my body, my voice was doing. I was wailing, a guttural howl I couldn't stop. The voice I could not control woke my husband. He took the phone from me and gathered the details. A motorcycle accident. An instant death. He felt no pain. That was of little comfort to me. Pain or no, the end result was the same.
The grandchild that he was so eager to meet, the little one that would mend the years of a tumultuous father/daughter relationship, the baby that was supposed to fix everything was furiously kicking. She could sense my anguish and the contractions began.
Before I called my doctor, I called my mother. I could not tell if the sorrow in her voice was because of the love she once had for the man who had fathered three of her daughters, or if it was because she could not stop the ache those daughters were now experiencing.
My older sister would not answer her phone. By this time she had taken into account the 6 messages and 20+ missed calls and was choosing not to respond. It was her way of avoiding the reality of the situation. My younger sister was serving a mission in Argentina. The process of locating her and delivering the news had started, but it would be hours before her grief began.
My husband and I sat silently on our living room couch. Unsure of how to navigate fresh grief, he held me, waiting for me to speak, as tears made dizzying lines down my face. I did not. Words had made the situation real, so I needed my space from them. The silence ushered in the sun as labor pains mingled with heartache, and we made our way to the hospital. Although the contractions were severe, it would be 3 weeks before Cora would enter the world. Doctor's orders and taunting contractions would prevent me from traveling to attend the funeral. I could not comprehend the timing of his death.
If I had attended the funeral, I would not have said the typical things a grieving daughter says. I would not have said he was kind to everyone he encountered, that he was the perfect father or that he lived an exemplary life. Those things did not describe my father. This is what I would have said:
My father seemed untouchable. He lived large. He had big dreams. He was brilliant. He was an amazing writer, singer, musician. He was extremely ambitious. He was driven. He knew important people and held important jobs, we were not those people and fathering was not among those jobs. He was many great and wonderful things, but he was not perfect. He was flawed. He was forever restless. He was extremely stubborn. He made promises he could not keep. He was never content.
In his imperfection, I learned to be okay with making mistakes. Of all of the things learned from my father, that is what I am most grateful for. I took more risks because of that, I feared less because of that, and I have lived a fuller life because of that.
Four years ago today I got the call. It was the type of phone call only understood by those who've received one. 1am. The blinds filtered in slivered streetlight, battling to make up for what darkness had suffocated. The shrill of the ring sliced the stillness. I fumbled for the phone from my makeshift bed on the couch. In my ninth month of pregnancy, it was the only place that offered a few minutes of comfort in between the routine bathroom breaks and jarring rib kicks.
When I heard my stepmom's voice on the other end of the line, I did not panic. I wrongly assumed she had forgotten the time difference and had called to see if the much anticipated first grandchild was any closer to making her appearance—I was after all due in 3 days. But then I heard the pain in her voice and I understood. I exhaled and my world shifted.
I remember her exact words, but I do not remember mine. I felt connected to the conversation but had little control over what my body, my voice was doing. I was wailing, a guttural howl I couldn't stop. The voice I could not control woke my husband. He took the phone from me and gathered the details. A motorcycle accident. An instant death. He felt no pain. That was of little comfort to me. Pain or no, the end result was the same.
The grandchild that he was so eager to meet, the little one that would mend the years of a tumultuous father/daughter relationship, the baby that was supposed to fix everything was furiously kicking. She could sense my anguish and the contractions began.
Before I called my doctor, I called my mother. I could not tell if the sorrow in her voice was because of the love she once had for the man who had fathered three of her daughters, or if it was because she could not stop the ache those daughters were now experiencing.
My older sister would not answer her phone. By this time she had taken into account the 6 messages and 20+ missed calls and was choosing not to respond. It was her way of avoiding the reality of the situation. My younger sister was serving a mission in Argentina. The process of locating her and delivering the news had started, but it would be hours before her grief began.
My husband and I sat silently on our living room couch. Unsure of how to navigate fresh grief, he held me, waiting for me to speak, as tears made dizzying lines down my face. I did not. Words had made the situation real, so I needed my space from them. The silence ushered in the sun as labor pains mingled with heartache, and we made our way to the hospital. Although the contractions were severe, it would be 3 weeks before Cora would enter the world. Doctor's orders and taunting contractions would prevent me from traveling to attend the funeral. I could not comprehend the timing of his death.
If I had attended the funeral, I would not have said the typical things a grieving daughter says. I would not have said he was kind to everyone he encountered, that he was the perfect father or that he lived an exemplary life. Those things did not describe my father. This is what I would have said:
My father seemed untouchable. He lived large. He had big dreams. He was brilliant. He was an amazing writer, singer, musician. He was extremely ambitious. He was driven. He knew important people and held important jobs, we were not those people and fathering was not among those jobs. He was many great and wonderful things, but he was not perfect. He was flawed. He was forever restless. He was extremely stubborn. He made promises he could not keep. He was never content.
In his imperfection, I learned to be okay with making mistakes. Of all of the things learned from my father, that is what I am most grateful for. I took more risks because of that, I feared less because of that, and I have lived a fuller life because of that.
He did too. His life may have been cut short, but it was full. That was what I whispered to the fresh baby as rocked her and muffled my grief through tales of the grandfather she would never meet.
Good intentions...
I was going to post about Claire's craziness last week, but then she went and poured an entire bottle of clear Karo syrup on our kitchen table and proceeded to glue herself to the top of it (think fly on fly paper). Sadly, my husband had just returned from a fishing tournament and I couldn't find where he had stashed the camera on his return. So you will just have to believe me when I say, although it prevented me from getting out the door in time for Pilates, seeing her little legs flailing as she dangled from the side of the table was priceless.
Then on Saturday I was going to post about her Karo syrup adventure, but then this happened: (An inch of water dumped into her step stool doesn't seem so bad, right? Just know that the entryway seen behind her led to an unflushed toilet full of fresh urine. Get the picture!)
And then this: (seriously, how can a 1-yr-old spread food over every inch of the kitchen floor?)
And then this: (the most hilarious part about this picture is that Cora had stolen the camera, which she knows she is not allowed to do, to take pictures of Claire on top of the desk destroying a number of books because "I knew she was being naughty!" Not a bad photographer, eh?)
The ink is hard to see with the glare but it covers the entire book.
And then this:
And this is only what I have pictures of. I was so overwhelmed after Claire got a hold of 6, yes 6, freshly frosted cupcakes and smeared them all over the cabinets, kitchen floor, a few chairs, her hair, the front of the fridge and then finally, all over her clothes, that I didn't even think to grab the camera. Do you know how completely cupcakes crumble when deliberately mashed!
Yes, I had every intention of posting days ago about the early onset of Terrible Two behaviors, but I am afraid to turn my back on her. She is a quick little trouble maker. In the time it has taken me to post this, can you image the damage that has been done?
Then on Saturday I was going to post about her Karo syrup adventure, but then this happened: (An inch of water dumped into her step stool doesn't seem so bad, right? Just know that the entryway seen behind her led to an unflushed toilet full of fresh urine. Get the picture!)
And then this: (seriously, how can a 1-yr-old spread food over every inch of the kitchen floor?)
And then this: (the most hilarious part about this picture is that Cora had stolen the camera, which she knows she is not allowed to do, to take pictures of Claire on top of the desk destroying a number of books because "I knew she was being naughty!" Not a bad photographer, eh?)
The ink is hard to see with the glare but it covers the entire book.
And then this:
And this is only what I have pictures of. I was so overwhelmed after Claire got a hold of 6, yes 6, freshly frosted cupcakes and smeared them all over the cabinets, kitchen floor, a few chairs, her hair, the front of the fridge and then finally, all over her clothes, that I didn't even think to grab the camera. Do you know how completely cupcakes crumble when deliberately mashed!Yes, I had every intention of posting days ago about the early onset of Terrible Two behaviors, but I am afraid to turn my back on her. She is a quick little trouble maker. In the time it has taken me to post this, can you image the damage that has been done?
May 23, 2008
Quote for the Day
For Mother's Day, my mom gave me this book called The Preschooler's Busy Book. I'm about halfway through it and it does have some fun activities and great rainy day suggestions. But what I love more than all of the ideas is a quote that the author includes.
"To be a good housewife and mother, you have to be more self-generated. You have to create your own playground of the imagination, and the mind. To be a really good creative mother you have to be an extraordinary woman. You have to keep yourself involved with your child during great periods of the day when it's just the two of you and you feel that at any moment you may literally go out of your mind." -Meryl Streep
Just makes me feel better to know that someone as refined as Meryl Streep shares the same struggles as a frazzled Idaho housewife!
I do need to blog about Claire's last few days. She has gone wild and has been exploring the boundaries of the pre-terrible twos in the most hilarious ways. But I have 6 loads of laundry waiting for me (said laundry is now strewn about the living room having been thoroughly smashed and leaped upon before we made it out the door for preschool), so I will vow to post again tomorrow and head off to make sense of my laundry tornado.
"To be a good housewife and mother, you have to be more self-generated. You have to create your own playground of the imagination, and the mind. To be a really good creative mother you have to be an extraordinary woman. You have to keep yourself involved with your child during great periods of the day when it's just the two of you and you feel that at any moment you may literally go out of your mind." -Meryl Streep
Just makes me feel better to know that someone as refined as Meryl Streep shares the same struggles as a frazzled Idaho housewife!
I do need to blog about Claire's last few days. She has gone wild and has been exploring the boundaries of the pre-terrible twos in the most hilarious ways. But I have 6 loads of laundry waiting for me (said laundry is now strewn about the living room having been thoroughly smashed and leaped upon before we made it out the door for preschool), so I will vow to post again tomorrow and head off to make sense of my laundry tornado.
May 21, 2008
Fine, will you marry me?
Mark and I will celebrate seven years of marriage on Monday, May 26th. Because the holiday weekend will be crazy busy, I probably won't get around to blogging on our actual anniversary. I have blogged about how we met and how our relationship evolved, but I have yet to share how he proposed. Oh right, that is because he didn't. So how did we end up saying "I do" without a "Will you" first? Here for your reading enjoyment is the story of my non-proposal.
It was early February 2001. The ring had been picked out and for months now talk of "when I get married" had been replaced with "when we get married." As Valentine's Day rapidly approached, all of the girls at work began placing bets on when Mark would pop the question. My money was on Valentine's Day.
February 14, 2001. I was working at Red Lobster at the time and aside from Mother's Day, Valentine's Day was our busiest day of the year. Mark and I went out to lunch before my scheduled shift and my heart was beating rapidly all through the meal. I kept analyzing his pockets. I was sure the right pocket had a distinct box outline. It definitely looked bigger than the left. Our drinks arrived. Nothing. Our plates polished off. Nothing. The check came. Nothing. Before I knew it we were gathering our coats and walking out the door.
I walked into work and was greeted by a throng of giddy girls eagerly pawing at my ring finger. The absence of a ring zapped their excitement. Noting my somber tone they assured me he probably knew I had anticipated a Valentine's Day proposal and would therefore wait until tomorrow to surprise me. Made sense. He always said Valentine's Day was too commercial.
February 15, 2001. Nothing.
When I walked through the doors that night the girls at work were more cautious and out of excuses as to why my left hand still had a vacancy. I was fighting back tears. "Maybe he is having second thoughts. Maybe he decided that he doesn't want to marry me or that it is too soon." No, they assured me. There must have been a problem with the ring. Maybe it was still being sized. Maybe it just wasn't ready yet. Made sense. You can't have a proper proposal without a ring . Can you?
February 16, 2001. I was sitting on the edge of Mark's bed, blaming the watery eyes on allergies. He knew I was upset but had no idea why. Finally after an hour of prodding I broke down. I told him that if he was having second thoughts we could slow down, but if he didn't want to marry me he had better say something so I would stop spending endless hours flipping through bridal magazines. He was speechless. In my emotional state I took this to mean he was contemplating the best way to let me down easy. When he finally spoke this is what he said: (I actually remember this conversation almost word for word)
Mark: Fine, will you marry me?
Me: No. Now you are just asking because I want you to, not because you want to.
Mark: Amber, I want to marry you. And you know that. I just don't care about a big proposal. Instead of planning something elaborate where I pop the question during a half-time show or something, I would rather take all that energy and put it into making you happy for the rest of our lives (Yes, Mark actually said this. Honest. You can even give him crap for it and he still won't deny it.)
Me: (pause) Okay then I will marry you.
The next day we drove to pick up my ring together. Three and a half months later I put on a fancy dress and changed my name. And now here we are, seven years, 5 moves, 2 houses, 7 cars and 2 beautiful daughters later. Who knew how much fun could come from someone NOT asking you to marry them?!!
P.S. I have to give kudos to my in-laws for raising such a patient, strong, handsome, talented, hard-working and overall wonderful son. And for being a shining example that, even after years of marriage, it is still possible to be very much in love with your spouse. I know Mark looks to your marriage as an example when he is at his wits end and wonders how he got roped into marrying such a crazy, emotional basket-case!! :)
It was early February 2001. The ring had been picked out and for months now talk of "when I get married" had been replaced with "when we get married." As Valentine's Day rapidly approached, all of the girls at work began placing bets on when Mark would pop the question. My money was on Valentine's Day.
February 14, 2001. I was working at Red Lobster at the time and aside from Mother's Day, Valentine's Day was our busiest day of the year. Mark and I went out to lunch before my scheduled shift and my heart was beating rapidly all through the meal. I kept analyzing his pockets. I was sure the right pocket had a distinct box outline. It definitely looked bigger than the left. Our drinks arrived. Nothing. Our plates polished off. Nothing. The check came. Nothing. Before I knew it we were gathering our coats and walking out the door.
I walked into work and was greeted by a throng of giddy girls eagerly pawing at my ring finger. The absence of a ring zapped their excitement. Noting my somber tone they assured me he probably knew I had anticipated a Valentine's Day proposal and would therefore wait until tomorrow to surprise me. Made sense. He always said Valentine's Day was too commercial.
February 15, 2001. Nothing.
When I walked through the doors that night the girls at work were more cautious and out of excuses as to why my left hand still had a vacancy. I was fighting back tears. "Maybe he is having second thoughts. Maybe he decided that he doesn't want to marry me or that it is too soon." No, they assured me. There must have been a problem with the ring. Maybe it was still being sized. Maybe it just wasn't ready yet. Made sense. You can't have a proper proposal without a ring . Can you?
February 16, 2001. I was sitting on the edge of Mark's bed, blaming the watery eyes on allergies. He knew I was upset but had no idea why. Finally after an hour of prodding I broke down. I told him that if he was having second thoughts we could slow down, but if he didn't want to marry me he had better say something so I would stop spending endless hours flipping through bridal magazines. He was speechless. In my emotional state I took this to mean he was contemplating the best way to let me down easy. When he finally spoke this is what he said: (I actually remember this conversation almost word for word)
Mark: Fine, will you marry me?
Me: No. Now you are just asking because I want you to, not because you want to.
Mark: Amber, I want to marry you. And you know that. I just don't care about a big proposal. Instead of planning something elaborate where I pop the question during a half-time show or something, I would rather take all that energy and put it into making you happy for the rest of our lives (Yes, Mark actually said this. Honest. You can even give him crap for it and he still won't deny it.)
Me: (pause) Okay then I will marry you.
The next day we drove to pick up my ring together. Three and a half months later I put on a fancy dress and changed my name. And now here we are, seven years, 5 moves, 2 houses, 7 cars and 2 beautiful daughters later. Who knew how much fun could come from someone NOT asking you to marry them?!!
P.S. I have to give kudos to my in-laws for raising such a patient, strong, handsome, talented, hard-working and overall wonderful son. And for being a shining example that, even after years of marriage, it is still possible to be very much in love with your spouse. I know Mark looks to your marriage as an example when he is at his wits end and wonders how he got roped into marrying such a crazy, emotional basket-case!! :)
May 16, 2008
A bit of randomness
I realize I have been a posting slacker. It is halfway through the month and I have only posted twice. Thing is, I have nothing exciting to say. So I will post a quick recap and a few cute pictures of what we have been up to lately.
Most importantly, the New Kids on the Block performed together for the first time in 15 years on the Today show this morning. I almost couldn't sleep I was so excited! Highlight of my year. Oh did I mention I love them. My car only seats 5 so make your reservations now for our cross country (if necessary) road trip to see them in concert.
Next, a few pictures from a baby shower we had for my Pilates instructor, Rachel. It was at Chuck E. Cheese so the kids could run wild while we shoved our faces with pizza, monster Costco cupcakes AND Cold Stone Creamery ice cream cake (the fact that we were skipping our Pilates class to be there made me feel a bit guilty about the calorie consumption!).
Rachel with her delicious cake!
My favorite part about this picture, aside from the fact that it shows Cora and Presley's absolute adoration of Chuck E, is the plumber look Cora is sporting. I swear the child has no butt, so keeping her pants up is impossible!
Because we were the only ones in the restaurant, the girls had Chuck E. all to themselves. He even played air hockey with them (which is Cora's favorite game).
Some of my Pilates girls. Notice the few food remnants left over.
Speaking of Pilates, I am a few weeks away from being certified to teach Pilates, kick-boxing and a few other classes. I think I will start teaching for the Idaho Athletic Club around the second week in June, but I am not sure how many classes I will be teaching each week. If you are in the area and want your butt kicked, give me a call.
And finally a few random pictures and a hilarious drawing. The drawing/adapted photo was created by my brother while we were in Vegas. He had set it as the background photo on our computer so that is where we discovered it when we got home. Makes me laugh every time I see it. Oh and I chopped my hair off, I'll try to take a picture of it really quick and add that too.
The Princess and the Monkey by Michael, Cora and Claire
Claire looked so cute after waking up from her nap so I had so snap a picture. She is holding her new sippy cup which is practically glued to her hand now (even when empty).
I think the reason I love this picture is obvious.
I got a shot of the back and then the batteries in the camera died. I am recharging them now and promise a shot of the front sometime soon! You at least get the idea of how much I hacked off.
Most importantly, the New Kids on the Block performed together for the first time in 15 years on the Today show this morning. I almost couldn't sleep I was so excited! Highlight of my year. Oh did I mention I love them. My car only seats 5 so make your reservations now for our cross country (if necessary) road trip to see them in concert.
Next, a few pictures from a baby shower we had for my Pilates instructor, Rachel. It was at Chuck E. Cheese so the kids could run wild while we shoved our faces with pizza, monster Costco cupcakes AND Cold Stone Creamery ice cream cake (the fact that we were skipping our Pilates class to be there made me feel a bit guilty about the calorie consumption!).
Rachel with her delicious cake!
My favorite part about this picture, aside from the fact that it shows Cora and Presley's absolute adoration of Chuck E, is the plumber look Cora is sporting. I swear the child has no butt, so keeping her pants up is impossible!
Because we were the only ones in the restaurant, the girls had Chuck E. all to themselves. He even played air hockey with them (which is Cora's favorite game).
Some of my Pilates girls. Notice the few food remnants left over.Speaking of Pilates, I am a few weeks away from being certified to teach Pilates, kick-boxing and a few other classes. I think I will start teaching for the Idaho Athletic Club around the second week in June, but I am not sure how many classes I will be teaching each week. If you are in the area and want your butt kicked, give me a call.
And finally a few random pictures and a hilarious drawing. The drawing/adapted photo was created by my brother while we were in Vegas. He had set it as the background photo on our computer so that is where we discovered it when we got home. Makes me laugh every time I see it. Oh and I chopped my hair off, I'll try to take a picture of it really quick and add that too.
The Princess and the Monkey by Michael, Cora and Claire
Claire looked so cute after waking up from her nap so I had so snap a picture. She is holding her new sippy cup which is practically glued to her hand now (even when empty).
I think the reason I love this picture is obvious.
I got a shot of the back and then the batteries in the camera died. I am recharging them now and promise a shot of the front sometime soon! You at least get the idea of how much I hacked off.
May 10, 2008
Viva Las Vegas!
I'm not sure I agree with my title after spending 4 days there. I don't think I would shout "Long live Las Vegas" from any rooftops, because I would essentially be putting my seal of approval on all of the scantily clad (if clad at all) women, the crazy drunks and the idea that indiscretions made there don't follow one home for accountabilities sake. But all the City of Sin talk aside, we had an AMAZING time. I have been waiting to post until I gathered all the pictures from everyone's cameras, but the other camera holders are miles away attending a college graduation, and because I am relatively impatient, you are stuck with the measly few pictures we took with our own camera.
Mark and I have agreed that on our last day there, the neon lights began to blur together and the sound of the slot machines had burned a permanent place in our ears, but the days leading up to the Vegas overload were wonderful, relaxing and well worth it. We went with two other couples who share a similar sense of humor and outlook on life. This amounted to endless laughter and promises to repeat the trip again (although we all agree Vegas will not be a destination option for years to come). So a huge thanks to Scott and Joey for the invite and an even bigger thanks to Michael, Anne and Michelle for adopting our children for a few days to make the trip possible.
We broke all of the typical Vegas rules. We didn't drink to much or gamble away our life savings, but amazingly we managed to have fun anyway. We walked and walked and walked (good thing too because we ate and ate and ate!). We explored almost all of the casinos/hotels, rode a fantastic roller coaster so many times I ended up with bruises on my shoulders from the harness, lounged by the pool, oh and then ate and walked some more.
I not only enjoyed the company of those we went with, but also remembered how much I enjoy my husband's company as well. When we are at home together, we assume the parent roles. One of us is always changing a diaper or attempting to control the chaos and we get little time to remember how much we like each other (sounds cheesy, but it is so true!). So besides getting in a little sun and a little relaxation, this trip served as a reminder of how compatible we are and how much fun we have together. I sure do love that man!
And here for your viewing pleasure are a few pictures and a video of the light show in front of the Bellagio (please note the video was taken on our last night there when I was completely fed up with stupid drunk people!).
Mark and I inside the Luxor.
Me in front of the Paris.
Scott with a little too much Captain in him!
Kristy, Joey and myself.
Mark and I have agreed that on our last day there, the neon lights began to blur together and the sound of the slot machines had burned a permanent place in our ears, but the days leading up to the Vegas overload were wonderful, relaxing and well worth it. We went with two other couples who share a similar sense of humor and outlook on life. This amounted to endless laughter and promises to repeat the trip again (although we all agree Vegas will not be a destination option for years to come). So a huge thanks to Scott and Joey for the invite and an even bigger thanks to Michael, Anne and Michelle for adopting our children for a few days to make the trip possible.
We broke all of the typical Vegas rules. We didn't drink to much or gamble away our life savings, but amazingly we managed to have fun anyway. We walked and walked and walked (good thing too because we ate and ate and ate!). We explored almost all of the casinos/hotels, rode a fantastic roller coaster so many times I ended up with bruises on my shoulders from the harness, lounged by the pool, oh and then ate and walked some more.
I not only enjoyed the company of those we went with, but also remembered how much I enjoy my husband's company as well. When we are at home together, we assume the parent roles. One of us is always changing a diaper or attempting to control the chaos and we get little time to remember how much we like each other (sounds cheesy, but it is so true!). So besides getting in a little sun and a little relaxation, this trip served as a reminder of how compatible we are and how much fun we have together. I sure do love that man!
And here for your viewing pleasure are a few pictures and a video of the light show in front of the Bellagio (please note the video was taken on our last night there when I was completely fed up with stupid drunk people!).
Mark and I inside the Luxor.
Me in front of the Paris.
Scott with a little too much Captain in him!
Kristy, Joey and myself.May 04, 2008
Mother May I
I am my mother. Over the years I began to sense the transformation. The need to find a home for all of my college friends to go for Easter dinner, the sudden urge to save my empty toilet paper rolls, the thumb that, once licked, took the place of the napkin when wiping dirty faces. Today confirmed it.
Mark and I are boarding a plane for Las Vegas (YIPPPEEEE!!!) in about 2 hours. We are leaving the girls with my sister for 2 days and my brother and sister-in-law for the remaining 2 days. Based on the sheer volume of lists I have compiled with instructions as ridiculous as "When dropping Cora off at preschool, you must use the back door and enter through the gate," you would believe they have never met my children. I have lists about what food they eat and when, what color their toothbrushes are and how long to brush for. When they nap, pee, snack, bathe and breathe. It is official. I am her.
This realization terrifies me. Not because my mother is a bad person (a bit crazy, but whose mother isn't!), she is just the opposite. She is caring and considerate. She refuses, despite my repeated attempts, to gossip. She volunteers and spends endless hours in her classroom to ensure her students have the best education available. She is giving to a fault. She always puts others before herself and is amazingly smart. She is a wonderful mother. So why does becoming her scare me?
Well it just means that regardless of how hard I try, or how many times I say something (ie. I will never do (insert motherly thing here) like my mother!) that after enough years have gone by, it will inevitably happen anyway. So here's to fighting tooth and nail to not become our mothers, but becoming them anyway. Just one request, if I ever start wearing pantyhose with my capris, can someone grab me by the shoulders and shake me until I come to my senses! (Regardless of the fashion faux pas, I still love you mom!)
Mark and I are boarding a plane for Las Vegas (YIPPPEEEE!!!) in about 2 hours. We are leaving the girls with my sister for 2 days and my brother and sister-in-law for the remaining 2 days. Based on the sheer volume of lists I have compiled with instructions as ridiculous as "When dropping Cora off at preschool, you must use the back door and enter through the gate," you would believe they have never met my children. I have lists about what food they eat and when, what color their toothbrushes are and how long to brush for. When they nap, pee, snack, bathe and breathe. It is official. I am her.
This realization terrifies me. Not because my mother is a bad person (a bit crazy, but whose mother isn't!), she is just the opposite. She is caring and considerate. She refuses, despite my repeated attempts, to gossip. She volunteers and spends endless hours in her classroom to ensure her students have the best education available. She is giving to a fault. She always puts others before herself and is amazingly smart. She is a wonderful mother. So why does becoming her scare me?
Well it just means that regardless of how hard I try, or how many times I say something (ie. I will never do (insert motherly thing here) like my mother!) that after enough years have gone by, it will inevitably happen anyway. So here's to fighting tooth and nail to not become our mothers, but becoming them anyway. Just one request, if I ever start wearing pantyhose with my capris, can someone grab me by the shoulders and shake me until I come to my senses! (Regardless of the fashion faux pas, I still love you mom!)
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