Man I hope she never grows up.
September 30, 2010
Kitchenology According to Claire
Man I hope she never grows up.
September 25, 2010
I'm a mess
Our internet was down for a day and a half. I have a few large projects with looming deadlines. I have no time for uncooperative internet. I declared today a "stay home" day so I could throw a few scraps of food in front of my children, turn on some Tom and Jerry reruns and ignore them until lunch while I buried myself in the office.
That lasted all of 10 minutes before they became restless and went about trashing each room in the house while reenacting the lame-O Alpha and Omega movie I took them to last night. The "wolves" needed a blanket shelter. The "wolves" needed grapes. The "wolves" needed a bungee cord leash. I totally get why wolves are an endangered species.
The doorbell rang and two unsuspecting neighbor kids doubled the "pack" size. When the howling got out of control I traded Tom & Jerry for the Wii, refreshed the snacks and retired to my computer screen. 4 children: 2 Wii remotes. Not my brightest idea. I became referee. And chef. My solution to any problem is to feed it.
On my way to the kitchen I tripped over one of the "wolves" lairs? Dens? Whatevers. Nine-year-old neighbor girl said, "My parents would never let our house get this messy. They are way cleaner than this."
And there you have it. I was schooled by a 3rd grader. I tried to pretend her comment didn't affect me. She likes Silly Bandz and I-Carly after all. Her opinion of me does not matter. Except she was spot on.
I'm a wreck. I never have it all together. Not even half-way together. And I can't even fake it anymore. My house it ALWAYS messy. Always. I just can't seem to keep up. I don't have enough energy. I don't have enough patience. I don't have enough motivation.
I do however have enough restraint to keep myself from strangling an observant 9-year-old. That counts for something, doesn't it?
That lasted all of 10 minutes before they became restless and went about trashing each room in the house while reenacting the lame-O Alpha and Omega movie I took them to last night. The "wolves" needed a blanket shelter. The "wolves" needed grapes. The "wolves" needed a bungee cord leash. I totally get why wolves are an endangered species.
The doorbell rang and two unsuspecting neighbor kids doubled the "pack" size. When the howling got out of control I traded Tom & Jerry for the Wii, refreshed the snacks and retired to my computer screen. 4 children: 2 Wii remotes. Not my brightest idea. I became referee. And chef. My solution to any problem is to feed it.
On my way to the kitchen I tripped over one of the "wolves" lairs? Dens? Whatevers. Nine-year-old neighbor girl said, "My parents would never let our house get this messy. They are way cleaner than this."
And there you have it. I was schooled by a 3rd grader. I tried to pretend her comment didn't affect me. She likes Silly Bandz and I-Carly after all. Her opinion of me does not matter. Except she was spot on.
I'm a wreck. I never have it all together. Not even half-way together. And I can't even fake it anymore. My house it ALWAYS messy. Always. I just can't seem to keep up. I don't have enough energy. I don't have enough patience. I don't have enough motivation.
I do however have enough restraint to keep myself from strangling an observant 9-year-old. That counts for something, doesn't it?
September 16, 2010
Heaven on Earth
Be. Still. My. Heart.
A dear friend introduced us today at a lunch-time BBQ. I fell hard.
Thing is about this friend of mine, she's a foodie too. To say we gorged ourselves would be an understatement.
The peaches
+ freshly grilled corn on the cob
+ jalapeno mango Aidell's sausage
+ fresh chips and queso
--------------------------
= FOOD HANGOVER
Because I too want you to experience this kind of bliss, here's the recipe:
1/2 cup butter, softened
1/4 cup seedless blackberry preserves
2 tablespoons finely chopped fresh basil
5 (ish) large peaches
Stir together softened butter, blackberry preserves and chopped fresh basil until blended. Serve with warm grilled peaches. Thank me later.
September 11, 2010
And I gladly stand up...
I was fuming as the cleaning man shut the movie theater door. If their recording says a movie is playing at 11:15 and my daughter is giddy about seeing a movie at 11:15 and I show up at 11:15 to find the theater closed, Mama Bear in me comes out.
To stop Claire's tears, I begrudgingly drive across the street to McDonalds. We eat, she plays and all sadness about broken movie promises vanishes. I begin cleaning up our table when a small tow-headed girl bounces over to us and proclaims, "It's my birthday today. I'm FOUR YEARS OLD!"
"I'm four years old too," Claire says. I turn to the child's mother who is situating their meal on the table next to us, "They grow up so fast don't they."
She begins sobbing.
Not sure how to react, I fumble through some version of "I'm sorry" before she explains.
Her husband, who had been stationed in Afghanistan for 8 months had been killed two weeks ago. She is obviously still reeling. She divulges just enough to explain her tears, then turns around to bury them in her food.
As I help Claire get her shoes on, I try to piece words together in my mind that might comfort her. I fail. Useless generic phrases are the only things that come to mind. I grab my purse to leave as I hear her whisper, "Oh no. I can't do this."
I follow her gaze and immediately locate the root of her words. Two soldiers dressed in complete uniform have just sat down. She scoops her daughter up as the bright-eyed child fights her mother's grasp and sobs about half-eaten hamburgers.
We are a few steps behind her as she makes her way to the door. She pauses in front of the soldiers table just long enough to thank them for their service before she rushes to her car. I try to keep my emotions in check as I explain the young widow's situation to the two men. They immediately jump up from the table and follow her out.
I do not know what words were exchanged. I do not see their interaction at all. But I can only imagine they, unlike me, know the right things to say. About sacrifice and heroes, honor and service.
As I pull out of the parking lot, I can no longer fight it. I cry. An ugly cry. My nose is running and my shoulders are shaking and I can barley see the road through my tears.
Claire asks me what's wrong. "Nothing," I say. And I mean it.
There is not a thing in my life that justifies a true complaint. Not a trial that deserves a pity party. I have no true needs, only wants. I am able to choose where I live and work and raise my children. I am not controlled by anyone. I do not fear for my life or the lives of my family. I am free in every sense of the word.
That freedom was bought and paid for with the life of that woman's husband and the countless others who have died serving this country. I will never be able to thank them properly. But I am grateful. Deeply grateful. And on this day in particular, regardless of whether you support the war or our President or our mission overseas, let's pause our busy lives to appreciate those selflessly serving.
"It is my earnest hope - indeed the hope of all mankind - that from this solemn occasion a better world shall emerge out of the blood and carnage of the past, a world found upon faith and understanding, a world dedicated to the dignity of man and the fulfillment of his most cherished wish for freedom, tolerance and justice."
- General Douglas Macarthur
To stop Claire's tears, I begrudgingly drive across the street to McDonalds. We eat, she plays and all sadness about broken movie promises vanishes. I begin cleaning up our table when a small tow-headed girl bounces over to us and proclaims, "It's my birthday today. I'm FOUR YEARS OLD!"
"I'm four years old too," Claire says. I turn to the child's mother who is situating their meal on the table next to us, "They grow up so fast don't they."
She begins sobbing.
Not sure how to react, I fumble through some version of "I'm sorry" before she explains.
Her husband, who had been stationed in Afghanistan for 8 months had been killed two weeks ago. She is obviously still reeling. She divulges just enough to explain her tears, then turns around to bury them in her food.
As I help Claire get her shoes on, I try to piece words together in my mind that might comfort her. I fail. Useless generic phrases are the only things that come to mind. I grab my purse to leave as I hear her whisper, "Oh no. I can't do this."
I follow her gaze and immediately locate the root of her words. Two soldiers dressed in complete uniform have just sat down. She scoops her daughter up as the bright-eyed child fights her mother's grasp and sobs about half-eaten hamburgers.
We are a few steps behind her as she makes her way to the door. She pauses in front of the soldiers table just long enough to thank them for their service before she rushes to her car. I try to keep my emotions in check as I explain the young widow's situation to the two men. They immediately jump up from the table and follow her out.
I do not know what words were exchanged. I do not see their interaction at all. But I can only imagine they, unlike me, know the right things to say. About sacrifice and heroes, honor and service.
As I pull out of the parking lot, I can no longer fight it. I cry. An ugly cry. My nose is running and my shoulders are shaking and I can barley see the road through my tears.
Claire asks me what's wrong. "Nothing," I say. And I mean it.
There is not a thing in my life that justifies a true complaint. Not a trial that deserves a pity party. I have no true needs, only wants. I am able to choose where I live and work and raise my children. I am not controlled by anyone. I do not fear for my life or the lives of my family. I am free in every sense of the word.
That freedom was bought and paid for with the life of that woman's husband and the countless others who have died serving this country. I will never be able to thank them properly. But I am grateful. Deeply grateful. And on this day in particular, regardless of whether you support the war or our President or our mission overseas, let's pause our busy lives to appreciate those selflessly serving.
"It is my earnest hope - indeed the hope of all mankind - that from this solemn occasion a better world shall emerge out of the blood and carnage of the past, a world found upon faith and understanding, a world dedicated to the dignity of man and the fulfillment of his most cherished wish for freedom, tolerance and justice."
- General Douglas Macarthur
September 08, 2010
The fabric of our lives
I made dinner tonight. Claire dumped her entire plate on the ground so I gave her mine. I ate Fruitloops instead.
Mark and I argued today about having a clean house. I cried because I always do when I'm frustrated and wrong. I mean I want a spotless house and all, I was just so busy doing stuff for that other blog of mine that I had no time to even pause and look around to see I was getting swallowed up by dishes and laundry and Bendaroos (if your children don't know what those are, keep them ignorant. Thank me later).
We spent hours cleaning the house. I was mad the entire time. Cue over-the-top pouting to make my husband feel bad. I'm obnoxious most days.
I worked out so hard tonight (frickin Insanity) that I puked up said Fruitloops. And so I ate an Oreo to replace them and instantly felt guilty.
And now I'm going to crawl into bed where I have brand new $220 700 thread count Egyptian cotton sheets I got on clearance for $27-that's right TWENTY SEVEN DOLLARS- after coupon (because who in their right mind would pay over $200 for sheets-albeit GLORIOUS ones?) waiting to greet me and make everything okay again.
Ah fine linen. Way to heal the world.
Mark and I argued today about having a clean house. I cried because I always do when I'm frustrated and wrong. I mean I want a spotless house and all, I was just so busy doing stuff for that other blog of mine that I had no time to even pause and look around to see I was getting swallowed up by dishes and laundry and Bendaroos (if your children don't know what those are, keep them ignorant. Thank me later).
We spent hours cleaning the house. I was mad the entire time. Cue over-the-top pouting to make my husband feel bad. I'm obnoxious most days.
I worked out so hard tonight (frickin Insanity) that I puked up said Fruitloops. And so I ate an Oreo to replace them and instantly felt guilty.
And now I'm going to crawl into bed where I have brand new $220 700 thread count Egyptian cotton sheets I got on clearance for $27-that's right TWENTY SEVEN DOLLARS- after coupon (because who in their right mind would pay over $200 for sheets-albeit GLORIOUS ones?) waiting to greet me and make everything okay again.
Ah fine linen. Way to heal the world.
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