Situation desperate but not serious.

So, it was May Day yesterday.

Which is fitting.

I kind of feel lately that I’m an Ace World War I fighter pilot, and I’m in a plane hiiiiiigh up in the sky, and I’ve been shot down by the Red Baron and WE ARE GOING DOWN. MAY-DAY. MAY-FREAKING-DAY.

Ok, relax, it’s not as serious as it sounds. Desperate, though.

So, a few months back I was all, “Wow, the days pass twenty-four hours at at time and whoa, there goes another one,” and then April came and BOOM time has now decided to fire itself at me and just kind of shut my eyes and try to steer through the shrapnel, all ablaze and screaming a little.

Perhaps I’m exaggerating a little but let me just show you something:

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Ok, when did my son on the left become a middle-aged man in marketing?

Ignore the one on the right. He’s basically been the same since:

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Look. He has my chins.

But wait. No, look at pic above (how can you NOT because holy cuteness. If your ovaries aren’t exploding I don’t know what’s wrong with you. Unless you’re one of my five male readers then, yes, no ovaries. No exploding.)

My goodness people, WHERE, AND I MEAN WHERE EXACTLY, DOES THE TIME GO?

Just last week I was putting away Christmas decor because it was still snowing and now we’re signing them up for summer swim lessons and Blonde, evidently, is now thirty-seven and investing heavily in low-risk stocks (see above pic).

Cue: “Sunrise, Sunset” music.

Also Cue: “Stone Cold Crazy” by Queen. Obviously.

There is something about the month of May that unleashes the hounds of crazy at our house. I mean this is a two-fold way because crazy is nuanced like that and deserves levels.

Crazy, Level One: The calendar is exploding and no one knows how to make it stop.

Between birthdays, my college classes and finals, choir concerts (see above), more birthdays, trying to actually garden something because we are still attempting to keep the whole Martha Stewart vibe/ruse going, feedings, baseball, soccer, baseball AND soccer on the same day, still more feedings, end of the year things for teachers and coaches and my gosh I’m just going to start handing out five dollar bills, and more graduations, and the random “Let’s invite so and so over today!” from the husband, which leads to a bit of muttering on my part but thank YOU frozen Stouffer’s lasagna,(deep breath):

MAY. YOU NEED TO CALM DOWN.

Seriously. Somebody needs to hand May a small snack to try and get its blood sugar under control.

And oh, then there’s also this:

Crazy, Level Two Because This is Me, After All:

My children. They keep doing this thing called growing. And part of me wants it to stop. And then that part realizes what that really would mean, and so we go on and live in reality. But there are times…. when I pass them in the hall and they are so BIG and gangly and when they hug me I don’t even have to bend down at all (which honestly is kind of a bonus) they just fit right in under my chin.

I remember you, sweet older lady in the Walmart line who chirped at me that one time, “Cherish the moments, dearie,” while both boys were whacking each other with some useless artifact that Walmart puts at child eye level just to make them whine and want. I remember you well, sweet lady. At the time I think my eyes kind of shot fire at you while my kids laid on the floor and begggggged for the plastic toy thingie made in China in the Walmart line.

Oh yes, I remember you like it was yesterday. 

I didn’t exactly cherish that moment, sweet lady. But, you meant well. I kind of wished you would get run over by an eighteen-wheeler loaded with plastic toys from China while you were wheeling your cart in the Walmart parking lot, but you know. I got what you were aiming at.

I never cherished the moments enough. But that’s parenting. We do and talk and fix and clean and cook and wipe and wipe again and we forget to stop and LOOK around. Mainly because 50% of the time the wiping involves some sort of bodily fluid and that takes hard core focus, y’all. It takes commitment to clean that stuff up.

And really? Even IF I had stopped and thought, “Right now. I am going to stop and really cherish this moment. LOOK AT ME CHERISHING IT ALL OVER THE PLACE.” I just don’t think I would have done it enough. Because that’s time, for you. And children. Neither of them stand still for very long.

It’s why my phone is full of pictures like this:

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If you look closely, you can see the eye. Just like in Jaws. Only less scary.

And here’s the magic of all of this: The other day, I was in the store, and a tired momma was ahead of me, putting her Gogurts and her GoGo Squeez and her Cuties and all her other kiddie-named food on the grocery treadmill thingie (yes, there’s a term for it but I’m tired and my children make my vocabulary smaller) and she had about four sticky children all smushed up next to her and around her (ok, maybe it was two but they seem to multiply, like rabbits who constantly ask for things) and she just looked so exhausted and I wanted to encourage her. I wanted to tell her to hold onto this time, and just savor it. To really just BE in the moment, you know? So, I smiled at her and said,

“Girl. You really are rocking the top bun today.”

And I left it at that.

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Let’s face it. I’m tired.

too tired

This is a List of Things That Make me Tired.

By: Momsie

  1. People who just say, “I’m just sayin'” at the end of an obnoxious statement, thinking that somehow “I’m just sayin” makes it not obnoxious. I’m just sayin.
  2. Instagram pictures that involve abs and something called an Acai bowl.
  3. Commercials during football games. Beer and Viagra. On repeat. It confuses my children.
  4. When Kansas City Royals players just LEAVE us for OTHER teams simply because of MONEY I mean where is your LOYALTY. You must STAY WITH US FOREVER.
  5. The fact that the Royals players make so much money and that they are actually in a place where they think like this: “Well, I make fifty kajillion here, but over there I could make sixty kajillion so it’s actually a negotiating point, that last ten kajillion,” where I am thinking my head would explode if one kajillion just sauntered by and just waved at me.
  6. I need to get off my Royals kick. Sorry guys. I love you, Royals. Hugs!

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7. When my student turns in an entire paper he cut and pasted off of the internet and then insists that somehow he had no idea how that could have possibly happened. (True story. Just happened today. I’m still processing.)

8. Those shirts without the shoulders? They just make me feel cold.

9. When my post starts to double-space without permission and now I’m stuck in double-space land for some reason.

10. Whenever I go a little crazy and say something like, “Hey kids! Let’s make these cookies/craft/happy family project together. It’ll be fun!” because then, within about five minutes, it is so not fun. It’s all a conspiracy.

11. Any sort of situation that involves me calling customer service in any capacity for whatever reason. It doesn’t matter how good I’m feeling, how great my hair is, how wonderful the weather is outside, once I start pushing 1-800 on my phone my life loses all meaning and I no longer feel the will to breathe.

12. When anyone, anywhere, says “I am shook.” Only Beyonce can say that. If you learn anything from this post; if there is any sort of takeaway at all, it’s this: Don’t mess with Beyonce.

13. When I take the car into for an oil change and they ask me if I need my fluids flushed. I NEVER KNOW. I NEVER KNOW WHAT THIS MEANS EXACTLY AND IT FEELS TOO PERSONAL FOR THEM TO BE ASKING ME THAT.

14. When I make homemade macaroni and cheese with butter and cream and all sorts of momma’s love and goodness, and my son says he doesn’t like it because it’s “slippery.” I just nod and tell him, “That was what I was going for, son. Slippery.”

15. Moms who bring homemade cake pops in the shape of ALL the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles to school for their child’s birthday. I love you, moms. I do. You go, with your baking skills and knowledge of pop culture. I’m just gonna sit over here with a cup of coffee and my Little Debbie.

16. This post. It just goes on and on. It’s tiring.

17. People who say things like: “The trick to getting up at 5 am to work out is to sleep in your workout clothes.” Like somehow, sleeping in a running bra will make me more vigorous in the morning. Instead, I just feel… constrained. And thus, more grumpy. Plus, I slide all around in the sheets because spandex and that is not proper bedtime etiquette. Unless you’re into that sort of thing. Nudge nudge, wink wink.

18. People who actually try to get away with saying, “Nudge nudge wink wink.”

19. When one of my wee children approaches me and says, “Mom? Do you want to discuss Minecraft? I gotta free hour and a powerpoint presentation here. Have a seat.”

20. Nothing about you. Nothing ever ever about any of you poor darlings, my sweet readers, who actually made it through the randomness that is this post.

 

Today’s post was brought to you by:

  1. Not enough coffee.
  2. Grumpiness and kinda a total feeling of disbelief due to #7.
  3. Kate Motaung and her Five Minute Friday wonderfulness. And yes, today’s theme was:

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LIFT and drag.

Linking up with my happy place,Five Minute Friday today.

The theme,

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Ok, bear with me. It’s gonna be a bumpy flight.

I have had insomnia for the past, well, seems like forever now. On and off all summer. But the last week has been the worst. I have tried all sorts of remedies: melatonin, sleepytime tea, so much sleepytime that I am SLOSHING before bed. Lots of soft music. No screen time. Copious reading of things all soft and lovely… And the bible. I hate to say it, but a good read of Leviticus and I am usually nodding off all over the place. I know. That makes me sound rather unspiritual, and shallow. But good heck. I am TIRED so we’re keeping it real.

What better time, when so tired you are starting to see spots, to be real?

Lack of sleep has a variety of results. Let me share them with you.

  1. Momsie become unnaturally ferocious. Like, really, really cranky.
  2. She forgets things. Like where her keys are and how to feed her children lunch.
  3. She also feels dreadful and achy. Like her whole body just is UP and QUITTING this nonsense.
  4. Then, the wonderfullness that is MomGuilt comes up and pokes at her, hissing things like, “Feed your children, woman! And, for Pete’s sake, get a bra on! And what is UP with the laundry room situation? It looks like a college dorm room in there! DOOM and GLOOM, Momsie! You are a MESS!”

I remember once, my husband, Mr. Smartie Engineer, telling me about flight. He has actually flown a plane before, which gives him total street cred in this situation. He said something like this:

“For the plane to fly, it needs LIFT true. Of course. That is a given. But it also has to have DRAG. Without DRAG, the plane would just go all willy nilly all over the place.”

Ok, it’s possible he didn’t use the actual words “willy nilly.” But you get my point.

This non sleeping thing? It’s a total pain and I do need to work on it. But yet, it has done something good.

It has sat me down. Last night it kept me still and staring out at a tree and some stars and guess what I did?

I prayed. For like a long time.

I know. This TOTALLY  makes up for the Leviticus comment, right? So spiritual, that Momsie!

But really, prayer for me is a tricky thing. I keep doing it, yes, but a lot of times it ends up being All About Me, and also, God Why Aren’t You Fixing This Right Now?, and you know how that goes. So last night I just went through every possible person I could think of, and I prayed for them.

And people, if you don’t know, you better believe Hillary and Donald were in there. Along with our veterinarian (no idea why, but he was in my head so there you go) and our church, and a lot of people IN our church, and our weird neighbors and that one lady that doesn’t seem to like me much and my husband and my husband’s HUGE family and so on.

We need the drag to experience the lift. That’s what I learned at three am last night.

You’re welcome.

Also this: the FIRST thing I thought when I saw “Lift” as the theme? A bra. Yep. Aren’t you glad I went with option two?

 

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Lift and separate, ladies!

 

LIFT AND SEPARATE!

“Hey, did you know that goats don’t like leashes?”

This is my vantage point:

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Look closely. The cat is also helping.

 

Chair. Coffee. Lots of coffee. Oatmeal. Computer. Listening.

Four small boys are circling the table in dining room. The table looks like Lego Land walked by and puked all over the table. Like, all over it. Also on the floor. Maybe also in the living room too. A bit.

They are discussing various things. It’s pretty technical at times. “No! I LOSTED MY HEAD! Do you guys see my head anywhere? It’s ok, though I still have powers. *whispers* In my tiny hands.

Then the conversation takes a rather interesting twist:

“GUYS. GUYS. Did you know? If you put a leash on a goat and try to walk him? He’ll chew your face off.”

I have to admit, I wasn’t expecting that either.

I don’t know how the goat thing started. Is there a Lego goat? Is there a teeny tiny leash in there that can of course get lost and then become REALLY IMPORTANT?

Then, one poor soul says: “Cats. Cats don’t like leashes either.”

They all look, as if on cue, at Steve, Mr. Sweet Fluffypants, who is lounging by the table in all his furry glory. He eyes them with the cool confidence. “Bring it, small people,” he says.

And so, they put a leash on him. I am still watching from the chair, wondering at which point I should get involved. Prior to the face chewing? Or maybe after just a small nibble?

And then Steve allowed himself to be drug across our wood floors, like a kitty Swiffer. It should have been on film. Instead, I watched in awe as he actually put one paw up to groom his ears while being dragged around.

Like a boss.

I did put a stop to the dragging after one full rotation of the room. For one, poor Steve’s fur was now coated in dust bunnies and I needed to squeegee him off. I did consider taking him upstairs and throwing him under our bed a couple times, though. He really picks up dirt and lint with amazing finesse!

I could market this.

Anyhow, also, the leash thing was morphing into, “Hey! Lemme put this on you! I’ll take YOU for a walk! Around the block! Outside!” to the littlest brother and we have enough rumors, about general parenting practices at our house, thank you. We don’t really need leashes added to that mix.

Also, safety. Basic safety. Don’t email me. I shut the whole leash thing down, I promise.

And then, the boys just kinda stared at each other. Bereft. Their weird game had been snuffed out and what to do? I, always helpful, pointed out there was basically the population of China in Legos within two feet of them. One of the boys melted to the floor in despair. The Legos were old and tired. They had just drug a cat across the FLOOR, woman. You CAN’T GO BACK FROM THAT.

Until one of them* said,

“Hey, I can make a bubble with my own saliva.” And they were off to find a mirror and set up the Disgusting Saliva Bubble Olympics 2016.

I would like to say, just for the record, that usually I would intervene on this because EW and We are a Nice Family, and we Don’t Do That. Etc.

But it’s been raining for the past two hours and it’s August. You get the idea, you moms of huddled children at the End Times of Summer. You know.

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Notice the way this cat likes, literally, to live in the edge.

*This was not my kid, who said that, about the saliva thing.

*Well, it might have been.

*Not sure. I can’t recall exactly.

Extreme Sleeping

We are back from a nice trip to see the family over Thanksgiving. I ate my way through so much turkey and dressing it’s a wonder I don’t start strutting about and peevishly pecking at the ground, all Momsurkey.

Just bear with me though, because I would like to oh so briefly*  comment on one thing that didn’t happen whilst we were away:

I NEVER GOT ANY SLEEP, PEOPLE.

THIS WAS A BIG PROBLEM.

As much as it’s a magical time of year, and we’re all Thankfuling all over ourselves, I’d like to put it out there that I would be really, really grateful for just a teensy smidgeon of shut-eye. PLEASE.

I’m a bit grumpy. Ask my husband. He will verify.

Allow me to explain. My sweet family and I are happily kenneled at our father-in-law’s house for the Thanksgiving break. This is wonderful because we have our own little apartment on the second floor, with its own bath, and two very comfy beds in which to loll about and actually sleep in. BECAUSE THAT’S WHAT BEDS ARE FOR, AFTER ALL.

Yep. Toddlers slept. Husband too. How, you may ask, do I KNOW THIS? (Brace yourselves, ex students. I totally overuse the ALL CAPS rule in this post because I have aggression issues when I don’t get enough rest.) Let me repeat, HOW DID I KNOW THIS?

Because I was watching them.

Here’s the formula:

2 Beds / 4 people = 2 persons per bed.

Evidently this formula was born in a magical math land of fairies and unicorns and no mothers. Mothers make the formula all:

4 people/ 2 toddlers +2 beds = UNSOLVABLE, YOU FOOL.

It’s like that unworkable formula that drove Russell Crowe nutty in A Beautiful Mind.

I have come to find out that when sleeping, as in life in general, ones expectations need to be really, really low. And so, it works out that everyone gravitates to the most grumpy and disappointed person in the group (because, expectations), ME, and piles in HER angry bed.

It doesn’t help matters too that the darling husband seems only to snore when we’re traveling. I don’t understand it.  There should be some medical reason for why he only channels his inner snorty wildebeast when on the road.  I think he has figured out that I am super sleep deprived and has decided to torment me (more so than normal), or toughen me up (because, marriage).

Let me give you some visuals to help with your understanding of Momsie’s fragile mental state at this point:

1. Exhibit A: a cozy bed. Nice pillows. This is not the actual bed at my father in law’s. I was too tired to think about taking real pictures. This is a stand in bed. Stunt pillows.

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2.  Exhibit B:

 

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3. I am grateful, however, that we don’t have to deal with Exhibit C (C is for Cat):

 

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Bonus points to you if you know the movie Logan’s Run. It will make this post all the more meaningful, I hope. If not, go rent it. It is all 70’s and bad special effects, and will probably put you to sleep, which is KIND OF WHAT I WANT TO DO RIGHT NOW.

I am home now, and dealing with the aftermath of travel.

4. Exhibit D:

 

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My theory, here, is to join the cats in their guerrilla style attacks of the bed. I will sleep on the extreme level. If that means I am going to curl up for ten minutes while the boys run their Tonkas over me and make me part of their Lego fortress, so be it. I have nooks and crannies. I can be a fortress. At this point, I am ready to slip into a short coma while  in the shower.

Drop and sleep! Whenever, wherever. I’m like the Marines of lethargy, people!

 

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*Ha HAA AHA HAAAAHA ha haarr har har. Did you really think I could be brief?

Would you STOP YELLING. IF YOU DON’T STOP NOW I WILL COME UP THERE AND GIVE YOU SOMETHING TO YELL ABOUT.

Today’s post is sponsored by:

 

27220CL

 

See that?  I made the image extra large to help develop suspense.  Yea technology!

 

Ok, so here’s the thing:  It’s summer, and unless we are able to go to the POOL I am not providing my children with enough stimulation and opportunities for ACTIVE PLAY.  Because, basketballs, and tennis rackets, and your OWN GOLF SET and basically the equivalent of an entire baseball field (If you build it, they will come) in the back yard is not what toddlers deem ACCEPTABLE.

Summer has been great, ya’ll.  It really has.  But lately?  I need a break from summer break.

 

I have also worked it out that the relationship between my sense of well-being and general affection is PRECISELY DISPROPORTIONATE to the amount of times one of my boys hollers “MOM, MOM MOMMMMYYYY MOTHERRRRRR” at me from about two feet away.  One just did because he was “stuck” on the couch and couldn’t get up.  I asked him if his legs were broken and if we needed to amputate.  I have run out of good comebacks; I am now using my father’s.

That’s what summer does, friends.  It sucks the creativity right outta you.

 

So you can imagine what joy I felt when I spotted this in my mailbox:download

I recently met Corie Clark, and her book is going to be just what I need today.  If you build it, they will come,  yes, but if you put your feet up on the couch, open a good book, and read it, the toddlers will have to fend for themselves.

Stay tuned later this week for an interview with Corie! 

 

And yes, maybe later we’ll go to the pool.

 

Happy summer.  Keep the faith, Momsies.  When they go away for school we will miss them.  That’s what I keep telling myself.