The Big D

Hello again,

I realize it has been awhile.

I am troubled and find myself struggling with grief, relief and a great settling sadness.

I'm going to start telling this sorry again.

The story of me getting healthier

The story of me finding my happiness

The story of how hard life is.

I'm separated from my Jeeves, and finding the courage to face the world as a single Momma to my ducklings.

Missing Pieces

Lately I've been trying to locate someone from my childhood. Her memory and the memory of the elementary friendship we shared 20 years ago tugs at me more during this time of year.

Her name was Becca and she was my opposite in many ways, thin and graceful where I was solid and klutzy, intellectual and intentional where I was distracted and flaky. But she was my best friend, we even fought over a boy once, inasmuch as you can actually fight over a boy in the 6th grade.

Her parents were teachers at the school I attended when my own father was stationed in Germany before retiring from the Army in 1994-95. We met through Girl Scouts and found a mutual love of Lisa Frank Stationery and raw cookie dough. We would write notes to one another and talk about things that I can't remember now.

She taught me how to use plastic cord to make key chain and lanyard art and I taught her how to use a loom to make potholders. We went caroling together at Christmas and had countless sleepovers. She and I had all the makings of life long friends.

One year for Christmas our class went to an open air Christmas Market in a nearby town, it was a maze of stalls with food, mulled wine, hand crafted gift items and kitschy things that little girls love. Becca told me she had bought me a gift at the market and the 2 week wait to find out what it could be was excruciating.

It was a small glass tube, about 12 inches long, with glitter and sequins and little sparkly things inside that would slide back and forth through faintly tinted fluid when you tipped one end or the other up. They are common enough now, things you can find in any toy store, made of plastic and full of themed baubles that momentarily capture your attention.

Something about that gift stuck with me. I spent hours listening to cassette tapes of "Oldies" and watching the glitter slide. The gentle glide of sequins and glitter calmed me and put some of my ADD to rest. I would find myself more able to focus afterward and for years after I moved away that little tube of childhood sat in a place on honor on my antique wardrobe.

This gift, the first fight, the make up conversation about friendship, the sleepovers, the pictures, all of it, have given Becca a sort of hero status in my head. She knew me, and she liked me anyway. Which to the slightly chunky, uncoordinated girl with bad fashion sense and weird music taste, that was an invaluable thing.

Before the age of email and face book, when you moved away you had to write letters, and I was terrible at being a penpal so I lost touch with Becca. I know she moved to Arizona for a bit and then I'm not sure where else. I hope someday to connect with her again, if for no other reason than to thank her for liking me anyway.

Talking to Myself.

 A popular theme on the social media these days is "things we want to tell _____"

25 Things I want to Teach my daughter

20 Things I want to teach new Moms.

15 Things Dad should do for their Sons.

and so on.

I see many of them talking to younger selves, and to growing children, trying to avoid the trials and tribulations that self doubt and caring to much about what other have to say, can bring to one's life. By this I assume that most people think that if you are old enough to dispense life altering, and mostly ignored wisdom, you are to far down the path to make a difference.

Something rings false about that for me. As I watch two of my most favorite people making huge changes in their lives I think, it can't be too late. Why aren't we talking to ourselves now? Why do we always direct our well meaning advise to others?

When a cabin depressurizes and the oxygen masks pop down, you are not supposed to help others first, you are supposed to put your own on, ensure you are not going to pass out before you can help others. I feel like there's a life lesson in there about the present, about the now and about how we are not to far gone to find and hang on to happiness.

And I think it can be shortened to only a few things, I don't need 25 or 20 or some pleasing round number to get the point across.

1. Try to be kind to people

2. When you fail at this, apologize

3. Tell people nice things about themselves.

4. Accept compliments.

5. Sometimes life is gonna suck, its life, move on.

Almost 2

What do they do at School?

It's a new school year here in the Ninja household and we are heading back with gusto. Pumpkin, Sunshine and Doodle are all getting up and heading to the bus stop each morning.

One day last week while we were doing our nightly paper review, reading assignments and talk about the day, Sunshine said to me, "I'm glad I get to go and learn all the important things at school, they teach me everything I need to know"

This caught me off guard. (cause no they don't)

I asked her who taught her to walk?

I asked her who taught her to feed herself with a fork?

Who taught her the words to You are my Sunshine?

Who taught her about crossing the street?

Who taught her how funny The Emperor's New Groove is?

Who taught her how to make a Smore?

She answered all of those questions with "You did"

That's right baby, I teach you important things too.

That's what Momma's do, we teach things.

School is not going to teach my children how to mourn when someone they love leaves this world. Or how to put the needs of other before your own in certain situations, or how you don't show up for dinner without something for the hostess, or how you always tip the waiter well when you've been given good service, but you are never rude when you don't get good service, or how when you are invited to a meal, even if you don't love it, you thank the person, and don't complain.

School might teach them math and science and social studies, but I'm teaching them to be adults.

7 Things I love about Roo

Tomorrow is my little Sunshine girl's 7th Birthday. In honor of this most anticipated (on her part) day I offer up 7 things that I love about my Rootabega.

1. Her Giggle. - When this baby laughs her whole body gets into it. Her nose crinkles, he eyes sparkle and her entire bony little self just wiggles. She's so funny and has the best sense of humor. I anticipate whomever she decides to share her life with is going to be drawn to her because of these things. She lights up the room.

2. Her Snuggles - when she was a baby, she wanted "big snuggles" that included blankets and 10 minutes of hugs and kisses. Today she will run at you from the other side of the room and say, "prepare for the snuggle of your life!" She's all knees and elbows these days but she still wants to get as close as possible to you and show you how much she loves you, one snuggle at a time.

3. Her Memory - My memory is like swiss cheese, but not the kind with big noticeable holes, its the kind with the tiny little holes that from far away look like nothing at all. It worse than big holes, people give you passes on big holes, people give you side eye shade for small holes. Roo has no holes, she remembers everything (except don't run in the house and don't leave cups full of juice where your baby brothers can get them) and she reminds me of everything. I am both exasperated and in awe of her little brain and how it all fits in that tiny freckled head.

4. Her Feet - she has the longest feet of any person I've ever known. Shes kind of like a puppy, I'm waiting for her to grow into the boats that she pirouettes through life on. She loves to don sparkly pink cheetah print shoes and show of those huge feet to the world and she will NOT wear uncomfortable shoes. I hope this continues and that she doesn't come to resent this amazingly solid base she has been provided. Avoid heels and paint those long monkey toes baby girl.

5. Her Faith - Where my older daughter deals with church until it's time for lunch; Sunshine girl wants to learn about faith. She adores going to Sunday School, she seeks out conversations about Our heavenly father, his son, and the love and peace that guide our lives because of his ever present spirit. She asks the most insightful questions and often tests this mommy's ability to make information accessible and relate-able for a 6 year old. We work together to get there and her patience with me is very endearing.

6. Her Music - She is a singing fool, she wants to perform her newest song, always. My extended family still asks her to sing this hilarious song about Spring time that came from the little Einsteins show. "Oh yes, oh yes: It's Springtime!" If she doesn't end up as a hippie tree hugger she will likely be a songstress belting out something somewhere and bless her for not being afraid to do it.

7. Her Heart - When Reagan loves you, you know it because she says it. She doesn't let a single day go by without telling you. She writes you notes, she calls you on the phone, she is an amazingly affectionate young lady. I'm sort of like an elephant momma with my babies, constantly touching them, grabbing them, telling them that I love them more than anything in the world. I'm more than confident that my little Roo feels loved because she lets it shine out to everyone around her.

The Power of Smell, I mean Love

Everyday I get in car and put on my seat belt, and think of my husband. He gets ready for work, puts on his cologne and walks out the door, so the seat belt, right next to my face, smells just like him. He has been wearing the same cologne since our wedding day, It was a gift from me and he has continued using it for nearly 11 years. On days when I am feeling down, that smell makes me feel comforted, it stirs something in my heart and give me a huge dose of warm fuzzies.

Jeeves is a teddy bear, a broad shouldered, tall, affable guy with a great smile and a remarkable impersonation of the cowardly lion, when the mood strikes. He is silly and kind and when I smell that seat belt, or give him a hug, I feel all of the good emotions, and it makes me smile.

I didn't think about this much until last week when he was getting ready to go take a nap and was giving me a hug. It was a longer than usually hug, because he put his face into my neck and rubbed against me and said, "I have missed this smell so much, you know the babies smell like you again?"

It took me a minute to figure out what he was talking about.

I have been wearing a rotating variety of perfumes over the years, new ones come and go, but a few are constant. I ran out of one of them, probably the one I've used the longest, because it is not a super popular fragrance, I had to go out of my way to find a place to purchase a new bottle. I thought nothing of the purchase, or the lack of familiar smell until Jeeves' comment.

Turns out that same warm fuzzy seat belt feeling is something that he experiences on a daily basis when I get ready for work and then deposit a sleeping tiny boy into his arms. My perfume, rubs off onto the babies and they snuggle together having happy mommy/wifey smell moments before the day gets kicked off.

I also discovered that when my perfume smell lingers, the boys will look for me, running through the house, saying "Mommy?" and looking around corners and doorways.

I don't have any remarkable life realizations just the comfy reminder of how much love I have in my life. I'm so profoundly blessed.

Too Little to be Big

I love reading the inspirational stories of faith filled women on the internet. The stories that lift you up and remind you that no amount of awful can overcome joy if you resolve to make it so. I feel, as is probably intended, like they are speaking directly to me, be peaceful Nellie, your savior loves you, you are doing just fine.

They tell us about their past. the addiction, the pain, the suffering, and the awful crap that could have destroyed them. Could have turned them into bitter, angry husks of the woman they were destined to be. They talk about the years spent in a haze, the things that they did while at rock bottom, about surviving, of hurting the people who tried to help them, of the reasons they have to despise themselves.

They talk about the Moment, the one when they realized that they were off course. They tell about coming back to reality and the hard work it takes to go from giving up to giving it their all. They tell us how they turn failure into success, and how everyday is a struggle.

And we identify with parts of the story.

We cry at the truth they speak, because it touches our soul.

We pass it along to our friends and say: Read this it will change your life.


I want to tell stories that change lives.
I want to live a life that inspires others.
I want to speak truth; hard, ugly, but cleansing, truth.

The problem is, I don't think my middle of the road, making it, totally thankful, messy life is one that people want to hear about, or can identify with. I'm knee deep in babies and full time job and girl scouts and family. Life is not easy, but I've never truly fallen away. I've never had addiction, infidelity, abuse, neglect or even a prolonged really hard time to overcome. I am blessed in ways I don't deserve and didn't earn.

I'm sure I could find a hundred things to complain about:
I'm broke
I'm fat
I probably have ADHD or some variant of screwy brain chemicals that affects my focus.
I HATE housecleaning
I have all the student loans
I procrastinate, like whoa.
etc, etc, etc....

But those things are not special, they are not extraordinary, Basically, I feel that there's nothing significant about me or my journey that is ever going to inspire others. I've never been an outcast, or part of the in crowd. I didn't have a string of bad relationships. I never lost touch only to find my way back to a long lost someone.

I struggle with my desire to share stories about my life because I don't think they matter to anyone but me. I desperately want to write about my life, and have it be meaningful to others; (which I recognize is a bit cloying, I'm not totally unaware of my weirdness) but ever the worst critic of myself, I worry that deciding to try to share in a bigger way will result in being shot down for being so dratted ordinary.

When you've lived this type of life and you have no real hardship to speak to, it's hard not to come off sounding holier than thou when you talk to people. "I've basically been blessed my whole life, look at how awesome I am!" But that's never been my outlook. Life is hard, everyone has things in their lives that aren't great but you get through it, right? And you are thankful for the good things because you know that there are bad things and the good things make it so you can bear the bad things with a little more grace.

And I'm not wishing for hardship, or requesting a test of faith, I just wish there was a way that I could use my peace filled life, and experiences with getting through the small hardships as a way to help others to recognize the small wonders in their lives. To be thankful, to be peaceful, to feel forgiven and accepted, and to know that small lives are not wasted lives. I wish there was an audience for that, because I see the things being put on TV and the internet. People feel less than fulfilled because they don't live like a musician, or famous athlete, or one of the Kardashians. There's a premium placed on a life full of drama and nothing noteworthy attributed to a normal life with kids and Sunday school and birthday parties in your living room.

I guess what I wish is for a world where value was placed on making ends meet, and loving your babies, and staying faithful because you made a promise. I wish I could use my life to help others see the joy of small things, and the peace of a thankful heart.

I Miss the Gym

 No really, I do.

Before I had 4 children I was able to pack up the girls and drop them off at the childcare center at the gym and walk three miles on the treadmill with little effort. It was all so easy. 

It is no longer easy. 

4 is different than 2 in a few ways(because math), the most annoying of which is that 4 is considered too many for the gym childcare center. If you ask me, no one needs the gym child care center more than a mother of 4, but I would be requiring more than a reasonable amount of support for my children, 2 is the limit. So I stopped paying to go to that gym. and now I don't have any gym, and I miss the gym.

Luckily the weather has become agreeable in Missouri this week and when I go home this afternoon there will likely be enough light to allow me to unfold the behemoth and take the kiddos for a long walk around the park. 

Sunshine has shown interest in a birthday 5K and Erin has agreed to accompany us as long as we don't decide to sprint it. I feel like sprinting in my current state would likely lead to cardiac emergency followed quickly by death, but we won't spend a lot of time on that. Needless to say, I need to get my butt movin (because for serious you guys, my butt is huge, again) 

I sincerely hope that I can make the hard changes and get healthy again, but I'm not as sure as I was before. Mutti has started counting calories and is losing. Jeeves gave up pizza for lent and is losing. I have an unhealthy addiction to cheddar pretzels and I'm retaining water and emotional all the time.

I'm hoping that a new set of goals, and perhaps a bigger end goal will be the thing to keep me on track. I want to take my mom on a road trip to Texas and eat at a few places we have seen on the food network and go to some amusement parks, because we both love roller coasters. I need to get down to about 165, and I don't know what I currently weight but I'm guessing I need to drop about 70 pounds, if not more.  

Next on the docket, buying a new scale, fleecing the pantry and finding a way to find the balance I need. More Water, More Sleep, More Movement, Less Food. 

I got my nose pierced! 

99 Problems (aka: A whiny post, be warned)

 It's the beginning of a new year and rather than being filled with the hope of an awesome year full of weight loss, a potential promotion and potential crafty business. I am weary. 

I have no doubt that all of those things will occur, I will be losing weight because my ass growth has gotten out of hand. I will continue to strive for a higher position in this lovely company I work for and I fully intend to begin crocheting and felting awesomeness to try to sell in the fall for Christmas cash. 

But in the gray cold morning of January 2nd, staring down 32 and not sleeping nearly enough, I'm just dead ass tired. To my bones tired. Tired of almost everything really; of food, of my messy house, of my reprehensible wardrobe, of driving, of car troubles, of bills, of television....everything. 

I'm tired of being overly responsive to nonsense things that shouldn't bother me. How did I become super emotional girl? When did harsh words and masked criticism become something that devastates my day. Why do I feel on the edge of tears most days and incapable of moving past the mopes most days? I don't like being this girl, she's a downer. 

I'm tired of the way I look. I haaaaaaaate my hair, and my clothes and my face, all of it. I look like a corpse, and a poorly dressed corpse at that. My new job is awesome but buying new clothing for myself is not really high on the list of things in my budget, so I'm stuck wearing things that don't fit well, are stained, or are just not attractive. The not fitting well thing is my own stupid fault, I've gained back every pound and am right back where I started. It's disheartening, but apparently giant ass is a thing I'm going to have to fight against for the rest of my life. 

I'm just tired, tired in my body and in my soul. I don't sleep enough, or well, or consistently....

It's a problem. 

I got lots of problems. 

The City of Canals and Life Savers

When I was somewhere around 10, my grandparents came to visit us in Germany where we were living at the time. They came for an extended visit and after a few days of visiting at home we all piled into the minivan and went on a European road trip.

Safety regulations being a bit looser then than they are now, My younger brother and I rode in the back of the mini van, amid the suitcases and snacks. Driving from mid Germany to Denmark was no lickety-split undertaking but we had game-boys, and books so we weren't bored. Many may not remember the first versions of the current hand held gaming systems. Far from the web-connected, camera-enabled mini computers you have today; these were gray boxes with green screens and purple buttons. You could play games that were in one color, gray...and the best of those games was tetris; which I currently credit for my ability to pack two babies and 100.00 worth of groceries into a single cart at the grocery store.

While in Denmark we did lots of amazing thing, according to the photos. My own memories of that trip have been worn thin by time and have dwindled to several sensory based glimmers. I remember it being colder than we thought so we purchase coats that had a specific feel to the fabric that I have never been able to find again. I don't recall what happened to mine, but it was soft and warm and it smelled new.

I remember falling asleep beneath a feather stuffed comforter, and the smell of the city, which was a combination of warm bread, river and stale cigarettes. Whenever I catch a whiff of that in my life today, I close my eyes and breathe it in, grasping for a clearer memory of the giant wooden shoes that I stepped into outside of one of the tourist shops, or the McDonald's positioned, quite strategically, in the red-light district.

Europe is vastly different that the United States and things that we tend to hide behind black windows and only hint to on signs are basically just out flapping in the breeze in the streets of Amsterdam. We drove, walked, boated and trained past nude beaches, brothels, "toy" shops and open solicitation. I remember the most common direction from my parents during that vacation was, "Look down!" Look at the floor" It's funny now, and probably was at the time as well, at least to them; but I recall being super irritated about it.

My most dear and distinct memory from that trip is a boat ride we took on the canals. We climbed down in to a glass roofed boat with tables and benches. I sat across from my Grandmother and next to my mother as we motored through the city looking at bridges and buildings. Or that's what we should have been doing. Instead I was having a contest with my grandmother. She would hand me a butter rum life saver and we would both eat them at the same time and whoever had the candy that lasted the longest won that round. There was no score keeping just a candy by candy contest that pitted her against me and I'm certain she let me win when I did.

Growing up in the Army meant that I didn't get a ton of time with my grandparents. When we lived in the states we would drive to Missouri from Maryland on Christmas; and sometimes in the summer. When we were in Missouri, for a week or two, there was a whirlwind of family, parties, people I didn't remember, presents, and then a long drive back to the east coast at the end. It was never enough time. I never wanted to leave, none of us did.

That premium on time with them made this trip stand out to me more than any other in my youth. Having them to ourselves, without the cousins, aunts, uncles, friends, jobs and chores to pull them away was miraculous. We went to a Renaissance festival, slept in what was called a hotel but I'm convinced was actually just someones living room, ate multitudes of amazing food, laughed more than one would have thought possible and made a single special memory that travels around in my heart.

They say that your sense of smell helps you access memories more than any other sense. And I suppose that it must be at least partially true. I cannot smell Jovan White Musk without turning to look for my grandma's smiling face. But for me, almost as strong, is the taste of butter rum life savers. As soon as it touches my tongue I am taken back to that day, on that boat, and even now I try to make it last as long as possible and smile when it finally breaks, remembering that little girl I was and the amazing way that a piece of candy can make you feel like the most important person in the world.

Big Deep Breaths

I have deep breath places.

Places that lower my blood pressure and stress level until I can sit, completely still and breathe deeply. Places where I don't need to be entertained. Places where I feel no pressure to look or perform. Places where I sleep better than at home. 

Girl Scout camp is one of those places, the tall shade trees, the lake, the trails and the general connection with nature are like food for my soul. I just can't get enough of it. Last Labor Day I took my girls to camp with tentative hope that they would come to love it as I do. I was blown away when my little's, with their TV and Nintendo filled lives, took to camp like ducks to water (see what I did there?) They helped find firewood, chased frogs, played with flashlights and slept through the night even through a short rainstorm. I could spend weeks there, listening to the wind in the trees, taking naps, canoeing in the lake and swimming in the pool. It's a deep breathe place. One where the calm and peace are likely written all over my face. I come home bug bitten, bruised, scratched, sunburned and happy. 

Another of those places is the Farm. A friend of ours owns a bed and breakfast that allows you to rent an entire house for a weekend (for less than many hotel rooms) and there is a creek, and old farmhouse, a fire circle and acres of places to explore. they have spent year cultivating a hummingbird following and now in the summer months you can sit on the wide front porch in one of the wooden swings and listen to the buzz of the colorful kamikaze birds as they come close to get a sip of something sweet from the feeders. The spring fed creek is cold, even in august and after building up a small dam, you can get a pool float, grab a cool beverage, put on some sunglasses and laze away an afternoon, soaking up to sun. At night, the lack of city lights lets a multitude of stars shine down while you make s'mores and listen to music around the campfire. It's heavenly and I hate when it's time to leave. I breathe deep there too. 

It's a lovely thing, breathing deep. It's a thankful, peaceful feeling, it feels right. 

Light Fixtures, Organization and Bebes!

This weekend was painfully productive. I am tired, but I feel empowered. I cleaned and organized and cooked and snuggled my babies and really felt connected to my life. Which is a thing I find myself lacking sometimes.

There are occasions, when I'm slogging through the day to day where I feel like life is something that is happening to me rather than a thing I am doing. I almost feel like a spectator watching from a theater wondering why the chick on screen can't seem to get her damn laundry under control, and why she continues to shove food in her face, and why can't she just relax enough to benefit from the obvious devotion of her husband. I'm mostly a mess.

I think I need weekends like this one to bust through that screen and be present. To start to teach my Sunshine how to sew, to sit still long enough for Doodle to fall asleep on me, to disconnect and talk with Banana about Ninja turtles and to start teaching Jammer how to feed himself.

I took them all to the grocery store by myself on Saturday, which is not a thing I do frequently, and while trolling down the aisle with my duck-ettes in tow I picked up a jar of Pickles and set it in the cart next to Doodle, who has to ride in the basket (because carts are not make for two babies, unless you are shopping at costco.) Not 2 minutes later I turn from the milk cooler to see the giant jar of pickles fly out of the cart and smash onto the floor of the store. The mess was epic and marvelous, and smelly. Pickles are great but you generally don't want to smell like them.

I could have ended the trip, but I was on store 2 of a three location campaign and I had crap to get done, so I sent Pumpkin for help, grabbed a new jar of pickles, moved the glass items beneath the cart and soldiered on. It was horribly embarrassing, I could just hear people thinking,
"Why can't that idiot control her toddler"
"Wasn't she watching him"
"What kind of dumb-ass puts glass in a cart with a two year old?"

I told the voices in my head to put a sock in it and went on to get yogurt, I didn't have time for self loathing and doubt and I wasn't going to ruin a perfectly good day over a two dollar jar of pickles.

Then yesterday I decided while the sun was still up, I was going to put in the two yard sale found light fixtures I had purchased in my room and the nursery. I looked up an instructional video on you tube and then installed two lights. Felt pretty good about myself, for a short period of time.

Then I started doing laundry and didn't stop until after 2am and I still have 6 baskets of clothing to put away, sweet mother of pearl we create a lit of laundry.

So here are some photos from the weekend. I love my babies

Banana and BayMax

Sunshine with her new quilt

Sleepy Doodle getting Mommy Snuggles

and Moose Snuggles

Jammer watching WonderPets

Lights! 

Songs for My Munchie-Girls

As a semi-conservative musically driven general mess of a person I enjoy losing myself in song. I listen to all genre's and decades. I enjoy Pink Floyd, Carole King, Megan Trainor and Randy Travis. I believe that all music has value and it is a beautiful outlet. My parents had eclectic music taste and I am so happy that I got all of the influences they gave me. I love covers, I love musicals, I love oldies, I love country, I just love it all. (Except Neil Diamond, dude, no)

Even the Pit Bull, Nikki Minaj, Justin Timberlake stuff has a place, that place is a club, where people who are old enough to manage their shit can decide if they want their ears assaulted with profanity and verbal pornography. Look, I'm not knocking it, I've wiggled my tush to that type of music on many occasions. But I feel like the radio has lost something as the club music makes it way onto the airways.

I am irritated by the musical offerings on the top 40 radio stations these days. When I listen to the radio in the car I want to sing along. I want deep lyrics and great accompaniment. I love to belt out Bohemian Rhapsody and Desperado and The Day The Music Dies. I don't want to talk in the car, I want to sing, all the way to where I am going.

My girls are old enough to recognize and ask about the words in songs and this has lead to some conversations I hadn't wanted to have at 8 and 6, and now it has lead to a concrete decision to avoid listening to those stations with my kiddos in the car.

Look, I'm not naive enough to think that they will stay little forever. I don't even really want that. The sarcastic sense of humor both of them have developed is the highlight of my life these days. I just want them to listen to music with positive messages because I recognize the effect it has on me and my outlook. When I listen to Firework, or Just the Way You Are, or Brave... it can change my day and make things a little better. I want that for them, to have a heart light enough that song can turn the tide of a rotten day.

Gift Woes

I am mostly broke, all the time. My new job, while lovely affords me precious little in the way of expandable income. and this makes Christmas scary for me. I had already decided not to try to craft my way through Christmas this year. It's a lot of work and after almost 11 hours of work(plus driving), 6 hours of sleep and 2 hours of arguing about bedtime, I don't get much quality time with my munches. I don't want their memories to be, "Mom always made us cool stuff, but man was she in a bad mood at Christmas every year."

I've convinced Jeeves to work with me on scaling down Christmas this year and allowing the blessings of our extended family to rain all over our children and let our gifts to them be more economical and meaningful.

He's on board but I still anticipate being humbled by his generosity with gifting things to me at Christmas. He seems to think I'm lying when I tell him I don't want much. This poses an issue when I don't get much for him. Because I think I've gotten him to agree that we are going to not get much for each other and then he breaks the deal. I desperately want to not spend Christmas morning feeling guilty for my lack of gift expertise.

I don't actually have a direction here, this was just weighing on my mind today.
Happy November All.

October is My Favorite Color

Ladies and Gents,
breathe deep....

It's decorative gourd season
It's chilly night season
It's harvest flavored coffee season
It's Chili season
It's extra layer season
It's falling leaves
It's apple picking
It's Pumpkin Patches
and costumes
and dark mornings
and boots
and candy
and all of my favorite things.

It's October and I'm in love with October.

So enjoy the fall while it lasts, wherever you are.

I miss writing and hope to rediscover my muse, but she remains sleepy and uninspired.

Jammer turned 1 on Monday and as I reflect on the last year I am reminded that even in the face of crazy life non-sense I can find countless moments of joy and the ever present peace of god's love for me. I am a blessed woman and I am happy.

Type Soon....I promise.

Fatty Fat Fatterson

Dude,

I went to the doctor last week and I have hit the top again. 227!!!

It's disheartening and frustrating and also I hate that I let it bug me so much. I am more comfortable now in my skin than I have been at any other point in my life. But when I look at myself in the mirror I don't see the funny, smart, kind, faithful person I am. I see a big ass. and big thighs, and a slight gut, and bad posture, and hair I don't have time to deal with.

So, as with most things in life, this makes me reflective.

I think back to being in high school and college and thinking that I needed to cover all that up with more clothes. That it couldn't possibly be sexy, why would anyone want to be with me. I remember wishing I had to confidence to wear the clothes the other people around me were wearing (but remember this was the late 90's, I'm now glad no one has pictures of me in any of those things, good lord)

I think ahead, at what it might do to my daughters if I get down on my body and my appearance. Do you know what they say? They tell me I'm beautiful, when I'm in a good mood they tell me how much they love my smile and "happy voice" With minimal effort I get little hands cupping my face telling me I'm the most beautiful mommy ever. They only see the good now, how might my insecurities tarnish that? Probably a lot.

In the movie plot of my life, this is the point where I drive in the slowly fading sunset and listen to grungy 90's music and stare contemplatively into the distance thinking about the next steps.

so, yeah, gonna go do that now.

You've changed.

When you are pregnant and thinking of the months ahead when you will have a floppy, giggly, screamy bundle of baby you are not thinking of the years ahead. At least I wasn't. In my head, children did this magical turn from toddler to adult. I would have lots of snuggles and hugs and dirty diapers and then I would have a 21st birthday party and start thinking about grand babies.

The interim escaped my focus until it hit me square in the chin last weekend. I have an 8 year old. She's sarcastic and kind and emotional and not at all like the coffee slurping young adult I was picturing 9 years ago when I thought about being a Mommy. I was ill prepared for having to teach someone how to keep them self busy, how easy it is to hurt someone's feelings, how to wash their own hair, why it is important to use toilet paper (gross).

It's becoming more and more obvious as the years gain momentum that they ways that being a mother changes you are not easy to describe. That's probably why I haven't read a book about it yet. I think it's because no one can wrap words around what happens. You have a baby, who becomes a person, and the person they will become fundamentally affects the person you are turning into.

Before I became a parent I spoke differently, hypocrisy; while not ideal, was not as obvious because I didn't have a loud mouthed sidekick with no filter. I could snark all day long and never wonder that my words might get transmitted in the worst way possible to the object of my tirade. Now when I serve them veggies and spend my night downing Doritos, I usually see an inquisitive pair of blue eyes asking why I can eat straight from the bag but she has to get a bowl and stay in the kitchen.

I am humbled by the task I have been assigned. Being half responsible for teaching 4 other people how to move about in the world is a job that should come with some pre-requisites. I mean one could design a course requirement outline for parenting. It would involve:
Philosophy (Mommy why is Blue)
Sociology (Mommy why are people mean to each other?)
Accounting (How do I feed 6 people on this salary)
Biology (mommy where do babies come from)
Chemistry (Why tin foil should not go in the microwave)
Literature (put down the game and read a book for Gods sake)
English (WTF is not a sentence, use real words)
Fundamentals of Nutrition (Ninja Turtle fruit snacks are not an appropriate dinner option)
Communication (speak well, speak up, and remember that your is not the only opinion)
Pre-med (it's a mild fever, you are not going to die)

But beyond that there are so many things that just cannot be taught. Mom's have this magic look that can stop shenanigans in thier tracks. We can manage to fit things to care for 4 people into one bag and actually have everything we need. We can grocery shop with children.

So yes, I have changed. I am not the same Nellie I was 10 years ago, but I like this honest, capable, loving version of myself.

Running Toward Toddler

Sidebar: Did you ever have a blog post idea that seemed super profound and like it would be a work of literary awesome only to then fall back asleep and completely forget what the topic was, but remember how epic it would have been? No? me neither (cursing quietly)

My little dude is nearly ten months old. He is a grinning, soggy, smiling little butter ball. He loves it when I sing and dance with him. He wants to have bites of whatever I am eating. He believes that my actual full time job is to hold him whenever we are in the same room. He learned how to do kisses this week.

And he is walking.

let me just let that sink in.

My last baby, the one who will be "the baby" has decided that he is done with crawling and tries to walk everywhere. He looks like an orangutan, he walks with his arms in the air and he is really unsteady, but he's not even 10 months old yet. Dude, could you just calm down. I don't get to do this again. You are the last one! I need to saok up every bit of baby you have to give. My mommy heart can't handle your headlong rush toward toddler-hood.

Hindsight being 20/20 and all...

In recent months I have had some time to reflect honestly about my previous job. I thought, at the time, that I was doing okay and just a little behind. But here's the thing.

That's not accurate.

I was not good at the parts of that job that were important. It was a never ending list of long term projects. I have ADD and I am not good with long term, do when you have time, but make sure it's done by this date projects. Give me a thing to do right now, I'm brilliant.

I was not brilliant.

I was behind, and scatter brained, and terrible.

And then I was depressed.

Really, actually, painfully; probably clinically, depressed. and I didn't realize it. Between the birth of my older son, and the day I was fired from my job, I sank deeper and deeper. I got to the point where doing anything was exhausting. I didn't want to leave the house. I didn't want to do anything, cook, talk to my kids....

I feel the difference now, in a way that I don't believe I could have if I had recognized it and made the choice to get medication. I feel the lightness and the certainty that I have not over looked something that is going to end my livelihood.

I don't have much more to add on that, but introspection is interesting.

And here are some babies