Random Meme
I was planning on posting some photos of the grandchildren and of M&A in all the glory of sisterhood, but I’m still sick and I’m tired from the craziness of family being in town, so I thought I’d do something here that I haven’t done in ages. Deb had this free-for-all meme and I’m stealing it to pass my last hour of work.
What Was I Doing 10 Years Ago?
I was just out of school and learning the ropes of the “real world” while at the same time contemplating applying to law school, as was the original plan. I was working at a law office on the corner of my parents’ street, where I would begin the path of disillusionment toward the profession in general. I was still living at home and had been seeing J for almost three years.
5 Things On My To-Do List Today:
• Catch up on blogs I love and find new ones to fall in love with.
• Clean. The. House. The BBQ is on Saturday and I haven’t so much as picked up a stray sock since Wednesday, when I began to feel sick.
• Make a menu plan for Saturday. We had one. Then we changed it. And again.
• Continue to encourage Peanut to use the potty.
• Get new batteries for the new camera and take more photos of the visiting nephews.
Snacks I Enjoy:
Let me tell you something about myself. I don’t do diets. I love myself and food too much to deprive myself of something that gives me such joy. Let me tell you something else. I’m not one of those women who can say “I can eat anything and not get fat! It’s in the genes!” and gracefully ignore the raging glares from other women. I’m not that woman, but don’t I wish. And, no Mother, I cannot still fit into my size four wedding dress. My secret is moderation. Without it, I’d be the size of a house. Because snacks I enjoy would entail everything from chocolate covered raisins to cupcakes to Doritos and cheese popcorn. I once stood in line at Garrett’s in Chicago for an hour in thirty degree weather for their famous popcorn. I’ve never met a snack I didn’t like.
Things I Would Do If I Were A Billionaire:
• Cry tears of joy.
• Hide.
• Pay off all of our debt and that of our family and close friends (stole this from you Deb.)
• Hire a moving truck for Arisa and Amanda to pack up their family and move home.
• Begin the search for our family compound. And we would have a compound. That’s how close we are. The compound would include four separate houses, a large pond, a central activity/play/entertainment area, a pool and several golf carts because the houses are going to be just far enough away so we don’t drive each other nuts.
• Establish a trust fund for my children, my niece (?), nephews and godchildren.
• Create a scholarship program for students from my high school that attend Michigan State University.
• Buy a navy blue M6. Not very practical for a mother of young twins but hey, I’m a billionaire. I’ll get another car.
• Take the love of my life on a much needed, much deserved two week vacation to some distant, tropical, fabulous island.
• Volunteer and donate to charities that mean a lot to me.
• Really, I could go on and on with this but you’re starting to get bored, I’m sure.
Places I Have Lived:
• Selfridge ANG Base
• Germany
• Bangkok, Thailand
• Fredericksburg, Virginia
• Salinas, California
• Fort Ord, California
• East Lansing, Michigan
• Metro Detroit
Well. This only took up half of my remaining hour at work. Damn. So, like Deb, I’m not going to tag anyone, unless you’re bored, sick, waiting or tired. If so, you’re it. And let me know if you’ve done it so I can check in!
Painting
I’ve never been the crafty type. I am not an artist, I’ve given up on scrapbooking at least three times and the extent of my pottery experience is painting a mug at Plaster Playhouse. But Shawn inspired me to step out of my comfort zone of coloring (with washable markers) inside the lines and letting the girls get a little messy with some finger paints. Truth be told, I was looking for a way to keep the girls from the eighty-nine degree, 100% humidity back yard. Movies weren’t motivating them and they were tired of the playroom. So, I pulled out the paints, some sheets of paper and their paintbrushes.
Initially, the girls stayed on the paper. Audrey is as precise about her paint as she is about her markers. I think she was around twenty-eight months when she began coloring within the lines of a picture. Her attention to detail is amazing, and when she is working, she zones out completely. So, she began dabbing her paintbrush neatly into different colors and painting a portrait of polka-dots, making certain that she did not mix any of the paint colors.
Meanwhile, Maggie had tossed her paintbrush aside for a more convenient tool. Fingers. Soon enough, she had mixed all the colors of her palette until it was a wet mess of brown. She plopped her hands on the paper for a bit but soon became bored with this form of art. So, she squished her fingers together and giggled at the sounds of the paint oozing through her hands and onto her bare legs. Once there, the floodgates were opened. By the time she was done, Maggie had painted most of each arm, her belly and the bottoms of her feet. When Audrey spied what Maggie was doing on the other side of the table, she shook her head in disbelief and continued to quietly paint. But Maggie and I coaxed her to try it too and so she took her paintbrush and gently dabbed a bit on her arm. And then some more. And still more.
When I announced that it was time for a bath, both girls protested. They were having too much fun and they didn’t want it to end any time soon. But I knew if I didn’t put an end to it now, my Beans wouldn’t be the only things covered in paint in the kitchen. Thanks again to Shawn for suggesting this activity. I will definitely come back to it to fight the boredom (and the heat).
Motivation or a Sad, Sad Cry for Help?
Day 1 was easy. Except for the Fed Ex guy bringing my shoes from Endless which, of course, I had to try on in the middle of the twenty minute workout. They are for the wedding, after all, which is why I made this painful ultimatum to myself. Trying to walk in 3.5 inch heels are, in itself, a workout. But trying to fit into this is what’s at stake here.
Oh, and except for two Beans who insisted on participating and barking orders like, "Lift your head up Momma! Like her!" and "Kick harder Momma! Like this!"
We’ll see how it goes. Either I’ll be posting, reading and shopping on the Internet to my heart’s content or my sweet Delly will wander the days lonesome for a warm touch and a willing lap. At least, by making my ultimatum to myself public, I’m a little accountable, right?
Let’s hope so. Ten pounds to go.
Promises
Pie, still reeling from that damn whale, has finagled a new routine of pre-bed bedtime out of me, where both Beans crawl into our bed, I put on the symphonies channel on Sirius and they drift to sleep in the safety of our room. It’s been a little over a week now and every night at around 11:00 p.m., J and I trudge up to our bedroom to collect the thieves of the cool sheets (which, let’s be honest, are the best thing ever!) and return them to their cribs.
Last night, I had to run upstairs twice, all the while muttering the decision to go with the colonial over the ranch, when I overheard the girls pushing and shoving each other off the bed. I gave them each a stern talking to, reminding them that, just because they were in our room, doesn’t mean it isn’t bedtime. Same thing, different room, Girls. By the third trip, I was tired and fed up with the shenanigans. I flipped off the music, took the stuffies away and demanded silence and sleep. Then, I turned and left, leaving behind kicks and wails of protest. Finally, things settled down and I stopped hearing whispers and began to hear the soft snoring Pie and the faint rattle of Peanut’s breath. I settled in to my newest book, while J worked on the laptop in the basement. Soon, my eyes began drooping and not even the sound of the Tigers tying up the game could keep me from nodding off.
Until, just before eleven, I heard a crash and a wail. I sat straight up on the couch, wondering if I imagined it. The crying intensified and I flew, quicker than I ever had, up the stairs. I found Peanut laying in a crumpled heap of sheets on the floor beside the bed, eyes closed, head in hand, moaning, “Momma! Momma! Momma!”
I gathered her up into me and shushed her. I asked her where her boo boos were and peppered kisses along her forehead and on her elbow, at her direction. I held her up and looked into her face to ask her if she was okay after all, but she was still sleeping. And still chanting my name. My name. Momma, momma, momma. She wouldn’t stop right away and my heart broke at the haunting way that she called to me.
“Shhh, shhh. Baby, I’m here. I’m here. You’re okay.” I kissed her head again and held her tighter to convey that she was safe with me, and to apologize for allowing her to be injured. I wanted to wake her to make sure she was okay, to verify that she didn’t hit her head just the right way and had a worse ailment than a bumped elbow and head. Tears formed in my eyes, listening to her cry out to me in her sleep, so I kept rocking her until her chant became a whisper and she weakly pulled from me to lay on the bed that she knew was near. I watched her until her brow relaxed and her breathing regulated.
I thought about my family and friends who don’t have their mother to run to them when they are needed, through distance, through death, through a horrible misunderstanding. I thought about my mother and how she was half way around the world when her mother died. And how she was half way across the country when my sister’s daughter passed away. And how blessed I am to be four miles away from her, to leave my children in her loving arms while I am away. To still have her chide me for my clothing and food choices. To be nearby when I fall. We’ve had our differences, but in the end, I’m still her little girl. And with those thoughts, I gathered Peanut up for one last hug and moved on to her sister, oblivious to the accident, and ran my fingers through her hair and whispered the promise that I would always be nearby.
