My eyes! My eyes!

Share one of your "did that really just happen to me" life moments.

This is a really long post.  Sorry.  In my defense though, it's also a really long story. So there's that. 

In the midst of the craziness that is Christmas morning with two little boys, my husband pulled a single gift bag out from under the tree.

"I only got you one thing this year," he said, almost apologetically.  "And it's for your birthday, too."

Since my birthday is just a few weeks after Christmas, this is not unheard of, nor is it something to apologize for, necessarily.  

When I took the bag, I thought for just a moment that it was empty, but upon opening it I realized that it contained a single piece of paper.

It was a gift certificate for LASIK surgery.

I was ecstatic.

I've worn glasses since I was a kid.  They're not an option.  They're not a fashion accessory.  I could never wear them on the days I felt like "sassy librarian" and take them off when I needed to do things like run or swim or go outside in the rain.  My eyesight has always been quite terrible, and except for a couple years as a teenager I've never been able to wear contacts, because my eyes are chronically dry.  (This is foreshadowing, people.  Pay attention here.) 

I've been tied to my glasses for the better part of 30 years, and my desire to get rid of them has been around almost that long.  It's not a cosmetic thing.  It's never been a vanity issue.  Seriously, I'm one of the least vain people I know.  I never minded how I look in them, but they're thick and heavy and my nose sports a permanent bump where they've rested for decades.  My desire for LASIK has increased dramatically since having my two very active, very daredevil-like little boys.  I want to be able to keep up with them.  I want to ride all the rides and run into the ocean and play in the rain and go down the BIGGEST water slides without fear of losing my glasses - or worse, without them on and without being able to see what's happening to me.

It's scary not being able to see.  

Everything with my surgery happened quickly.  I was seen quickly for a consultation and all my preliminary test results showed that I was a prime candidate.  I asked a LOT of questions.  A LOT.  Some of them I asked over and over, so I guess my anxiety was evident.  Finally one kind woman smiled, sighed, placed her hand on my shoulder and said, "You don'r need to worry.  I'll be there with you every step of the way and most people are seeing at LEAST 20/30 by the next morning.  This is going to be fine.  JUST FINE." (Insert ominous foreshadowing music here.) 

Except it wasn't.

I thought this would be the last picture of me in my glasses.  Also, I realized on the way out that I was in the men's room.  Oops.  I TOLD you I was nervous.

When I arrived at the surgical center, I was a nervous wreck.  I don't do doctors much.  I prefer the martyr route whenever possible, and elective surgery is so far out of my comfort zone it all seemed surreal in my mind.  But I have promised myself to practice more self-care this year, and this surgery was completely in keeping with that.  

I was taken back to the surgical waiting room the get prepped, and when the intake nurse asked me if I wanted the "nerve pill" before surgery I laughed hysterically for just a minute then said in all seriousness, "Can I have two?"

I had read lots and lots and lots about what to expect (and the "nerve pill" calmed me down dramatically) so I was cool as a stir fried cucumber when I laid down on the table.  The doctor started the procedure on the right eye and even in my totally blind, nerve pill induced state of floating I could tell by the tone of his voice that everything was not necessarily going according to plan.  

He started the left eye and just a minute into the surgery I heard him say, "I'm not going to be able to complete the procedure on this eye." 

WH-WH-WHAT?

This was definitely not going according to plan.

They got me upright and into a room to "rest for a few minutes" and the doctor finally came in and talked to me about what went wrong.  I apparently have a condition called Epithelial Basement Membrane Dystrophy which, long story short, means that when they were doing the surgery, my corneas, which should have remained attached, were possibly floating around the OR until someone could catch them and shove them back into my eyes.  It's a genetic condition, usually asymptomatic (except for dry eyes, oops) and is usually never detected or diagnosed unless there is trauma to the eye.

You know, trauma like, say, LASIK.

Follow up appointments were made (SO. MANY. APPOINTMENTS.) and I was told that my vision would most definitely not be improving by tomorrow.  Or by next week.  As a matter of fact, it could be months before we got all this sorted out.

The entire time, I'm sitting there thinking "Seriously?  This is happening?  REALLY?!?!?  I'm going to be functionally blind for MONTHS?!?!?!!?"

It's possible I may have had a slight meltdown in which it's possible I may have shrieked "You blinded me! And I paid you to do it!" and it's possible I may have received a, um, refund.  I guess blinding is free.  But whatever.

The next week was possibly one of my least favorite in memory.  I couldn't see to read.  I couldn't see to watch tv.  I couldn't see to do normal household/life functions like preparing meals, or doing laundry, or plucking those chin hairs that spring up overnight.  I couldn't see.   My computer just looked like a big gray blob.  My kids were just blurs of color and noise.   I did listen to a couple audio books and I could see to use my iPhone if I held it exactly 4.5 inches from my left eye and closed my right one.  I took full advantage of that by taking about a million pics of myself in various states of eye wear.  See?

At one of my (many) follow-up appointments, right after my doc told me with something akin to awe and glee that he's been doing this for decades and mine was BY FAR the worst case that he's ever seen of this particular condition, then started quibbling with me about when I needed to come back for my next follow-up appointment, I may have (mis)quoted some Blanche DuBois ("I am currently dependent on the kindness of strangers to get me places!!!") and it's possible that he thought that was extremely funny and it's possible that now I just get to show up whenever I feel like it with the promise that he will see me immediately.  

In any event, what was supposed to be a really quick thing that changed my quality of life for the better has - so far - not been.  I'm two weeks past surgery now, and my vision is slowly improving in my right eye, and slowly getting back to it's former (horrible) vision in my left eye.  The biggest problem I have at the moment is that my eyes don'r work well together because of the huge difference in vision that I have in each one.

Fun times all around.  

It has occurred to me that this is sort of a recurring theme in my life.  I usually eventually get to where I want to be, but it's NEVER a straight shot from point A to point B.  That would be too easy, and I apparently don't do easy. 

But even though I know that, I'm still sitting here, functionally blind in one eye and unable to see out of the other, wondering, "What the HELL just happened?"

Gone... and forgotten.

List 8 things you think people forgot how to do.

Initially I cursorily dismissed this prompt, thinking it would be difficult to think of eight things.  For some reason, though, I kept coming back to it so I decided to try to jot down as many things I could think of in five minutes.

Just off the top of my head, I came up with around 30 things.

Apparently, it wasn't so difficult after all.  However, in the spirit of brevity (not one of my strong points, I know) I did manage to narrow it down to eight.  Here they are, in no particular order of importance.

Work on cars.  When I was a kid, I would see my dad, my brother, my uncles and cousins and neighbors covered in grease, under a car hood ALL. THE. TIME.  When I got a little older, I saw friends and boyfriends doing exactly the same thing.  At 17, I had changed my own oil, changed a tire, and had a basic understanding of what was happening every time I cranked my engine.  But then I kind of forgot, along with the rest of the world.  Part of it probably has to do with how much more complicated cars have become.  They're really more computer-oriented than mechanical these days.  Another reason is probably that it's just easier than it used to be to have some 15 minute oil change place do it for you for $29.99 than it is to spend the time to do it yourself.  Whatever the reasons, I certainly don't see many people in my neighborhood under the hoods of their cars on the weekend doing basic maintenance.

Use things made of paper.  Paper maps are outdated before they're even printed.  Actually, they're seldom even printed any more.  The same is true of phone books.  Encyclopedias?  My kids don't even know what those are.  When I was a kid my mom bought me a fabulous set of encyclopedias and I read from it nearly every day (GEEK ALERT!) until I had read them all the way through.  Those things just don't really exist any more, since the dawn of the internet and computers and constant online updates made them obsolete. 

Write in cursive.  I remember being in third grade and wanting SO BADLY for my handwriting sample to be chosen as the best in my class so it could be entered in the competition at the county fair.  Alas, my dream was never realized, but still, I could write in cursive.  It's not even part of the Kentucky school curriculum any more.  Not long ago I tried to teach Zachary to sign his name, thinking that was a fairly important skill but after several poorly constructed attempts I gave up.  He can just make an "X" or something.  Even my once-neat handwriting has devolved into some weird mish-mash of some cursive, some printing, and some totally made up looking letters that I like to think of as my own personal font.

Spell.  4COL I 4got if U R cmg 2day or 2mrow.  Sadly, this makes perfect sense to me (and probably to you).  I'm one of the last holdouts who insists on typing out every single word that I text, much to the dismay of several of the people on my contact list.  I will absolutely insist that the boys learn the proper way to spell, too, before I allow their spelling to degenerate to the current socially acceptable level.  I will admit, though, that spell check has pretty much ruined me, too.  I just give unfamiliar words a couple tries before I give up, highlight it and right click.  

Do math in your head.  Long ago I could do addition, subtraction, multiplication and division in my head.  Like, with big numbers.  Now, not so much.  I have a calculator on my phone, one on my computer, and I really just don't try that hard any more to work it out before taking the easy route.  Remember in the Little House on the Prairie books where Laura has to do long division in her head and out loud?  There's no way I could do that.  No way at all.

Keep private things private.  I'm going to blame social media.  I mean, I NEED to blame something because it's bad.  Really, really bad.  I'm not saying it's everyone, but I unfollow/block and/or hide people all the time who can't seem to keep the most intimate details of their lives to themselves.  I want to see cute pics of your kids, what blog posts you're calling out, even what you had for lunch is fine.  But really, there's an invisible line about what should and what should not be public knowledge.  As an intensely private person myself, I sometimes am just dumbstruck by what people choose to share.  I thought about listing some examples, but I can't even go there. 

Memorize phone numbers.  I still remember the number at my childhood home, plus the numbers of several of my friends, the elementary school I went to and the time and temperature number at the local bank.  However, I cannot tell you the phone number of my friends and family that I talk to and text nearly every day now.  Because my phone remembers for me.  That part of my brain is now being used to store even more lyrics from country music songs of the seventies and eighties.

Unplug and just... be.  When I go to Zack's one hour tae kwon do class, I panic if I don't remember to take my nook, my phone AND my iPad, because I might need them.  If I'm sitting down to watch tv, chances are I'm also playing Candy Crush on my phone.  In the 30 minutes or so it has taken me to write this blog post, I have checked email (twice), checked the weather channel, and fallen down the Pinterest rabbit hole when I went to look for a graphic.  Sitting still has always made me twitchy, and now more than ever I have ready entertainment at my fingertips.  I know it's not just me.  I struggle with this every day and if what I'm observing in the world is any indication, it's a pretty widespread thing.

What do you think people have forgotten how to do? 

Better things ahead.

For me, 2013 was a year of maintaining.

Maintaining my house... but making no progress on any of the millions of DIY projects I have in mind.

Maintaining my family... but making no new traditions, no new vacation places, very few untried activities.

Maintaining my body, my weight... but making no progress in my constant struggle there.

Maintaining my blog, my writing... but not being happy with or proud of most of the stuff I typed incoherently at 5am.

Maintaining my marriage... but finding very little time for date nights, or time away, just the two of us.

Maintaining my relationships with other family and friends... but not really being as accessible or as helpful as I would like to have been.

I feel like I've been in a holding pattern.

This is pretty atypical for me.

I will be the first to tell you that I'm not the kind of person who is constantly craving excitement and new things to keep me occupied.  Quite the opposite is typically true.  I like patterns, stability, the familiar.  I LIKE boring.  I thrive on it, really.

But I'm ready.

Ready to make things happen in 2014 instead of just waiting for things to happen TO me.

Ready for changes.  Good ones.  Maybe even scary ones.

I'm ready.

Bring it, 2014.

Happy New Year! 

 

10 things to smile about.

This week, Mama Kat told me to write: 

10 Things to Smile About (inspired by Things I Can't Say)

1.  This boy.  THIS BOY just studied for, tested for and will receive (tonight!) his blue belt in Tae Kwon Do.  That means he's only four steps away from the black belt.  Seriously.  Putting him in Tae Kwon Do classes has been one of the best decisions R and I have made for Zachary.  It's increased his confidence, his ability to concentrate, his balance and coordination, and his understanding of respect and rank and honor by about a million.


2.  I secured Cooper a spot in our local library's Kindergarten 101 class, which starts in September.  It's not the three day a week preschool I wanted for him, but I was thrilled to find this for him (and me).  It will do him a world of good, I think.  And it's free!  I love free!

3.  Zachary started second grade last week.  SECOND GRADE.  This one is definitely a double edged sword, because I'm thrilled for him and he's thrilled to be there, but I can't believe how quickly the years are passing.

4.  Speaking of Zachary starting second grade, on the morning of the first day when he was telling Cooper goodbye, I overheard him say "Cooper I know you'll miss me today.  I'll miss you too, but it's ok with me if you want to play in my room today while I'm at school, so you maybe won't miss me so much."  These little unscripted, unplanned moments when I see how much they love each other and are willing to take care of each other melt my heart.  Big time.

5.  I finally broke down and signed Zachary and myself up for The Color Run that's happening close to me.  After the Lunar 5k debacle I wasn't sure I would do it, but R and Cooper will be sitting this one out, so Zachary and I can focus on having a great run together.  This will be Zachary's third 5k, and if it goes well, I just might look for another local race or two for us in the fall.

6.  R and I got a long-overdue date night recently thanks to my sister, who took the kids OVERNIGHT.  That is an unprecedented amount of time that I have been away from them, and R and I celebrated by eating Indian food, then coming home and going to sleep at about 9pm.  We're not really the partiers we once were...

7.  My friend Natalie is in the process of starting her own fresh juice business.  It's called Zest! Juice for life, and you can check out their website atzestjuiceforlife.com or their Facebook page here.  I am so proud of her for going after what she wants!  

8.  Thanks to an overabundant tomato crop from my sister's garden, I learned how to can tomatoes this year.  I was intimidated by all the steps in the process, but it turned out to be super easy, and all my jars sealed properly.  It made me feel totally capable and pioneer-ish.

9.  I feel like I'm finally getting back into the swing of running regularly after a fairly miserable and inconsistent showing this summer.  At 640 miles +/- so far, I'm still on the right track to make my goal of 1,000 for the year.  It's all downhill from here!

10.  It's your turn!  Tell me something good in the comments to make me smile.  Even if you just normally lurk without commenting (I know you're there!!!), you're up!  I can always use something else to make me happy.

NOTMYCAT

I've mentioned a time or two that I'm not particularly interested in obtaining an animal that I would need to take care of.

The three (boys) I have are quite enough, thankyouverymuch.

So when one day a few weeks ago, Cooper yelled, "MAMA! THERE'S A CAT ON OUR PORCH!!!"  I totally ignored him.

Cooper, that is.  Well, and the cat, too, really.

But the cat wasn't particularly interested in being ignored.

He stuck around, meowing and living on my front porch and just generally making his presence known.

He was friendly and polite and quite persistent.  He meowed and purred and tried to come in my house every chance he got.  He finally (sort of) got a clue that he ABSOLUTELY was not coming in and took up permanent residence on my front porch.  On my door mat.  Right in the way.

For several days, I took various pictures of this cat in various places around my house.  I used the hashtag #notmycat on Instagram and Twitter, and you'd be amazed at how many other people seemed to be sharing my exact plight.

Cats go where cats wanna go, I guess.

Zachary liked him.  But Cooper ADORED him.  

He talked of nothing else.  He ran to the window a million times a day to check up on the cat, to make sure he was still on our front porch.

He always was, by the way.

Cooper even brushed up on what he referred to as his "cat-speak."

And this went on for days.  And days.

And the cat was still here.

I could feel myself softening to the idea of a cat, THIS cat, just a little, and even started calling him Nomy (short for NOTMYCAT) in my head.  My sister has a cat named Scat, so this may just be some sort of family trait that I might want to keep off the internet.  Oops.  Too late.

Anyway, Nomy was here, and he appeared to be here to stay.  One memorable Saturday the boys played with this cat ALL. DAY. LONG.

And I softened to the idea even more.

And then one day when we got up, he was gone, just as suddenly as he had appeared.  The boys looked for him all over, but Nomy was gone.  Maybe he went back to his real house.  That's what I told the kids, anyway, but the truth is an outdoor cat probably doesn't have much chance out here in the boonies where I live.  

And I remembered why I didn't want a cat in the first place.

But when I pull in the driveway or walk out the front door, I still find myself looking to see if maybe he's back in his spot on the door mat.

So far he hasn't been, but I'm not going to totally discount the idea. 

He is a cat, after all, and cats go where cats wanna go.

Seasons.

When Zachary was born, for the first time ever this became a house with a baby in it.

When Cooper came along three years later, Zachary was just getting over his baby-ness, and BAM! there was Cooper to take his spot.

And ever since then, this has been a house with a baby in it.

So for seven years, this was a house full of all things baby.

Except now, it's not.

Looking back, I can see that it wasn't a sudden change, really.

First, there were no more bottles, then eventually, no more sippy cups.  Then there wasn't a need for diapers and wipes.

Baby towels and swaddling blankets are long gone.  I'm not even really sure where they went.

The boppy has bopped away to somewhere else.

All the big plastic "SAFE FOR THREE AND UNDER" toys have slowly been replaced by smaller, more interesting ones with moveable parts and interesting designs.  I don't immediately panic and think "Choking Hazard!" when we walk down the toy aisle at Target.

There aren't onesies here any longer, and just the other day, the potty chair said it's final goodbye because Cooper doesn't need it now.

 Although I still have a high chair and a stroller, they sit empty and unused.   There are no pacifiers here to soothe a grumpy baby to sleep.

Cooper can finally pronounce his name correctly.  He now tells everyone his name is "Cooper" instead of the hard to explain to strangers "Pooper."  When that last little vestige of baby-ness disappeared, I think I finally realized what was happening.

I recently unsubscribed from Huggies on my Facebook feed, not because I don't like them any more; it's simply because I don't have a use for that information.

Food no longer has to be chopped and mushed before it's given to the boys, and I'm a redundancy at bath time, because really, they can handle that without much help.

Lullabies were long ago replaced by bedtime stories, and night lights are all gathering dust in a drawer somewhere.

Leaving the house no longer requires a diaper bag with a change of clothes and a couple extra shirts and a baby-friendly snack and cup and a bunch of toys to entertain a little one "just in case."

They both need me less now.  In some ways - many ways - this is a blessed relief, but in other ways it makes me sad, just a little.

They can get their own snacks and feed themselves, they can get themselves dressed, they can clean themselves and take care of their bathroom needs and a million other little things and it happened so slowly, so gradually, that I missed the moment it happened.

So it seems that the season of all things baby has passed.

And that's ok.  It's good, even.  It's the natural order of things.

But really, it seems like I blinked and it happened.  And I know I will blink again and they will be even more grown up, and another blink will happen and they will be teenagers, and one more blink will take them off to college and away from me and into the world.

And that scares me a little, and I wonder how I can slow it down, just enough to make sure I can savor every last minute of it.

Go vote!

I make it a point to keep my politics off this blog, but truth be known, the election today has me worried.  As the Mama of two little boys who, as adults, could be picking up the aftermath of the next administration, I'm more concerned than usual about how this election may turn out.

I keep my political beliefs to myself always, and it's pretty funny, but all my Republican friends just assume I'm a Republican and all my Democrat friends just assume I'm a Democrat.  The truth is probably closer to the middle, and even though I'm registered one way I often vote another, depending on the candidate and the circumstances.  I don't broadcast my beliefs, and I mostly ignore those who do.  I hate to have to tell you this, but your clever Facebook meme probably isn't going to change my mind about much.

My political leanings are deeply rooted in my childhood, where I watched my parents, who were the two hardest working people I've ever known, still occasionally not be able to make ends meet.  My beliefs were further rooted in adulthood by working nearly two decades for a company that prided itself on diversity before that was even a "thing," and by the many, many, many wonderfully "diverse" people I worked with over those years.

Sometimes my beliefs contradict the party I more closely affiliate with.  The good news is, that's ok, too.  That's part of the beauty of living in America.  We can choose to believe whatever we want, and we can change our minds whenever we want to.  This is a luxury not afforded to many. 

And today is a day that we have not just a right, but a responsibility to roll ourselves up off the couch, put on pants, and get ourselves to the polls.

It doesn't matter who you choose to vote for.  Just choose.

*Steps purposefully off of soapbox.*

And this concludes any political references you will see on this blog.  Well, for four years, anyway.

Brothers.

My boys were born three years, four months, twenty-three days, two hours and eleven minutes apart.

I was kind of worried about this particular age difference, but that's just how it worked out.

It seemed too far apart.  Ideally, two to two and a half years seemed about right, but that's just not how it happened.  I was afraid they wouldn't be close enough in age to play together, and at first, it seemed as though I was right.

Initial interactions between them included me yelling "Zachary!  Don't poke your brother in the eye!" and "Zachary! Don't step on the baby!"

We quickly graduated to "Cooper!  Don't bite your brother!" and "Cooper!  We don't grab toys away from Zachary!" and "No, no Cooper!  Don't pull your brother's hair!"

And then slowly, oh so slowly, it became "Boys, knock it off!"  and "Boys!  Keep it down!" and "Boys! Stop ninja attacking Mama!"

Even though their little boy antics drive me straight up a wall sometimes, I secretly love it when they make mischief together, superhero capes on, whispering and plotting and planning until I hear one of them - usually Zachary - yell "Ok, NOW!" and then they jump out at me from behind some piece of furniture, Nerf guns blazing, yelling "You're surrounded!  Surrender now!"

So slowly their relationship has evolved, and now, they are friends.

They are the best kind of friends.  

Don't misunderstand me, it's not all rainbows and puppies around here.  They fight.  They fight as only brothers can.  And they tussle and yell and cry and occasionally do each other bodily harm over the smallest slight, perceived or real, like "Mama! he touched me!" or "His piece is bigger than mine!" or most often "I had that first!" and then it's a knock down drag out fight, until suddenly it is completely, utterly forgotten and they are playing superheroes or coloring pictures of extra-special Pokemons or pretending to be baby alligators once again, and whatever caused the fight in the first place is exactly where it should be between friends and brothers, which is completely gone and forgotten, until the next time.

Oh, and how they take up for one another!  Nothing makes one of them more upset than me putting the OTHER one in time out.  "Mama!  Why you mad on my brother?!?!?" Cooper will ask, his little face scrunched up at the injustice of such a thing.  Zachary is a little more subtle. If Cooper sitting in the time out chair, Zack will slip him a toy to play with when he thinks I'm not looking.

There are days when Zack comes home from school exhausted and wanting nothing else in the world than to spend a half hour alone in his room with his DS or whatever the gadget du jour is, but more often than not he will sigh, then agree whenever Cooper, who has been missing big brother all day, says.  "Zachary, will you play puppies with me?" is pretty common, and there's the one that melts my heart a million times over, "Zack, will you read to me?  PWWWEEEEAAAASSSEEE??"

Melting over here.

So yeah, it's working out better than I had hoped or imagined, for them and for me.

They each have someone to count on, someone who's always going to say, "Bro, I got your back," as Zachary did just the other day in the midst of an epic pretend battle, and I know that they will have each other, long after RJ and I are gone.   They have someone they can confide in, and talk to, and listen to, and experience things with, especially when it's a time a parent just won't do.  They have a built in best friend, and it's one who will never move away, and it's one who, based on sheer proximity, will not be able to move on to other, flashier, cooler friends.

Oh, I know as they get older and make more friends of their own and get interests that are separate from one another, they may not be as close as they seem to be now, when I have some say in how they spend their time.

But I also know that those three years, four months, twenty-three days, two hours and eleven minutes will fade to almost nothing as they grow into adulthood, and that their shared histories will continue to bring them back to one another.

And that makes this Mama very happy.

No Nick here.

My boys watch tv.

Ok, come on judgey McJudgersons, tell me how it's bad for their little developing brains and will turn them into couch-potato-brain-dead-zombie-children-who-will-never-function-in-society-so-I-might-as-well-clean-out-the-basement-because-they-will-never-move-out-ever, then I'll tell you how it keeps me from becoming a hair-pulling-out-banshee-screaming-wine-drinking-before-lunch-hysterically-sobbing-lunatic whenever I hear one of them yell  "MAMA!!!" for the seventeenth time in 3.8 minutes.

Ok, I'm glad we understand each other now.

Now that THAT'S out of the way, I can tell you that cj's tastes run toward Disney - Mickey Mouse Clubhouse and Little Einsteins pretty much exclusively.  Considering one of those shows is on pretty much 24/7, I'm usually covered every time I need a babysitter little tv time for him.

Except a few weeks ago we switched from DirectTV to cable because it was way cheaper, and I'm all about cheap.  I'm also fairly resistant to change not familiar with the channel lineup yet, and I really needed to plant cj in front of the tv for a minute this morning while I  went online to find out what was wrong with Ameilia's baby on Private Practice OMG It. Doesn't. Have. A. Brain!!!! I did some important household chores, and I couldn't find the Disney Channel, so I turned on Backyardigans instead.

"Here ya go, cj!  Sit down here and watch tv for a little while so Mama can, umm, get some work done, ok? Mama has a new show for you!  You're going to love it!"

Then I sneaked away to the office and started Googling "Private Practice" like my life depended on it.

I was deeply engrossed with reading feedback from the previous night's episode - which I will watch at some point in my future, like maybe when the boys are in bed, or maybe in college - when I heard cj's voice from the living room.

"Aww, he likes it," I thought, smiling to myself.  "He's singing along." I was mentally filing  Backyardigans away as a potential future babysitter when I heard his voice getting louder and louder and louder.

Deciding I needed to check it out, I walked into the living room where I found him, face pressed up against the tv screen and saying, ok, muttering "StopSingingStopSingingStopSingingStopSingingStopSingingStopSingingStopSingingStopSingingStopSingingStopSingingSTOPSINGINGSTOPSINGINGSTOPSINGINGSTOPSINGINGSTOPSINGINGSTOPSINGINGSTOPSINGINGSTOPSINGINGSTOPSINGINGSTOPSINGINGSTOPSINGINGSTOPSINGING" over and over and over, sort of like a crazy person.

"Cj, honey, are you ok?" I asked cautiously.

He turned around to face me, his adorable little face scrunched up in what I can only describe as rage and said, "Mama. Dat. Yellow. Tow (cow). Won't. Stop. Singing.  Make. Him. Shut. Up."

"Oh, I think it's a hippo?  Maybe?  Named Tasha?  And she's definitely a girl, I think?" I answered.

"SHUT. HIM. UP. NOW. TURN. OFF. US'S TB. NOW. MAMA!" he demanded, teeth clenched, anger nearly radiating off him.

 Sort of afraid not to, I quickly grabbed the remote and turned the tv off.  Cj immediately transformed - a la Jeckell and Hyde - back to his sweet little self, and was playing, laughing and talking within minutes.

Later when I put him down for a nap, I spent an hour or so memorizing the Disney channel lineup for cable.

I'd hate to see what would happen if I accidentally showed him an episode of Wonder Pets or something.

Keeping time.

My first watch, still alive and ticking.

I detest being late.

Actually, detest is not strong enough a word here.

If there is even the slightest, smallest, most miniscule possibility that I won't be early - like really, really early - to something, I'd rather just not go.

Yes, I realize it's not exactly sane.

Yes, I realize it's not a terribly good use of my time to get to EVERY single appointment 2 hours ahead of time.

It's just part of my particular kind of crazy.  What can I say?

Anyway, since the age of six or seven when I was gifted my first watch (Mickey Mouse, of course.  I still have it, of course.) I've been a rabid watch wearer.  Rabid, as in, I cannot possibly for any reason leave my house without a watch on and I'd prefer to wear it when I shower and sleep, too, thank you very much.  Rabid, as in, I still to this day prefer Mickey Mouse watches, but in the absence of one of those, any old thing that keeps accurate time will do.  Rabid, as in, I forgot to wear my watch to work exactly twice in 17 years.  Once I had to leave in the middle of the day and go home for it.  The other time, when that wasn't an option, I dug through the lost and found box and came up with a Thomas the Tank Engine watch that some poor little kid had left there and wore it all day.  The minute I strapped it on my left wrist - face underneath, as God and all watchmakers intended, of course - I felt a sense of relief and peace wash over me.

Yeah, I know.  Crazy.

My watch has always been important to me.  I fell in love with RJ over a watch, but that's a story for another day.

At one point, I was going through a watch or so a month, because I would forget to take it off before washing dishes in the cafe at work.  RJ got tired of listening to me moan about and bought me a beautiful (and expensive, I thought at the time) waterproof Citizen brand Mickey watch and I've been wearing it ever since.

Then one day a month or so ago, in the flurry to get zj ready for school and out the door and to get cj dressed and out the door with me so we could run some errands, it happened.

I forgot to put my watch on.

I realized it just as I was pulling into the grocery store parking lot, and my immediate first thought was that I needed to turn around and  go home to get it.  One does not simply shop for cereal without a watch on...

Then I talked myself down.  It was a 20 minute drive back to my house, then it would be another 20 minutes to get back to the store.  I only needed a few things.  I could be in and out of the grocery and on my way home in less time than it would take to retrieve my watch.

So I did it.  I went in and shopped, naked wristed and completely clueless about the time.  Well, except for my iPhone, which I checked approximately every 2.37 seconds.

But it was... fine.  Just fine.

So since then, I have purposefully left the house no less than half a dozen times without my watch.   While I don't think I'll ever get over my need to arrive early for everything every single time every day of my life, I am slowly, slowly, slowly trying to keep from being so... tightly wound all the time.  (God, I'm funny.)  I'm trying to relax a little more, to stop and smell the roses, if you will.

I keep reminding myself that sometimes life is happening all around me while I'm trying to get to the next thing, and that it's ok to take time out to enjoy it.  Not everything has to happen on an exact schedule every single day.

Most things on most days, maybe.  But not everything.

It's a process.

I'm getting there.

It just takes time.

Digging in the dirt.

I love beautiful yards.

You know, the ones with strategically placed antique wheelbarrows and lovely trellises (trelli?) overflowing with an abundance of riotous flowers in amazing colors?

Yeah.  Those.

I love those yards.

However, I do not have one.

And it's not for a lack of trying.

Every year on the first warm day I drag RJ to Lowes or Home Depot or somewhere and make him push the cart around while I fill it up with hundreds and hundreds of dollars worth of flowers.  Ah petunias!  You make my heart sing!  Daisies!  You are my favorite!  Then I come home and have to immediately plant them - in the ground, in pots, in planters... Then I water them faithfully, and care for them gently, until a month or so later when they are always dried up and shriveled and brown and dead.

Every year this happens.

You know the one girl in middle school who wants to be a cheerleader SO bad, and every year she works on her cartwheels for months and studies the routines and lives and breathes cheerleading day and night, and then on the day of the tryouts she totally sucks but nobody ever makes fun of her because she is so earnest and she wants it SO bad and she's SO devastated but really she just isn't very good at it?  Yeah, I'm like that, except with growing flowers.

But it never stops me from trying.

Oh, I try to talk myself out of it.  Every year in the fall, I start saying things about how I'm not going to waste all that money on buying flowers next year, and RJ just smiles and nods a little, because he KNOWS that I cannot walk in Lowes in the springtime without filling up a cart or two with flowers that are doomed to execution in my yard.

All winter long, I talk to myself about this problem.  "Self," I say, "you need to stop worrying about planting flowers this spring and focus on other things.  Like the fact that 1/3 of your yard is bare dirt and the other 2/3 is crabgrass.  Maybe you should focus on that, huh, instead of all the flowers you're planning to kill?"  My inner self is a mean bitch sometimes.

When the first warm week hit this year, I resisted the urge.  I didn't even go near anywhere that sold flowers.  So what that as a result we ran out of bread, milk and eggs and the boys had to eat frozen burritos for breakfast?  I was on a twelve step program here, and the first step is always "Make everyone else as miserable as you are."

Of course, Step 2 is "get as close as possible to see if you really can walk away."  So  I headed into Lowes, determined to walk out empty handed.  $76 and a full cart later, I walked out.  But only ONE  cart full, thank you very much, so I've definitely made progress.  This 12 step program really works!

And I came home and planted them all immediately, because digging in the dirt is good for my soul.

So thank you little flowers.  Thank you for giving your life so that I might be happy, even if it is just for a little while.

Spring Cleaning

8:02am  Ah... I love this weather!  The sun is shining, the birds are singing... It's time to open these windows up and get the stale air out of here.  I feel like this is a perfect day to whip this house into shape for spring! Let's see, I need to dust, and wash curtains, and organize the pantry... I need a LIST!  Yes, I will make a list of all the spring cleaning tasks I need to accomplish...

9:38am  Ok, my list is ready!  I have 68 things that I will accomplish today!  Up first, organizing the pantry.  Let's see, hmmm... ok, I think I need some storage baskets to put this stuff in.  Cj, get your shoes!  We're going to Target!

10:12am  Alrighty, Target, here we are.  What was it I needed again?  Oh yes, baskets.  Those are back here near the... Hey, look cj!  Sidewalk chalk!  And bubbles!  Might as well stock up as long as we're here...

11:43am  Home from Target.  It's a shame I forgot to get those baskets.  Oh well, I can organize the pantry without them.  Hey, cj, wanna try out the new sidewalk chalk?

12:27pm  Wasn't that fun, cj?  We got to draw on the driveway, and you saw some cool airplanes fly over...  Ok, now I HAVE to get to the pantry.  Cj, why don't you go play upstairs while I do this?  I'll come check on you in a few minutes.

12:29pm  Ok, I'd better go see what cj is doing before I get into this.  He's awfully quiet right now...

CJ!!!!  You have trashed your brother's room!!!  Oh well, I guess I'll clean all this up before I start on the pantry.  

2:51pm  I finally got zj's room put back together.  Just in time too.  Now I have to go get him from the bus stop.

3:14pm  Hey zj!  How was your day at school?   Hey, we got some new sidewalk chalk at Target today.  Wanna draw something before we go in?  I'm working on some organizing and cleaning, though, so we can't stay out here long...

6:04pm  Oh my goodness how did it get so late?  Come on boys, we have to get inside and get dinner and baths and do homework and get you guys to bed.  Tomorrow is a school day for zj...

8:11pm  Whew.  The kids are in bed and I am EXHAUSTED.  I think I'm going to turn in early myself tonight.  This spring cleaning business is HARD.  I'm so glad it's over for this year!

The lunchbox dilemma.

I was unsure about a lot of things when zj started kindergarten this past fall, but one thing I was pretty sure of was that I really didn't want him to take his lunch.  I wanted him to try what the cafeteria had to offer.  Although he's not a picky eater, he does mainly prefer things from the "orange" and "yellow" food groups, and I thought this would be a great way to expose him to some new kinds of foods.  Also, I am lazy and did not want to pack a lunch for him every day.

And that was fine for a while.  Every day, I quizzed him about what was for lunch and whether or not it was good, and how much he ate.  He seemed pretty happy with the school lunches, and although they weren't terribly impressive in their creativity (chicken nuggets, pizza and nachos were the staples), it was all just fine.  JUST.  FINE.

Until it wasn't any more.

One day out of the blue, zj said "Mama, can I get a lunchbox?"

"Why do you need a lunchbox?  You eat the school's lunches."

"Well, maybe I could, ya know, take my lunch some time?"

I asked a lot of pointed questions about WHY he wanted to take his lunch - Do you get to go first in line if you brought your lunch?  Do you sit at a special table?  Do you just want a cool lunchbox?  Do some of your friends bring their lunch? - and mostly satisfied with his answers, I relented.

Spiderman lunchbox.  Check.  Toy Story thermos?  Check.  My never-ending desire to win at everything, even things that aren't competitions? Check.

So I researched, and by that I mean I got on Pinterest, came up with a dozen or so stinking cute, really impressive lunchbox ideas, and we were off.  I made dinosaur shaped sandwiches with lettuce for grass and broccoli trees, turkey wraps with his name written in cheese, grapes carved into the Leaning Tower of Pisa, I did color days (all red foods! all green foods! all blue foods!), I did shapes (everything's a circle!  everything's a square!),  I wrote notes he couldn't really read on his napkins, and it was great.

The first couple of weeks, zj came home every day with an empty lunchbox, and I silently patted myself on the back for my wonderful lunches, all the while trying to come up with even more impressive ideas...  I WOULD WIN AT LUNCH!!!  I WOULD BE THE BEST MOM IN THE WHOLE KINDERGARTEN CLASS WITH MY PHINEAS & FERB SHAPED SANDWICHES!

One day last week, zj asked, kind of offhandedly, "Mama, can I have a wrap in my lunch tomorrow?  Ya know, with turkey and honey mustard?  Junior really likes those."

Ummm... what?!?!  Why does it matter what Junior likes?

"Zj, do you always eat all your own lunch?  Or do you share with the other kids?"

"Oh, we share.  Sometimes we trade stuff."  He seemed totally unconcerned that my head was blowing right off at that exact moment.

"So, last week when I stayed up late the day before Valentine's day cutting all your lunch into little bitty hearts and cut my finger while scalloping your tortilla hearts, did you share your lunch that day?"

"Oh yeah!!! Casey really LOVED all those hearts!"

Well, bully for Casey.  The little lunch-stealing brat.

Further questioning on my part led me to believe that most of my most impressive efforts had been traded for things that I don't normally buy, like Lunchables, Twinkies and Little Debbie Cakes.

I guess that's just what kids do, right?  Trade lunch?  I told myself I would just have to get over it.

Fine.  But no more fancy, labor intensive lunches here.

Next time, it's pb&j all the way.

And I may not even cut the crusts off.