tick tock

I often lie in bed at night, waiting to fall asleep with my husband snoring in my ear and think about things that didn’t get done during the day.  ‘I wanted to clear the clutter from the dining room, I wanted to cook that dish just a 1/2 hour longer, I wanted to write that blog post and have a shower. And the floor didn’t get washed again.’

I wish I had the ability to control time, to slow down the day and give me more hours to complete the things I want to do.  I want to be the best mom.  I want to be the best spouse. I want to be the best ME.  So many things fall by the wayside because others take prority and that’s ok.  But wouldn’t it be awesome if it were possible to change that?

I’d stop the clock and freeze the world and sit down for a nice cup of coffee.

I’d read a book.

I’d let the kids play 5 min longer in the tub.

I’d SLEEP, oh my gawd how I’d sleep!

Everything would be in it’s place and the house would sparkle and this blog would be full of craft ideas and recipes and stunning photographs to boot.  Hey, maybe I’d even get that book written!

I wish, I wish, I wish.

What would you wish for?

This post was inspired by Monday Mojo – the Monday Blog Meme that gets your Mojo moving!  This week they’re asking:

If you came upon a magic genie who could grant you ONE wish for YOURSELF…what would you wish for? What would make the biggest difference in your life? No ‘world peace’ wishes here people. We want you to be selfish for once and think of yourself and what you want for you and nobody else. So? What’s your wish?

I resisted the urge to rage at her.  I hadn’t even had a cup of coffee yet.  I wanted to yell.

‘WHAT THE FUCK HANNAH!’

Instead I said, “go get me a towel right now.”

“I’m sorry mom,” she said, face turned down, eyes averted.

When she came back I wiped the milk from my skin and told her to sit on the couch and not say a word. 10 minutes later, after I felt the anger subside, I called her to sit on my lap.

“What happened before?  Why did you spit your milk on me?”

“I was trying to give you a fish kiss,” she said.

Breakfast was eaten, but we didn’t watch her favorite show.  Punishment.  She understood. The baby’s nap time rolled around and he was angry.  He resisted.  He yelled.  He cried.  30 minutes and a glass of milk later and he finally slumbered.

I emerge from the bedroom feeling as though I’d won one battle for the day to find Hannah eating peanut butter out of the jar.  She’s supposed to ask before she eats anything. It’s a rule and, I feel, a reasonable one.

I grab a snack and a coloring book and a new pack of crayons for her.  Coffee for me.  I bring this all downstairs to our family room – away from where the baby was napping.  “Here,” I say, “take this and sit down and color. Please show me some good behaviour because you haven’t done this yet today.”  She colors half a page then starts playing with the dog.  Then starts chasing the dog. Then starts yelling and throwing toys for the dog.

I lose it.  I order her to lie on the couch and not move or say a word.

I feel the anger bubbling over and I feel myself retreat inside to find some strength only there’s nothing there.  I feel sick, still having not recovered from an earlier illness.  I feel tired.  I feel emotionally exhausted. I want to get away – to run somewhere where I can be still in quiet.

It gets me thinking about how everytime I’m away from my kids I long to be right back at their side.  If I get away for a haircut..I wonder what they are doing.  If I run to the store for milk, I want to be home tucking them in.  If I’m out at an event I look forward to seeing them again.  I realize that I don’t want to get away from my kids, not really.  I’m not running from them.

Instead I’m running back towards myself.   There isn’t a version of me that exists without them any longer. There is no village here.  There’s me. Day in and day out and day in and day out I’m afloat in the ocean with these kids.  These kids who I adore.  Every waking moment is for them, about them, because of them.

I suppose that’s why I write.  The act of writing is a selfish thing.  It’s MY thing.

When the kids are grown and I come out of this day to day cloud of sing-songs and lunches and cartoons and routines I’m hoping that writing will be the thing that keeps my individual self alive.   Because I’m starting to wonder what will be left of me…it’s all happening so fast. When she moves out and he gets married where does that leave me?  I hope it’s not knitting sweaters for cats and pining for grand kids and feeling lost.  Because I’m already lost. I’ve lost myself in them.

Now, look at this picture.  This is an EXACT representation of the differences between my husband and I.  It’s a creepy voyeristic look inside our marriage. It explains pretty much everything. I am an organizer.  I like things to be ‘just so.’  And he does stuff like this that makes me go a little ‘twitchy’ pretty much every day.

really?

#1 – Everyone knows that when you nest bowls you need to do so with the large ones on the bottom and the smaller ones inside.  It provides stability so the stack doesn’t topple over.

#2 – The little plates love each other…why keep them apart?

#3 – Just like the little plates, the bowls are in love too. Forcing them to spend time apart might make their hearts grow fonder for each other if, you know, they actually had hearts.

#4 – When you make a sandwich you put it on a plate.  You do not make a plate sandwich with bowls as the meat.  It’s just weird.

#5 – I am not mentioning the grocery bags that are resting on the floor of our broom closet instead of being neatly tucked inside the bag holder thingy in the same closet.  Right there.  Above where you dropped them all.  Oooops, I totally mentioned it.

#6 – I realize this entire post makes me seem insane.  I figured, that’s what you come here for.

I saw this quote and cracked up….it’s my life in a nutshell

My baby boy really really loves these little Tonka Chuck toy cars and so we just had to put one on his birthday cake.  I kept it pretty simple and clean looking.  I wasn’t pleased with my fondant this time and I think it might have been because the marshmallows were a little stale.  It was a bit tough and wouldn’t roll out very well…and it had a lot of bubbles in it.  Good thing the guest of honor didn’t really care!

Here he is with his pretty good sized piece of cake.  He had no idea what it was but that didn’t stop him from diving in.  This boy likes his food.  See how cute and clean he is?  Oh, and he’s spotting a nice sized bruise on his noggin.  Baby’s always bonk their heads right before mom wants to take a gazzilion pictures of them don’t they?

He flipped the piece over so it was fondant side down and picked all the cake off.  Then, what else was he to do but pick it up and mow down on that last bit?  You could literally see his eyes light up when the sugar kicked in.

I’d say the Tonka Chuck Birthday Cake was a hit!  He loved the marshmallow fondant the best and there really wasn’t much on the ground when he was done.  His face was another matter….

* I have NO affiliation with Tonka or their parent company.  My kid just likes em.  Gee….why all the suspicion? 

You have lots of fun pushing the buttons on the tv to turn it on and off even though everyone always tells you ‘no.’

Most of them time you’re happy and sweet but you do have a temper and you’ll throw a toy down in frustration only to pick it up and throw it again…you need to make your point.

You aren’t picky about food as long as it’s not ‘baby’ food and we let you feed yourself.  You do love your soother and your toy cars. You have started walking and are trying really hard to say your big sisters name.

Before you were born I had no idea how you would fit in with our little family but now it feels like you’ve always been with us.  It’s only been a year yet it seems you’ve been here with me for ages.  I suppose you have been, you were in my heart and I just didn’t know it.  Happy birthday Nate.  Your first year has been a joy and no matter how many birthdays we celebrate – you’ll always be my baby boy.

I love you.