The Perfect Day Includes...

Today was simply, ordinarily perfect.  My hubby and I took our 3 boys on a nature walk in the morning and spent the afternoon in front of "It's a Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown" eating hamburgers we grilled in our back yard.  I love reading other mamas' blogs to remind myself that it is ok for this parenting thing to be hard.  It is ok to throw a little mommy tantrum every now and then because a good cry is more therapeutic than almost anything else I can think of.  But, every now and then a day like this comes along and I don't need to be reminded of anything.  The moment is enough.  That being said, those mommy tantrums I mentioned before, how many are we allowed to have in...say a week?  I always manage to keep it together until my hubby gets home.  My partner.  My team member.  Another adult!  I have had days when the waterworks start when I hear the garage door open, before he even makes it in the house.  But not today.  Today our boys got dirty and sweaty playing in the woods. Today we found acorns half eaten by squirrels, tunnels under our path for water to flow after rain, threw rocks, then we snuck onto a school playground.  Today we played.  Being a parent forces me notice the simple things. Things I walk over, step on, kick aside everyday become treasures. A speckled rock, an acorn top, a giant bright yellow leaf are all worth tucking away in a pocket even if only for the rest of the day.  This way the treasures are sure to be taken out later that evening, placed directly in the middle of the living room rug, grinding dirt and broken leaves into the carpet while the remaining shards of acorn pieces are spread about the house for mom and dad to step on in their bare feet or for the baby to stick in his mouth and choke on or injure himself.  Today was perfect.  A perfect, ordinary day full of messes, dirty kids, an acorn shard to the foot, and so so much love.🍁😁🍂🌾🍁🍂

How I Cope With Mamma Anxiety...

I have a mildly unhealthy amount of anxiety. I am a little too concerned with other cars' speed and lane change frequency in bad weather, a little too aware of the exact date and time of the first cough I hear from any of my three sons come cold season.  I'm definitely overly paranoid about my children swimming at Grandma's when I am not around because no one has googled the symptoms of dry drowning more than me. I am fully accepting of the fact that a healthy, medium-sized amount of anxiety for a mom is allowed.  Encouraged even.  Moms become anxious, nervous, excited, terrified, all in that moment that little plus sign appears...we be crazy.  This plus sign plants a lot of fears and emotions into an otherwise healthy female.  Fears of pregnancy complications, miscarriage, money, baby preparation, mercury poisening, drinking too much the weekend before Mr. Plus Sign appeared, prenatal vitamins, etc.; all while trying to remain a healthy, zen cocoon for sweet little plus sign to grow.  And the baby hasn't even arrived yet.  The feeling of true elation does come...but only for a moment.  The moment that cry fills the hospital room and the doctor lets out a breath announcing it's time to meet your son....perfect.  There is no way any woman who has has had a child can deny this was the best day of her life.  The wedding day can be second best...but not best.  Meeting this person you have grown and anticipated for 9 months...this will always be my "best day of my life".  But, the absolute bliss only lasts for a moment...it quickly turns to wondering what he weighs, if he's healthy, if he is going to pass all of his newborn screenings.  Then, is he getting enough milk while breastfeeding, is he sleeping too long between feeds? Is he peeing enough? Pooping enough?  Fortunately this torture subsides marginally with each subseqent off spring, but never to disappear.

I have been known to worry myself sick...not cute.  And who wants to hear a nervous rant about how "a simple cough can turn into something terrible in seconds..." every time my kid has a cold? Pretty far from cool.  I have found a list of ways to bring down the axiety meter from a 10 to a 4...a 4 is all I can hope for really.

10.  Cuddle it out.  I love snuggling my babies. I love breathing them in after a bath (I stole that line, it made me cry the first time I read it and I love it) and feeling tiny hands' soft fingers on my arms, neck and face.  Sometimes just feeling them in my arms is enough to calm my spiraling thoughts on what could go wrong today and help me remember the moment.

9.  Writing. When I write these things down, not only do I find humor in it, but I am able to realize that while every word is true...it IS a bit ridiculous.  I find goals...like stop being crazy. 

8.  Talking.  Talk it out, baby.  Talking to my hubby, even if it makes me a little less cool, a little less sexy, a little further from the 21 year old he first married, talk is pure therapy and he lets ne hash it out any time I need it.

7.  Girl time.  Chatting about anything...absolutely anything. Hell, talk to me about the last time you had a peaceful trip to the bathroom.  I'd love to swap stories.

6.  Getting out of the house. Whether it is a solo mission to the grocery store or a family outing to a restaurant where we are sure to attract the attention of every patron with our level of energy and decible, a new setting somehow puts life into a different perspective.  It reminds me that we share this earth with tons of humans just like us with the same problems. All we can do is give a nod or a smile so we can remember we are all in this together...now shut the kid up.

5.  Taking photos of my boys. Taking photographs puts something between me and my family other than my maternal anxieties. The camera turns them into art. 

4. Getting moving!  Going on a walk, attempting kids yoga (even if it only lasts through one pose), dance party (usually more successful than yoga).  

3. Wine. Bye.

2. Magazines. The smell, the articles, the ridiculous fashion that is not even real fabric, the ads...I can truly forget I have internet access when I'm nose deep in this month's issue of Elle.

1.  Date nights in front of the TV.  Time with my adult counterpart who is the only human on earth who can even begin to understand my exact feelings and stressors is just what the mamma ordered.  Add a little of the aforementioned beverage and voila. Problems aolved.

6 reasons I'm getting happier...not older

My very favorite thing to do in the entire world is to put my two boys to bed, cuddle with them, smooch their sweet sleeping faces, close the door ever so gently, and boogie down the hall to snuggle up next to the Mister on the couch in front of the TV.  My husband and I actually got a weekend together, just the two of us recently.  We had dinner, just us, in a dimly lit restaurant, I had LOTS of make up on, perfume, and heels.  He actually had one hand on the small of my back as we crossed the street.  He didn't know what else to do with it since we didn't have any children to corall.  I was so excited to be in public looking like a lady, with clean hair, foundation on my face, and my hubby's hand in mine instead of a sippy cup.  There was talk of going to a movie, maybe two, brunch the next morning...but ultimately we chose our most favorite thing: jammy pants and movies On Demand.  It was almost a wasted squirt of my Bobbi Brown BB Cream to go out to dinner at all.  By the end of the night I couldn't get into my jams and glasses fast enough.  It was cold outside, the streets were crowded, nobody saw me, the restaurant was too dim, and isn't that the point of getting all done up and going out? Being seen? We had to tip mediocre waiters, had to wade through crowds, get honked at while we waited for someone to pull out of a parking spot so we could snag it, and seeing other people with little babies when I am baby free just makes me think I want to have another baby...not a welcomed conversation while out on the first date in months with the Mister.  So, by the time we finally got home with our dessert and into comfy socks, I was in heaven.  For a minute I felt old, then I just felt happy, then a little sleepy, then asleep...by 10:30pm.  This night reminded me that I am no longer a 19 year old girl out on the town.  Also, that I am so glad I am no longer a 19 year old girl out on the town.

6 reasons I am getting happier...not older

1. Staying in on a Friday night, so much better than walking 8 blocks to the car all while fighting drunk college frat boys for a bit of sidewalk.  Nobody is screaming "drink the bong water" on my couch.

2. Avoiding busy public places.  If someone stands too close to me in line, I get annoyed.  Fast.  Do you really want to be standing that close to me?  Are you afraid someone is going to jump out of the shadows and cut in front of you?  It would make me so much happier to order a burrito at Chipotle and eat it at my own kitchen table without having to shout in my hubby's ear for him to hear me over the crowd.  Much happier.  

3. Making a budget is control, and control makes everyone happier. 

4. Jammy pants are a weekend staple...ok, and weekday, but we're talking about getting old, not lazy.  I would rather be in my reindeer flannels than my black skinnies anyday.  I think tight pants cut off circulation to the brain or something, isn't that right?  That has to affect happiness. 

5. My wardrobe is slowly becoming unicolored.  "Ooooh, I love this beautiful red Christmas sweater...but could I get it in black or grey??"

6. Wanting to sit down for a minute at a concert.  Wouldn't resting your legs make you happy?  I do not have the stamina anymore...or maybe I just don't love any band enough to want to stand in one spot bobbing to the music for 3 hours...like I used to think I did.   

These are all things that make me happy at almost age twenty ten.  I'm not old, I have just discovered what makes me happy.  When I start having breakfast at 5:30am and dinner at a buffet at 4pm, then I will accept that I am just old...because waking up before dawn and eating out of a trough can't really be what makes anyone happy. 




  

All You Need is Love...and a Little People Watching

When my first flight landed in Dallas from Kansas City I was finally able to exhale and shake the anxiety of a fiery crash.  The connecting flight to New Orleans was much more relaxing. Awakening even.  I sat in the wondow seat, without my kids, without my husband, next to a stranger.  I watched the cars, the buildings, the people as they shrunk beneath us into the earth.  The sky became so big up there, and the people so small.  I couldn't help but think of all the lives that were invisible from up in the sky.  Below us was so much history, love, hate, hard work, heartache, that was completely non existant from my seat.  A couple sat across from me who I quickly summed up (as I tend to do, it's my nagging interest in human behavior).  He leaned in, she leaned back, he faced her direction, she faced the window, he waited for her response after each sentence, she broke eye contact.  I just kept thinking, this is not the man for her and she knows it. They didn't wear wedding rings. I know this because I tend to spend way too much time studying the subjects of my analyzation, usually only to make brief awkward eye contact.  This time my luck held out and I was able to study them thoroughly before determining my conclusion, unlike my wait in the Kansas City airport.  I tried to catch a quick snapshot of a very unfortunate "package situation" sitting across from me. A poor gentleman with his legs spread and his pants pornographically snug.  I was being discreet, but I have a feeling he had been in this situation before.  He looked up, and we made eye contact through the camera lense of my phone.  I sloooooowly lowered the phone and did a quick sweep of the room with my eyes to throw him off.  I think he bought it. 

As I stared at this poor oblivious couple on the plane I began to think of my life, and how my whole world, my husband, my two boys, are completely invisible from the sky. But, the love I feel for them, the heartache of being separated from them, that is bigger than this endless blueness.  I wanted to corner that woman in the bathroom (like a creep) and say, "If it's not love that's keeping you with this goober, it's not big enough to make you miserable for another minute."  Love is what makes us big.  Bigger than any of the blue skys in the universe.

And the Cool Mom Loses a Point

It is November 18th.  I come home from work at 7:30 in the morning after a 12 hour night shift, stumbling in, barely able to keep my eyes open, toss my hospital contaminated clothes in the hamper, throw on hubby's t-shirt to fall into bed with my two snoozing boys, hoping to get just one hour of sleep before they start their morning mommy face jumping game.  My hubby gives me a little extra squeeze with my good morning kiss.  I figure I must look be looking extra goood this morning in this baggy t-shirt and ratty hair topping off my day old make up face with huge dark circles peeking out just DYING to be the center of attention.  And then he whispers it.  "Happy anniversary, Baby."  How does a WIFE forget her anniversary??  Isn't that supposed to be something to look forward to every year?  Not only because I get to be a little spoiled but because I get to show my man how creative/ sexy/ fun/ organized/ pinteresty this cool mom can be!  Well, I blew it.  Unfortunately, I think I blew any chance of delivering an exceptional anniversary gift 2 years ago when I spent months planning, organizing, and putting together a very...special photo album for him...sexy even.  I was so proud of myself for having an idea and actually carrying it out IN TIME for our anniversary...now I guess I just consider November 18th to be this phantom date that will never arrive, like I have years before it will be here, like I have plenty of time to plan something great, even better than putting the sexiest version of myself in nudie mag form for his eyes only.  Not only does he remember the day, but he then presents me with two tickets to Chicago playing at the Kauffman Center here in KC in January.  Then, the cherry, an apology...for misplacing my anniversary card which I can only imagine its contents.  You see, this man of mine does not purchase a card because it is pretty, or because it has the correct occasion printed on the UPC label in front of it.  He reads the cards.  He finds THE one.  Whether it is funny or sentimental he will add whatever words he feels belong there to make the thoughtfulness of the card indescribable and turn it into a keepsake.  He is the only person who could ever give me a card that I will insist on keeping.  Now this is a big deal.  In fact, this is a true sign of head over heels love on my part.  You see, I do not tend to keep unnecessary things around.  I enjoy spring cleaning, sending full boxes to the goodwill, throwing out the clutter and welcoming the clean space.  Even my kids' artwork from school finds its way to the trash fairly quickly after the dooming ride home.  Now, I am not a complete evil queen, I have saved a few special art pieces, including a ceramic jewelry holder my oldest son made me for Mother's Day, and several paintings that he was particularly excited about when he brought them home to show Mom and Dad.  It's the ordinary, everyday crayon and scissor cuts that get the boot...much like the ordinary, impersonal cards.  But not my hubby's cards.  They change me.  I am excited to rip open those envelopes and read both his words and the ones printed on the card.  The ones I know he read first and wanted to share with only me. 

After he left for work that morning I scurried to the computer with "late anniversary ideas for him" on my googling fingertips.  I found a list compiled by no one under the age of 65 (their ages weren't listed, but the gifts gave it all away).  A photo frame with the anniversary date in the middle, a bottle with a love note shoved inside printed on a tea stained sheet of paper, a photo collage, a mixed CD, the painful list went on.  So apparently if you forget your anniversary, you suck, and your gift must suck with you. 

Do I retreat?  Do I accept the lost point?  Never.  When all else fails, you cool moms out there, pull out the best hand we have to play. Lingerie.

         

Facebook, I Can't Quit You

I am not part of the anti social media movement.  Facebook was so cool back when it was first created, now it seems like it's cooler to give it up.  The Facebook addicts have had an intervention, and it is making the rest of us who still enjoy a little facebook stalking once in a while look like gluttons.  No, the send-me-a-handwritten-letter-if-you-ever-want-to-speak-to-me-again post is at least another several hundred kid pics away for me.  I think what draws me to FB is the ability to share only the good things.  I don't post bad pics and I don't update my status on one of those Saturday nights curled up in front of the TV makeupless and feeling bloated and exhausted from working the night before.  I only share the stuff that will really make someone jealous!  Kidding, kind of.  You see, I am a little cool on my own, but Facebook gives me the ability to just float over any less-than-pinterest-mom details about my life.    

My high school class is having a bit of a time getting all 500 of us together for our 10 year reunion this year.  My killer instinct tells me it is because we all know we can't be present as live human beings AND in the form of the best out of 10 selfie shots with a blue glow filter.  And what would we talk about?  I already know who has kids, who has moved, who is married, who is divorced, who is pregnant, etc.  And if I DO see these people in person I have to pretend to be surprised when they tell me they have 6 kids, 6 baby daddies, never been married, and they've finally won their most recent hospital lawsuit so the Benz parked outside the trailer is finally funded.  I know all that already, and have been secretly judging this person for the last 10 years. I know the Facebook version of these people, just as they probably know the Facebook version of me.  I have developed secret Facebook mamma crushes from some very low key FB stalking (I could quit any time I wanted).  These are a few moms (and potential moms) who have inspired me enough, with a status update or a pic, to take a closer look at the facebook versions of them:

1.  If  Emily Rutter showed up to the reunion, I would b-line to find out what she's wearing.  She and Jolie Mckay are my very secret Facebook fashion inspirations. 

2.  Corinne Cox has become my green inspirado.  While she is not a mommy (though recent posts suggest this could be changing soon, love it) she loves the earth and all creatures in it.  She inspires me to live full, live green, and live with love in my heart every day. 

3.  And then there is Tiffany Trotter.  We could all learn a thing or two on how to put a nursery together from this pinterest princess mommy-to-be. 

My boys' nursery is an Ikea/thrift store schmorgasbord topped with an old diaper genie and a painting of an owl by yours truly.  The owl has one good eye and one wonky eye, with pencil outlines visible around the entire bird.  I have tried my hand at painting a few too many times.  A couple special gems were even featured in our bedroom...then demoted to the bathroom...then added to the unfortunate collection of handpainted wall art in the nursery...and now, storage, trash, or donated.  I don't know much about painting but it's fun to waste money and keep trying.  If Jackson Pollock can create an art movement with paint splatters, surely a little wonky eye isn't the end of my career.     

Maybe I'm not cool enough to quit Facebook.  It IS my goal to be the coolest mom I can be, but I simply can't give up something that is like an ongoing US Weekly issue about people I actually know.  It's too good.  I'll let you know when I'm hipster enough to cut ties, but for now, I will follow the ladies who inspire me, try to ignore the stories that depress me, post pictures of my boys to keep up with family, and share stretch mark and c-section scar bikini selfies to make someone jealous.   

The Velvet Underground is the Coolest. Here's Why.

The Velvet Underground is a completely killer 1960's rock band and crucial member of the F-List for several reasons: 1. They were waaaay too cool to have never had a number one hit.  2. Lou Reed on lead vocals (enough said)...no, not enough said.  Lou Reed was the coolest.  He was cool because he DID NOT care.  He did not care if he was cool, or innappropriate, or boring, he did life just exactly as he wanted to do it.  Lucky for him, he WAS cool, just innappropriate enough to get attention, and absolutely never boring.  (Cool mom, write that down.)  He really couldn't sing.  His vocals were all basically spoken.  But still, he spoke and meant them.  The subtle inflection in his voice when he sang doo da doo da doodadoo was his signature.  Velvet wouldn't be Velvet without Lou. 

And, the rest of the list:  3. Andy Warhol: producer  4. Nico  5. Pale Blue Eyes

Andy Warhol, who rings in at number 3, having produced the first Velvet records automatically makes the band worth a second look.  He was pretty weird, but very cool.  Warhol saw art in The Velvet Underground even when no one else did.  Warhol was far from being a mother, but he still provides inspiration to becoming a very cool momsie.  Cool mom inspirational goal: find beauty in something where no one else can, just like Andy.  I will start with finding beauty in my recent $50 hair cut which consisted of a lot of hair gel and a light dusting of about half of my split ends on the back of my shirt.  The "Diva Curl Cut" she called it.  More intriguing than effective.  And the reception/waiting area was very similar to a 1990's DMV.  I'll find the art in there somewhere, just give me a minute.      

Number 5, Pale Blue Eyes is a Velvet ballad that will make your heart hurt.  It's one of those songs that you can't help but play again and will still feel a little jipped when it's over.

Number 4. Nico and all her 60's glam.  Her voice is totally bizarre and fantastically mezmorizing.  I have a memory of sitting in my boyfriend-now-hubby's car, saying goodbye as I was about to leave town for the weekend.  We were listening to "These Days" by Nico on repeat.  It's funny how some memories become so significant to our lives, while at the time the memory is being made, its significance is overlooked.  This is one of those memories.  Every time I hear this song I think of that night, lingering for a long goodbye in the car, in the dark, and then getting out of the car with the song continuing on in my head, feeling his eyes on me as I walked away.  I don't think he knows this night still runs through my mind.  Nothing significant or "naughty" happened in the car that night, just us and Nico.