tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12851578141098470722024-03-13T06:31:29.755-05:00Living for the Laughmamacomedyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01811141651370451077noreply@blogger.comBlogger120125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1285157814109847072.post-53877956110742004772011-11-07T07:48:00.001-06:002011-12-30T13:23:15.693-06:00Maternal Guilt<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I think if you look up the word Mother it says, “Guilt ridden being”. It’s a package deal. From the moment a woman finds out she will be a mother she feels guilty. We worry about every little action and thought we have and feel guilty over how it will impact our child. It’s biological, I am pretty sure we have no real control over it. I have known this for years, as have my children, which of course allows them to take complete advantage of the situation. Hey there has to be some upside to it, right?</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">However my guilt hit a new level a year ago when <a href="http://livingforthelaugh.blogspot.com/2011/01/i-have-made-point-since-starting-this.html">our third baby was born nearly three month early</a>. After being in the hospital for six weeks being under sedation and on bed rest my uterus finally gave out and my body failed to hold my baby within me. Sydney Beth was born via emergency c-section on a beautiful October morning. When I was finally able to see her small, barely three pound body several hours post surgery my first words to her were not, “Mama is here” or even “I love you” but rather, </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“I am so sorry my love. “</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was sorry that my body had failed her; that she had to endure more in her first three hours of life than most people do in a lifetime. I was sorry I wasn’t able to hold her and comfort her. I felt I had done this <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">to</i> her and there was nothing I could do to fix it. My guilt was overwhelming. As I looked at my tiny little baby buried under tubes and wires, unable to even touch her, I was furious at myself and my body. My maternal guilt had reached an all time high. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">In addition to the guilt I was feeling about our baby, I was feeling terribly guilty over being away from my two older children. Jack had just started Kindergarten and was going through an exciting and scary adjustment and I was missing all of it. My now middle child Sarah Fiona was not even two and suddenly her Mama was ripped from her world and for nearly four months she only seeing me a few hours a week. When I was in the NICU I was worried about home, when I was home I was worried about the baby. I was never at peace, never without drowning guilt. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The last year has been spent trying to stabilize myself and our home life. Many hours have been spent contemplating this giant bag of guilt I still carry around. What I have discovered is: It Sucks.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No magic answer, no great insight, no Oprah “ah-ha’ moment.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Maternal guilt simply sucks. Maybe maternal guilt (which I should mention I believe to be VERY different than any other form of guilt) really is more a reflection of love than anything; the greater the love the greater the guilt. Children are so deserving of all things beautiful, good and peaceful. When life falls short of giving our kids these things it just seems off-center somehow and ultimately eats as our soul. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Perhaps someday I will have some great revelation and shed myself of all this guilt. If I do I will write about it…although I wouldn’t recommend holding your breath. I am prepared to take this bag o’ guilt to the grave. </span></div>mamacomedyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01811141651370451077noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1285157814109847072.post-55930190824832115892011-08-03T10:05:00.001-05:002011-08-03T10:07:16.814-05:00Falling Deeper<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I find it a bit of a cliché when people say of their spouse, “I love you more today than the day I married you.” But, having been married for 14 years I get it. I don’t know that it is a “more” love but rather a fuller, richer love. However, when it comes to my kids I cannot imagine loving them <em>more</em> than I did on the day they were born. Loving your child is such an overwhelming, powerful love – unlike any other. What I have noticed over the years though is how my appreciation for my children grows. As I watch them live their lives I see them develop their individual passions, talents, likes, dislikes; I see them become the people they are meant to be and I stand in awe. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I believe, as with everything in life, relationship growth happens in seasons. Sometimes they are budding and growing, other times they are full and steady and others they lay dormant. I have learned this is normal, good and in line with nature – but that’s another post altogether. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I have been in a season of growth with my two year old daughter the last few weeks. Yesterday I was able to take pause for a bit and reflect on her and how I feel about her. Too often I think we take our children and who they are for granted; we go day-to-day never stopping to really see the people we are raising. My girl is in transition, moving from the last bit of baby/toddler into little girl. She is so strong and independent which makes me unbelievably proud, she is incredibly funny and straight up crazy – we often refer to her as a party looking for a place to happen. She is curious and desperate to learn, can throw a punch better than any boy I have ever seen and will be the first on the scene to help anyone who is hurt and crying. She is artistic but not musical, gentle and emotional but not weak and she is stunningly beautiful. She lights up any room she walks into and brings a smile to the face of every senior citizen she encounters. She is beautifully maternal and is somewhat of a bird whisperer. She will stand in the yard with her pointer finger extended calling, “Come here honey, it’s ok, I love you!” and I know one day a bird will land. How could they not with an invitation like that?</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">As I reflect on all these things and I watch her march through the house blowing a whistle wearing her brother’s athletic shorts held up by her tutu shouting, “It’s my birthday! It’s my birthday! It’s my birthday!” (Even though her b-day is in November) I physically feel my heart falling deeper in love with the person she is. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am truly amazed at what a gift she is to me and the world around her. I am humbled by the fact I get to be with her throughout her life and be a part of who she is. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I love you without end my amazing lotus baby.</span></div>mamacomedyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01811141651370451077noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1285157814109847072.post-34320250046604272122011-06-07T17:28:00.001-05:002011-06-08T09:49:35.436-05:00Everyone Needs This Friend!<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> E</span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">ver wish you had a friend you could call on to help you with ANYTHING? I am not talking about helping you by watching your kids or listening while you complain about your mother. I am talking about the friend you call when your toilet is clogged and are too cheap to call a repair man, yet too afraid to tackle it alone. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Well, I got me one. Her name is Jen and she is a freaking machine. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Last week I needed a hook for my new black and hot pink, ruffley apron. I was all out of </span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">3M products which is all I am allowed to use, so I grabbed a thumb tack and a wrench (hence the rule of no tools) and made it happen. Needless to say, when the hubs decided to tear the deck off our house (so we can create a new beautiful patio) I was hardly the first helper on his list. For one, I should never really be trusted with heavy metal objects like hammers, or crow bars and secondly manual labor that involves tools…well, I’d rather get a pap smear. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Stay with me…I’m getting there…</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Sooo, Last Friday night my girlfriend calls to say she coming over to help the hubs demo our deck. </span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I KNOW, RIGHT!?!? </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">She arrives while the my hubs is with Rock Star and ball practice and hers is at the gym; I am fully expecting we will chill with a drink or few while the kids play and we wait for the guys to show up and work.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was wrong. So, so, so very wrong. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Now Jen doesn’t just show up, she comes with tools. Yes tools, several of them. She asks for a beer and starts tearing boards off the deck. So here I am, now feeling weird about staying inside with my glass of wine while she is working so I decide to help. Ok, well I acted like I was trying to help.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The truth is I was lost somewhere between fear and “I don’t waannnaaa dooo this!” Meanwhile Jen with her big boobs and cute little self is rocking this whole deck demo thing. Finally the guys showed up and helped her so I could bail. The three of them worked, I arranged for dinner (that’s a fancy way of saying I ordered pizza) and my little world was back in balance again. But I must say; I really did stand in awe of her. Ok, I also laughed at her some because I think she’s crazy.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Every girl needs a friend like Jen:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>a fearless, strong, capable, daring friend.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>mamacomedyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01811141651370451077noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1285157814109847072.post-59540410382175579992011-04-30T21:58:00.004-05:002011-04-30T22:01:27.978-05:00Boob Eater<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">So life is busy. Three kids five and under – whew! One of these days I hope to get back to blogging with some consistency, but for now I am all consumed with breastfeeding, having tea parties with Itty Bitty, and attempting to keep up with Rock Stars ever growing social and sport schedule. Life is good. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">However, I just HAD to take time to share this little tidbit of laughter with you…enjoy!</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">While checking out at the grocery the teen male checker asks Itty Bitty if she is going to share the popsicles (I was buying) with her baby sister; to which she very factually replied, “No, she only eats boobs.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Funny how a boy who I am sure thinks about boobs every 2.4 seconds almost crawled out of his skin at this statement made by a two year old. I love my Itty Bitty; she never lets me go a day without a true bottom of my gut laugh. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Enjoy your weekend!</span></div>mamacomedyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01811141651370451077noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1285157814109847072.post-67678784605771824602011-02-10T13:45:00.000-06:002011-02-10T13:45:39.717-06:00My Heart Knew<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Eleven months ago I went to my OBGYN for an appointment for some issues, but mostly to discuss the possibility of having another baby. Based on severe damage to my uterus and a previous high-risk pregnancy I was told I would likely never get pregnant again and we needed to schedule a follow-up appointment to discuss a hysterectomy. I came home that day and wrote this:</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><i><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">My Spirit Baby</span></i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><i><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">Today my heart broke for you. </span></i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><i><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">Today I was told I may never hold you.</span></i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><i><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">How is it I miss you so greatly and you do not exist outside my soul?</span></i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><i><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">I know you are there; I feel it my mission to bring you home.</span></i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><i><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">Faith seems to be my only option. </span></i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><i><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">Faith I will hold on to. </span></i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><i><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">Faith will be your vehicle</span></i><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Three weeks later I was back at my OBGYN and found out I was pregnant, and had been at the time of my previous appointment but it was just too early to tell. Today, 11 months later, I type this holding little Baby Zen in my arms. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">A mama's heart always knows. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Always.</span></div>mamacomedyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01811141651370451077noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1285157814109847072.post-12936944132985260752011-02-08T12:35:00.000-06:002011-02-08T12:35:53.269-06:00And just like that I was on my ass...<span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">It was a snowy, icy day. However, I was inside, waiting for my lovely Keurig to finish brewing the perfect one-cup. While waiting I looked out the window from my kitchen sink at all snow and felt glad I was warm and cozy inside, <em>aaaaand</em> then I was on my ass. Literally. Just like that, I fell on my ass. Not fainted, no light-headedness, no weak knees, I just apparently forgot how to stay vertical. I blame the shoes, I’m living in these "magic" Sketchers Toning shoes these days, they are kind-a wedge-like. For the record, ass and thighs are still a mess, but my back feels GREAT!....well when I’m not tipped over laying on the floor. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">So there I sat, disheveled, confused and laughing like a crazy woman. All I could think (after , “what the fuck just happened!?!?) was “what if someone saw all this?” I swear to god I need my own reality sitcom. Cheers!</span></div>mamacomedyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01811141651370451077noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1285157814109847072.post-72042415677335002392011-01-24T11:00:00.002-06:002011-12-30T13:26:15.317-06:00The Unforgivable Choice<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; tab-stops: 441.9pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><br />
Choices, we make them every day with immense ease. How do you take your coffee? What will you wear? Which kid will you wake first to start the day? What will you make for dinner? These are the easy ones. Then there are the hard ones. How and when do you explain death to your child? Do you tell a friend her husband is a jerk and is disrespectful of her? College fund for kids or retirement? But even these seem like cake when you are confronted with what feels like a lose-lose, simply <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">unforgivable</i> choice. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; tab-stops: 441.9pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; tab-stops: 441.9pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Choosing between your children. Maybe choice is the wrong word. Prioritizing among your children’s needs certainly may be more accurate (and definitely feels better to say it this way) but in the end if you are the kid who didn’t have the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">priority</i> need than you simply were the one who wasn’t chosen.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">It.Is.That.Simple. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">To look into the little, needy face of one of your children who is pleading for your time and attention and turn away to another is so wrong, so unnatural, so painful and despicable feeling. It is just simply unforgivable.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; tab-stops: 441.9pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; tab-stops: 441.9pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Yet, in the face of this seemingly unforgivable choice what can we do? I spent months choosing between my kids. I was in the hospital, away from two of my kids caring for my third (both while in my body and out) for over two months. I was choosing to care for the one who it seemed needed me the most. I would talk on the phone daily to my other two and listen to their requests for me to come home, to hug me, to have me tuck them in. Over and over again I had to tell them no because I was keeping their baby sister safe. Sometimes that was an acceptable answer for them, they had other things to distract them and they said “okay mama” and went on about their day, other times they didn’t give a rats ass about this supposed baby they saw nothing of; they <s>wanted </s>needed their mother and mama was choosing another over them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; tab-stops: 441.9pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; tab-stops: 441.9pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">I like to think that my children each being one of three will in time learn from occasionally being set aside for one another to be empathic, compassionate, generous and will grow a servants heart. I also want them to know they matter and even their smallest need is indeed important, because after all when you are five and need help finding the green hotweel with the red flames not getting it really could cause one to have “the worst life ever.” I like many a mothers have resorted to sharing the real tragedies of the world, the reality that some kids don’t have parents, food, homes, and terminal illness in an attempt to give them a little perspective. But is that really fair? Is it fair to say to a two year old who is asking to be rocked while the baby simultaneously needs to be nursed with some peace and quiet surrounding her, “Listen honey, I know you want mommy right know but you can’t have me. But take joy in the fact I will be with you in 20-30 minutes unlike some children in Africa whose mommies have died of AIDS” <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ok, an over-reaction perhaps, but “just a couple minutes honey” feels the same because even in this small moment I am choosing between my kids. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; tab-stops: 441.9pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; tab-stops: 441.9pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Enter emotionally overextended Mama. Because I tell one to wait at any given time, I ensure I make up for it later, so needless to say I spend my days running the circle of children attending to physical and emotional needs. Trying in vain to make each feel as important as they truly are to me; to make up for any lost moments we may have had. To remind each one of their uniqueness, their own special place in my heart and that yes, no matter what I have time and space for each of them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But do I? On whose scale are we measuring, mine or the kids? Because I am sure they are different. Am I overestimating my own importance in their day to day life? Is having the need of a PB&J (NOW!) really about needing mom to care for them or just about getting something in their stomach and would sending them on their own to the fridge for a pre-packaged lunchable suffice? </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; tab-stops: 441.9pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; tab-stops: 441.9pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Mi Prima often tells me I over-analyze, and that all these worries are mine, not the kids. I suppose she is right. To some degree I am creating my own worries and issues. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; tab-stops: 441.9pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; tab-stops: 441.9pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">But when they are grown, will they know? Will they know that every day I CHOSE them, each of them? <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Will they know that it is their spirits that keeps my heart beating? Will they know that every day I look deeply into their faces and see every glimmer, every question, every worry and I bury it in my own heart? Will they know that even when I had to choose one of their siblings that they still mattered more than they will ever know?</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; tab-stops: 441.9pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; tab-stops: 441.9pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Perhaps not…until they are a parent themselves that is. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">And it is I, not them I suppose, who has to learn to be okay with this. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; tab-stops: 441.9pt;"><br />
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</div>mamacomedyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01811141651370451077noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1285157814109847072.post-70634163354681768252011-01-18T15:50:00.001-06:002011-01-18T15:51:28.424-06:00<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">My Itty Bitty is…</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Daredevil</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Bossy</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Generous</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Caretaker</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Demanding</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Hilarious</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Maternal</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Needy</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Fancy Dancer</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Entertainer</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Soft</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Lovely</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Boyish</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Strong</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Sensitive</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Fighter</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Brave</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Curious</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Beautiful</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">…the girl I want to be when I grow up.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I love watching you grow my amazing child.</span></div>mamacomedyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01811141651370451077noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1285157814109847072.post-36194935525734679932011-01-14T13:27:00.002-06:002011-12-30T13:22:55.886-06:00Baby Zen<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I have made a point since starting this blog to protect the identity and particular details about my kids. Less because I am fearful of the internet, but more because I believe in letting my children’s lives and journey through it be their own; to be told in their own time and to the degree to which they choose to share with the world. Because of this I have also chosen to not share pictures of my kids. However today I am breaking my own rule and sharing the following picture with you and my hearts story that goes with it. I hope my little Zen will someday read this and not feel intruded upon but relish in the beauty of it.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Born at 31 weeks our little Zen was 4 days old and weighed just 3lbs 6oz the first time I was able to hold her. Prior to this I had only been able to place my hands gently on her. No rubbing. No patting. No stimulation. Plastic separated us. I could only slide my hands through holes in her isolate. No kisses. No gentle whispers letting her know I was there with her. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My body actually ached for her. I felt like I couldn’t really breath yet, everything in me was tight and anxious. I had enough drugs in me to put a horse down and I still was unable to sleep. I needed to hold her. I needed her to know I was there with her. I wanted her to smell me and feel me. I believed in the healing power of my touch, yet I was told no, to stay back, to touch “just a little”. Everything about the first few days felt so very wrong. I had no control, no ability to help my tiny, frail hurting little baby. I had to trust people I didn’t know, or in some cases even like very much. I pumped. I pumped milk like Zens life depended on it. It was all I could offer. I filled the NICU freezer and had to have the hubs take a cooler full home. I kept pumping, I was pumping hourly. The nurses clearly thought I was insane. They brought lactation in to encourage me to ease up but I was compulsive. No one got it; it was all I could do. I could do nothing else for her. I was unable to keep her safe in me and now she was here in this harsh sterile environment separate from my body and there was nothing I could do. I couldn’t even kiss her. She was buried under wires, tubes and gauze. Her eyes were covered, she had a c-pap on which covered the entire lower half of her face. I wasn’t even sure what she really looked like, but I knew she was beautiful. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And I knew she needed me to hold her close. But it was possible I needed it more. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><span style="font-family: "Calibri", "sans-serif"; font-size: 11pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">We started the process of bringing out some of her lines and c-pap around 9pm, I waited up all night for the green light which came at 5am the next morning. The moment I pulled her into me time stopped. Right then, time stood still. The loud, buzzing NICU went silent; all I could hear was the sound of the two of us breathing. I could feel her little body relax and I, for the first time in months, took a deep breath. I felt a little light headed, euphoric. My milk was gushing out of me and I suddenly knew what “Heaven On Earth” really meant. It was a perfect moment, one of healing and love…and faith.</span><br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_YFwzPqz9OEc/TTCjQIH9InI/AAAAAAAAAMA/m90XANT7naQ/s1600/009.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213px" n4="true" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_YFwzPqz9OEc/TTCjQIH9InI/AAAAAAAAAMA/m90XANT7naQ/s320/009.JPG" width="320px" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Holding Baby Zen for the first time</td></tr>
</tbody></table>mamacomedyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01811141651370451077noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1285157814109847072.post-21521273195257529572011-01-05T11:03:00.000-06:002011-01-05T11:03:54.681-06:00I'm Baaaaaaaaaaack!Hello?...Anyone still here? <br />
I hope so. I have missed you my little internet world. However, the immediate needs of my family have not provided time, or more pointedly the emotional energy to write. <br />
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So five days after my (albeit testy) last post our little Baby Zen was born just shy of 10 weeks early. She came early in the morning after a couple of hours of contractions. Because I had a complete placenta previa (Google it if you need to) this was an extremely dangerous situation for her and I so ended up with an emergency c-section. Someday I will write in more detail about the full experience of my long hospital stay prior to Zens birth as well as the months that have followed with her in the NICU and all the adjustments our family has been through. These things will take time. I still need time to process and time to find the right words for feelings that are so very overwhelming. <br />
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However, we are home now. My beautiful family is all together again, with our new little Baby Zen completing the mix. I wake up each morning with all three children snuggled in with the Hubs and I am overwhelmed with gratitude. <br />
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So for now I will offer a simple update on our little family. <br />
The hubs has been the rock star of all fathers these last several months. He had managed all of his usual duties of job, home and community while also being primary caregiver. He continues to keep milk in the fridge, bathrooms clean, diapers changed and the children fed. He is amazing, he is my rock, he is my hero. I am so grateful to the universe that of all the chance moments that have taken place in his life and mine that we have ended up parenting our children together; I simply cannot imaging having my kids raised by any other. Rock Star and Itty Bitty are gaga over baby and also busy figuring out the new dynamics of our family. It is interesting to see their need of reassurance that they still have a place, a special place within our family. Baby Zen spends her life nursing. She has almost tripled her birth weight and is doing stellar across the board. The healing powers of mothers milk is amazing and beautiful. I went a bit against the grain with orders for formula supplements and other things believing that my milk was the most pure healing agent she could be given. I am proud I followed my mama-intuition on this one. <br />
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The last few months have introduced my spirit to many things I look forward to writing about and exploring further with you. Things like what really is the role of a mother? Being your childs advocate in the medical world that often gives little validation to the organic nature of mother/child. Processing overwhelming guilt as a mother and how do you NOT allow it to smother your children. Accepting help from others… embracing humility. HORMONES! Bio-identicals and other options for natural healing. And my personal favorite, unrelenting anxiety-ugh. Sounds like fun huh? Ok, fun may be a stretch, but if you have read my space long enough, you know my writing will still be peppered with fun little stories of poop, vomit, and all sorts of inappropriateness! <br />
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Stay tuned, I have missed you my friends!mamacomedyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01811141651370451077noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1285157814109847072.post-89118003232118991002010-10-11T13:18:00.000-05:002010-10-11T13:18:56.794-05:00Real vs. Really Real<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">So this was real conversation with my night nurse last Friday:</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Nurse: Hi! How are you?</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Me: Good, thanks. You?</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Nurse: Great, and we are going to have an awesome night. No bleeding or contractions…right!?!? (BIG grin)</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Me: Sounds like a good plan to me. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Nurse: *<em>Goes through the list of medications she will give me every couple of hours.*</em></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Me: Ok.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Nurse: Well, I’ll be back in a bit. You know staying positive in here is key. Just think about that baby of yours!</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Me: Yep</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Here was the conversation in my head, the one with the REAL Amy;</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Nurse: Hi! How are you?</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Me: Same as yesterday and the previous 14 days. Read the chart, brainiac.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Nurse: Great, and we are going to have an awesome night. No bleeding or contractions…right!?!? (BIG grin)</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Me: Are you a moron? You must have read Joel Olteens book. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Nurse: *<em>Goes through the list of medications she will give me every couple of hours.*</em></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Me: Oh, you mean the same meds I have been given every 3 hours around the clock for the last 14 days!?! Yeah, it would be a good idea for you to stick to that plan. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Nurse: Well, I’ll be back in a bit. You know staying positive in here is key. Just think about that baby of yours!</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Me: So you are a moron. Please come closer so I can poke you in the eye. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Just for the record, I spend 16 hours a day staying positive, meditating, visualizing my baby fat and healthy, and breathing deep – you know, the works. Blowing happy fairy dust up my ass only irritates my bowels.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">However,</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I am going slightly nuts and would be full-blown certifiable if it were not for the care of these nurses. Please don’t stop coming in here and yapping at me…you are my life line. However I am human and really, really have the urge to let loose on somebody. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">So strange to want to hug someone while pinching there neck really hard all at the same time…</span></div><em></em>mamacomedyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01811141651370451077noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1285157814109847072.post-85941345181595217972010-10-03T16:50:00.001-05:002010-10-12T11:05:11.766-05:00Small Things<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Things I will be thankful for when I get home from this hospital stint…</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">1.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Not having hands and arms that look like I am a heroin addict who got in a street fight with my pimp.</span></div><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">2.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Bathroom ventilation. Let s just say the crap they are pumping in me does not make for a Bath & Body Words smelling moment when it comes out.</span></div><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">3.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Never watching TV again.</span></div><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">4.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Worrying about keeping my ass covered all night as to not throw an unsuspecting nurse into cardiac arrest at the sight of it.</span></div><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">5.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Food that does not come out of a can, chicken that does not taste like tuna fish, potatoes made out of an actual potato, and generally anything that the smell of won’t make me barf in my own mouth. </span></div><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">6.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Legs that no longer look like they belong on a pasty gray elephant.</span></div><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">7.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Fresh air.</span></div><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">8.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Not having to account for the texture, size and color of my poop.</span></div><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">9.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">No longer listening to the shrieking of women all day as they give birth. I swear there has been at least 12 porcupines delivered in this place since I have been hear. What else would cause such hysteria? </span></div><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">10.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Being able to, in great detail, explain to my children what it means to truley be bored. </span></div>mamacomedyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01811141651370451077noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1285157814109847072.post-2632294341023567632010-09-28T11:42:00.001-05:002010-10-12T11:04:24.484-05:00A Village; Every Family Needs OneHello my friends! So life has been a bit busy for my family the last month. Well, busy may not be the right word – perhaps slowed to a standstill? I have been on complete bed rest keeping our little baby safe and growing until she can safely be born. Needless to say our family has been growing through many changes and modifications to our new (although temporary) way of living. <br />
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All was going okay…then…<br />
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As I have shared before I am a recovering “Type A” personality. I say recovering because I live in constant pursuit to be present in the moment and not micromanage my family. Eh, I am a work in progress. I do really well when things of course are going smoothly (otherwise known as “Amy’s Way”), but when life throws me a curve ball my gut reaction is to grab hold of my family and life and start owning and organizing all the pieces until I am comfortable again. <br />
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Last week life threw me a doozy. Due to increased complications with my pregnancy I have landed in the hospital until baby arrives (which will hopefully not be for another 6-8 weeks). Yep, that’s right, two months in the hospital. <br />
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The first 12 hours following my admission and being told I was here for the long haul are somewhat a blur of panic, crying and attempting to bribe doctors into springing me. Then something amazing started to happen. I started getting calls, texts, emails and Facebook messages from friends, neighbors, my husband’s co-workers, and our church family all reassuring me that my family would be taken care of and I could relax. <br />
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My family had become the center of our village. My children are being loved, hugged, reassured, played with and fed. Our home is being kept clean and laundry done. Our refrigerator stocked. The physical and emotional needs of my family are being cared for – by our very own village. By the end of the second day of my hospitalization I realized I had a new appreciation for what it means to have a village. In a very short period of time many things became apparent to me about the genuine love and goodness of others, about the resiliency of my family and believe it or not, I am not the only mother in town who knows how to do laundry, shop, scrub a toilet, make a yummy and nutritious lunch and even hug my kids. Go figure. But perhaps the greatest insight I have gained is realizing what a gift this experience is for my kids. Of course my initial reaction was “how will my family survive without me?” (yeah-yeah, I know – arrogant). However, I am seeing now that my children are learning that there is a community of people who love and care about them and will always help them when they need it. There will always be a loving teacher, neighbor, a playmates mom, or someone sitting next to them in church on Sunday who will offer a hug and reassurance that they are loved and safe. <br />
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My family is living within the love of our village. Thank you for all you are giving our home and hearts. <br />
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P.S. Have your own village story you want to share? I’d love to read about it. Really, I would. I have the time.mamacomedyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01811141651370451077noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1285157814109847072.post-40565450144300735942010-08-13T14:08:00.001-05:002010-08-13T14:09:16.778-05:00My Children, My TeachersOh my beautiful Rock Star and Itty Bitty – you have filled me and challenged me so much this week! <br />
I was greatly challenged to remember that your needs are ever evolving, you are growing and changing both physically and emotionally; you need room, permission, and love as you move through your new feelings and questions. <br />
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This week you have reminded me that you have the right to move and feel on your terms. I cannot and should not force you to think and feel anything. You reaffirmed the lesson that I must spend time being still and listening to you; to your cries, your laughter, your questions, your silence. <br />
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Rock Star, you ask something important of me this week. I have learned that when I make assumptions towards your actions, feelings and thoughts is hurtful to you. You want to be listened to, to be fully and deeply heard. I need to validate your words and ideas. When you are given the respect of a whole listener you are in turn able to be open in your mind and heart. <br />
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Itty Bitty, my ever-growing independent one. I have spent many hours lately trying to figure out where your feelings of (what appear to be) anger and frustration are coming from and I was pleased this week when your daddy and I became aware that you want your space. You want your hugs and kisses, to be picked up and held, to have your space shared by others to be on your terms. You are transitioning from a baby who is content to explore the world in the arms of another and now you want to be free, you want your space, room to watch, listen and feel. <br />
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I have had to look at some of my time this week and choose to realize they were not bad days but days in which there was much to learn; perhaps this alone was my greatest lesson. I must set anger and frustration aside and search for what is to be gained; to realize there is always someone, something that is trying to communicate with me. To accept this I must keep my spirit open and anger only closes me off. <br />
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Thank you my little teachers. Thank you for not only helping me be a better mother to you but a better human being. I love you without measure.mamacomedyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01811141651370451077noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1285157814109847072.post-11126387461133177622010-08-12T11:54:00.000-05:002010-08-12T11:54:15.819-05:00My Little FighterLast night after a very fun and active afternoon and evening I did something I hate doing. I yelled. I mean I really yelled. It was one of those over-the-top emotional, exhausted and extremely immature reactions to something small. It was the kind of reaction and behavior that leaves me feeling guilty, ashamed, regretful and fearful. The worst part is Rock Star was the recipient. <br />
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But here is the good part. I shouted and rather than cry, retreat, run away from me or any other reaction of defeat he went toe to toe with me. He shouted right back; he told me I was being mean and needed to stop shouting, he told me I was being rude. He told me he didn’t like me. <br />
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About this time the phone rang and caller ID said it was the hubs. I told Rock Star to go talk to his dad. We each spoke to daddy for a couple of minutes which was just long enough for us both to regain our composure. I immediately told Rock Star we needed to talk and I apologized for my behavior. I apologized for shouting, for losing my temper, for trying to make him feel bad. I told him I was tired and a little overwhelmed and I made a really bad choice in how to deal with it. He too apologized for shouting and saying mean things, he then started laughing and told me I was acting like I was “cookoo in my coconut” from here we both started laughing at ourselves, each other and our ridiculous behavior. <br />
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As I was reflecting back on this later that night, I realized how proud and happy I was he fought back. It was affirmation he has self-worth and he knows right from wrong, even when it is an adult. He knew my behavior and reaction was out of line and he was not about to be victimized by it. He was right, he didn’t like me right then – and he shouldn’t have. I didn’t like myself! It makes me feel confident that as he goes farther into the world without his daddy and I always there he will know he has the right to stick up for himself, to never let anyone take their anger or inappropriate behavior out on him. He knows he deserves kindness and respect. <br />
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Perhaps the title of this post is wrong. The truth is he is not a fighter, he is kind and loving. He is thoughtful and insightful and he is conscientious of the needs and feeling of others. But he is angered by injustice, by people being hurt or taken advantage of. I love that he is driven to fight for what is right, for what he and others need and deserve. I don’t just love this child, I respect and admire him.mamacomedyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01811141651370451077noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1285157814109847072.post-65409751083175508532010-08-11T10:40:00.000-05:002010-08-11T10:40:19.211-05:00Groundhogs Day Do you ever feel like you are living the same day over and over? I do. I get in these phases where it seems every day is exactly like the rest. Get-up, cook, clean, play with kids, cook, clean, errands, clean/laundry, cook, family time, clean, baths, bed. Not that this is a bad day, it is just so damn repetitive sometimes. <br />
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I have this belief that life should be a constant cycle of moments and experiences that give us something, an opportunity to learn, feel, enjoy – whatever. I want my kids to crawl into bed each night feeling like the day was really worth living. The truth is I want this for myself too. And here is the thing, I am not talking about “activities” or running around to play groups, kids play-warehouses, or other stimulate and entertain sort of things. I am talking about the ability to be really, really present in every moment of the day, to fulfill the need or reap the gift of it. Sometimes I find myself living and operating on autopilot. I loathe feeling robotic and emotionless about my time. <br />
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Is it realistic that I feel connected and present while doing the laundry and mopping floors? My immediate logical response is, "No Amy, lower your expectations.” But then I think, why not? While reading a book on Buddhism (forgive me as I have read so many I forget exactly which one it was!) the author spoke of eating a repetitive, limited diet and how even though he ate the same bowl of rice each day he was able to think of the life that went into providing this meal for him; the growth of the plant, the hands that harvested and prepared it – he was connected and in the moment. So is it unreasonable to desire this while doing the laundry? <br />
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Oh, but as with all things done in the midst of raising and tending to the needs of small children priorities must be set. So perhaps my laundry will remain mundane for a bit longer and I can focus on other things like making time with books, art even sleep a more beautiful experience for my kids and I. <br />
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I feel so very far from where I want to be, from the peaceful, settled place I want my spirit to be. I must remember this is a journey, not a destination and give myself space to grow and experience.mamacomedyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01811141651370451077noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1285157814109847072.post-48419752684329138382010-08-05T09:45:00.000-05:002010-08-05T09:45:25.572-05:00Being BeautifulI am sure many of you saw this today (if you watch the Today Show) while drinking your morning caffeine but if not, check out <a href="http://operationbeautiful.com/">Operation Beautiful</a>. Simple concept, huge impact potential. It was interesting that I saw this as I was having many thoughts this week about what being beautiful means. Monday the hubs and I celebrated our 13 year wedding anniversary and since I was home all day with the kids and spent the day cleaning and doing laundry around 4:30 I decided the best “gift” I could give the hubs was to shower and dress with make-up and all. It is unheard of for me to do my hair and apply make-up in the evening if there are no plans to go out. So the hubs came home we spent some time with the kids and then started the bedtime routine. While tucking Rock Star in he said the following:<br />
“<em>Mom, I always love you but I love you extra right now because you are so beautiful. Your lips are pretty and you smell really good.”</em> <br />
How sweet right? I felt good, great actually, I was showered and energetic, I was in a comfy summer dress and yes, I had lipstick on. Anyway, the conversation encouraged me in the days since to get up and get completely ready in the morning. This means real clothes (no sweats) with hair, make-up and a bit of jewelry. <br />
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But of course I had this little part of me that was bummed that my kids, and even myself, was viewing my beauty to be so external. I loathed the idea that my beauty and worth was tied up in whether or not I was wearing lipstick. I actually quit wearing make-up (with the exceptions of very special occasions) when Itty Bitty was a newborn because she had extremely sensitive skin and anything I wore would rub on her. To me, this was beautiful, granted my face looked haggard, but it was the face of a mother who wanted to kiss and snuggle her baby. However, this morning while watching this clip on the Today Show it dawned on me that perhaps what my kids were “attracted” to wasn’t the lipstick and eyeliner but rather my improved spirit and attitude. I felt better; I know my attitude reflected this. I was giving myself a few moments of pampering (funny how something so basic becomes “pampering” when you are a mom!) and it gave me just that little extra boost I needed. Rather than serving the kid’s breakfast in my PJ’s with crusty eyes and a prayer that I would soon come alive, I was dressed, energetic and felt ready to tackle the day. Yes, THIS is what my kids see and love. THIS is what makes me feel beautiful and happy. I have to remind myself that I love this body of mine not because of what it looks like but because of what it does, what it allows me to give and who it allows me to be and giving back to it a few minutes each day through a bit of primping is a part of its fuel.<br />
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My appearance has changed much from my pre-kid days. But I have never felt and believed I am more beautiful than I am being my kids mama. <br />
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What are you doing that makes you beautiful?mamacomedyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01811141651370451077noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1285157814109847072.post-22730580101091704002010-07-19T11:07:00.002-05:002010-07-19T11:12:50.294-05:00Space PleaseI am Mama to Rock Star and Itty Bitty aka Woman Without Privacy. My kids live within 3 feet of me at all times. It does not matter what I am doing, where in the house I am – they are a there. The Omni-present space suckers. Okay, I joke but for the most part I love having my kids near me. Hanging on my leg while I cook, curled next to me while I read or write. Watching them tail me with coloring books and crayons from room to room repositioning on each floor without so much as a second thought. I am learning to love it.<br />
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<em>Buuuut</em> (yeah – you knew it was coming) I have had the same dream four nights in a row now. I am dreaming that I am trying to use the bathroom and the only toilets available to me are like in living-rooms or front yards filled with people just hanging out. No one seems to find it weird I am in the middle of the their gathering pooping. Hmmmm….<br />
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Now, I have been severely constipated (thanks to all the iron I am sucking down) and so I attributed the dreams to my clogged pipes. But this morning I decided to do a little research about the dream and see what I could find. <br />
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Here it is:<br />
<span style="color: blue;">“To dream that you are in a public restroom with no stalls or that there are a lot of people around while you are trying to do your business, signifies your frustrations about getting enough privacy. You are always putting others ahead of your own needs. As a result, you are lacking a sense of personal space. Alternatively, the dream indicates that you are having difficulties letting go of old emotions. You are afraid that if you reveal these feelings, then others around you will judge and criticize you.”</span><br />
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I <em>was</em> recently going to the bathroom with not just my fat prego belly in my lap but my 20 month old as well. <br />
I guess this means I need a bit more privacy? Yeah, like that's gonna happen.mamacomedyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01811141651370451077noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1285157814109847072.post-45491012436536677902010-07-14T08:21:00.000-05:002010-07-14T08:21:36.544-05:00Being of ServiceMy latest article in the <a href="http://grainvalleypointe.com/articles/2010/07/13/opinion/editorials/doc4c3cc155457d9271465430.txt">The Pointe</a> newspaper.mamacomedyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01811141651370451077noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1285157814109847072.post-91257512323907555102010-07-04T14:13:00.000-05:002010-07-04T14:13:44.950-05:00Rock StarFive short years ago the world was blessed with your birth. I am still amazed that your daddy and I have you, that we were given a gift too amazing for words (although I will try…)<br />
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You often tell me that you missed me while you were in heaven waiting to be born and oh my son how I missed you too. It was hard waiting to be together wasn’t it? Your daddy and I waited for so long but I knew you in my heart and I always knew we would have you someday. I knew you were a boy and that your hair and eyes were brown. I knew your spirit was kind and generous and that you would love music. The day you were born and I was able to see you for the first time was completely overwhelming. I remember how I was shaking as I leaned into you and kissed your little fingers and told you , “<em>Mama is here baby, we were now together forever."</em><br />
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You are such a joy to your daddy and I. You make us laugh everyday (sometimes when you are not around and we are talking about all the rotten things you did that day!). You leave me speechless many times with your insights and ideas. You are so kind and generous. I love that you are aware and concerned for the world around you. You think about all of Mother Earth’s beings and do your best to care for them. You love music and without question have a God-given talent. You can run fast and far and are looking forward to playing sports in high school and college and we are excited to watch and cheer you on! You are always welcoming to others and make all your friends feel special and important. Your baby sister thinks you are the center of the universe and is always happier when she is with you. <br />
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Tomorrow you turn five! You are now spending more time with friends and becoming increasingly independent, you need me less and less which I know is wonderful, but my love I still cherish the moments you do want mama’s help and snuggles. I also love just being with you. I have so much fun simply talking with you and hearing what you think about life. <br />
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Thank you for the gift of being your mother, thank you for being you. I can’t wait to see the rest of your amazing life. <br />
I love you deeply, wildly and without condition always, <br />
Mamamamacomedyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01811141651370451077noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1285157814109847072.post-88411910562067878242010-07-01T08:03:00.000-05:002010-07-01T08:03:11.203-05:00Know It AllThis morning’s first conversation:<br />
(I was in the back of my closet trying in vain to find something that didn’t make me look as big as a house and I hear little people sneaking in and hiding in the hubs part of the closet)…<br />
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Me: Get out of my closet you monsters (growl sounds)<br />
Itty Bitty: (Laughter) Yep, Yep (her new response to everything)<br />
Rock Star: How did you know we were in here? You are all the way over there and didn’t even turn around!?<br />
Me: I know everything even when I know nothing.<br />
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Yep. That is what I said at 7:05am. <em>I know everything even when I know nothing</em>. What in the hell does that even mean? The best part? Rock Stars response was, “Wow!” with wide eyes and looking at me like I was Buzz Lightyear in the flesh and blood. <br />
It’s gonna be a great day friends!mamacomedyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01811141651370451077noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1285157814109847072.post-12202416211987686692010-06-21T16:49:00.000-05:002010-06-21T16:49:25.786-05:00Misery Wants CompanyI have this friend who is one of those spectacular home makers that always leaves me feeling like a schmuck. I can drop in on her ANYTIME and always find her home in perfect order. ALWAYS. I don’t get it. Last Thanksgiving while hosting the hubs family, my oven went out mid-dinner making. I called my friend (who is also my neighbor) knowing they were not home to let her know I needed to bum her kitchen. Now when I leave the house, especially after last minute making-a-dish-to-go preparations my kitchen will look like a before shot in a Mr. Clean commercial. Yes I leave it that way, <a href="http://www.flylady.com/">FlyLady</a> can suck it. Anyway, her kitchen was of course immaculate. <br />
So this friend of mine recently had her second child and all I can do is hope that I soon catch her house a mess. How horrible am I? I am the worst friend ever. But it’s true, just once I want to see dishes on the counter, laundry piled in the living room and toys scattered throughout every room of the house. Oh, and yes and I would KILL to see her bed unmade just once. The only time I ever see anything out of order is when I am leaving after a visit with my messy kids. Ugh. <br />
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Please tell me I am not alone and that I am not unique because I am sitting here looking at a coffee table peppered with smashed up Goldfish crackers, colored pencils, a baby stroller on its side and a floor littered with toys and socks. <br />
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I would pick it all up but I have learned it is effort made in vain. I just wait until my little monsters are in bed. Sometimes I hope for a mid-night break in just so the police statement can show that my house was clean (yes, I would DEMAND they write that in). Otherwise I am not sure there will ever be any proof.mamacomedyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01811141651370451077noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1285157814109847072.post-63751595790059952482010-06-14T11:28:00.000-05:002010-06-14T11:28:37.423-05:00An Unexplained ConnectednessRock Star seems to have a connectedness to nature that often leaves me in awe. He is highly protective of animals, bugs, trees, flowers and yes even weeds. He is currently reading books and learning things about space that is all new to me and he continues to be a sponge. Every once in a while he speaks of things that show me how united with the natural world he really is. The other night as I was putting him to bed and telling him all the usual bedtime things he ask me to stop talking and just be quite because Nature was singing him a lullaby. As I snuggled with him I heard crickets and trees rustling, but the next morning he shared he also heard the bunnies falling asleep in their grass nests, the baby birds curling under their mama’s feathers and the worms crawling down into the dirt. I believe him.<br />
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This morning he woke up and told me a story about how he woke up last night when he knew the storm was coming (we had a monster last night!) and he heard a baby bird that was about to fall out of its nest in the neighbors tree. So, he went over there and tried to catch the baby bird as it fell from the tree but he couldn’t do it because it started raining too hard. He ended the story by saying, “Mom I hate to tell you this because it is very sad but the baby bird died. I am so sorry.” I of course told him that sounded like a bad dream, and not to worry that I am sure the birds were fine. We went about our morning. <br />
About an hour later, we walked into the driveway and our little neighbor friend came over and shared there was a dead baby bird in their driveway that had fallen out of its nest last night. Rock Stars response? “Yeah, I know. Pretty sad huh?” He proceeded to tell his friend the story of his previous night’s adventure. <br />
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I can’t wait to see the rest of my sons’ life; it is going to be amazing.mamacomedyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01811141651370451077noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1285157814109847072.post-76968997149392370242010-06-10T13:21:00.001-05:002010-06-10T13:23:22.962-05:00TotingIf you are a member of my family this is a word you know well. I have an uncle who is notorious for accusing family members of “toting” his stuff. What this means is he leaves his stuff lying around, someone (usually…okay always, my aunt) puts it away and then he turns into a shouting banshee demanding to know who toted his stuff. None of us mind being accused of stealing his stuff, we all find it fairly funny. The only one who I think it bugs is his middle child who gets ruffled because she actually is a thief. If you need proof, read about her <a href="http://nikkigsblog.wordpress.com/">here </a>and you will no doubt see that she is the type of person who if your cool shirt, nail polish or high heels go missing her room is the one to check. (close your mouth Nik, you know it's true) Geez...my whole family is certifiable.<br />
Anyway, I digress.<br />
So today I heard myself say to my kids…and I am not kidding you, “If you kids don’t quit toting stuff out of my purse I am going to lose my mind!” Awe man! As soon as the words were out of my mouth I wanted to slap myself. <br />
Then later ,while cleaning the fridge, I found my missing black and silver dangle earring. Yes, you read that right, it was in the fridge. I also had to call my cell phone three times today to locate it while in the house. I am pretty sure I can forget about ever finding my missing black and white flip-flop, my favorite pen or that tube of new lipstick I bought over a year ago and only used twice. This irks me because I am the one who cleans everyone else’s stuff. No one else in this house ever permanently loses stuff and yet they leave it laying everywhere; I put my stuff away and somehow it goes missing. <br />
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Darn those toters!<br />
And darn my uncle for turning me into him…just when I thought I was in the clear.mamacomedyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01811141651370451077noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1285157814109847072.post-63081972009691472142010-05-26T13:21:00.000-05:002010-05-26T13:21:19.938-05:00II am pregnant<br />
I am tired…very tired<br />
I am sick of barfing all day<br />
I am feeling overwhelmed<br />
I am completely behind on everything<br />
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I must figure out a way to rejuvenate myself<br />
I must quit feeling guilty<br />
I must quit feeling like a failure<br />
<br />
I want to enjoy being pregnant<br />
I want to have the desire and energy to play with Rock Star and Itty Bitty<br />
I want my house back in order<br />
I want a nap.mamacomedyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01811141651370451077noreply@blogger.com1