Well then.
I feel as though I have been going and going and going, and now I am just stopping for a few savory minutes and shall type instead.
School has started again for the spring semester and it has taken over my life, as school often does. This semester is certainly more grueling than the last and all that is well since I’m making good grades again (OH YEAH) but they weren’t kidding, despite their polite laughter, in orientation when they warned us we would have no life. Jeff and I haven’t spent time with our little group of friends/family since New Year’s. This is true, and this is sad. If there isn’t a test to study for then there is a paper to write. It is rare when there is no school related workings needed to be worked, and we have a moment for other things.
Which leads me to the death of my aunt. She passed a couple of weeks ago and though it is sad, it is one of those deaths that is right and almost welcome. She was so miserable at the end, she told my mother that this wasn’t living it was existing, and I can only imagine what she had to go through. Though still, I imagined her when we went down there to her home and it was strange that she wasn’t sitting there and it’s all so strange still. My mother is staying with my uncle to keep his spirits up and manage the many projects they have going on down there. So that takes Jeff and I to Savannah frequently and we are planning on leaving early in the morning to head back down for a variety of work and chores. That is what family is for we tell them. That is what family is for, we have to remind ourselves.
Faith continues to be the perfect child and James constantly tests my patience and when he isn’t making me lose my mind he looks so cuddly and sweet and makes me spoil him truly rotten. He does it, not me.
Now the children are running around the couch that I’m sitting on playing some sort of horse/monkey hybrid. I wish I could harvest some of their energy in pill form.
Okay, now someone is about to get hurt. I can sense it.
Anyway. Kids. School. Savannah. House (ha! It is sometimes clean and sometimes not, but entirely livable). Exercise (cough.) and church/friends/family/hobbies. Bah. Writing that makes me realize I need to prioritize better or balance or something because that just ain’t right.
Thursday, March 10, 2011
Wednesday, January 12, 2011
It's Even Being Called Snowpocalypse
I meant to write a post about Christmas. I truly did. It would have been about past Christmases, the magic of it all, the glee of opened presents and then a whole section devoted on all of the truly awesome things I received (it was A. LOT.) but that time has come and gone and now it is the middle of January.
I was also going to write an entire post on my New Year’s resolutions, and I still may because I like to fly by the seat of my pants like that, but I’m not going to do that right now.
Instead I shall write about how the south is covered in snow and how we just don’t know what to do with ourselves.
Now that we’re in the mountains, we’re seeing more snow than we used to when we lived a little bit further south around Atlanta, but we still only get a little snow occasionally, enough to stick for a handful of snowballs and the most wee snowman you ever did see, and then it melts fast away. This week, however, we are hit with what I’m assuming will be named The Great Blizzard of 2011 (akin to The Great Blizzard of ‘93, of which I possess fond memories). Schools have been closed all week, people are encouraged to stay home, there is a handful of crews for the entire state, roads like our backwoods country ones haven’t even been touched, and people are going out of their minds.
I, on the other hand, am loving it. I worry that my future self will have that debilitating fear of leaving the house since I have enjoyed being stuck inside of it for so long. Reading facebook, I’ve been amused by how quickly posts went from “Yay, no work and school!” to “Go away snow, I want out of my house!”. Here in our little happy home Jeff has kept an ongoing fire, I suppose to entertain his inner mountain man since our heat has worked just fine. We have eaten an extra meal a day, because why not? The kids lived in their flannel pajamas only changing in order to put on several layers of clothes for outdoor play, which involved crunching through the top layer of ice only to sink down into the deeper powdery stuff, and taking turns shoving each other on a Rubbermaid storage top down the hill in the backyard. I spent a good amount of time trying to see how large of a piece of ice I could break off just for giggles, and then stopped to question at what point I had lost reason. We watched an insane number of movies and played checkers and stood at the windows at night, looking of the reflection of the moon on all of the unbroken ice in the fields. It seemed like each day just stretched on and on, and it was marvelous.
Jeff went back to work tonight, but the kids and I will just be at home again tomorrow, enjoying this nice and needed little break from the outside world.
And now I have just written an entire post on the weather and put it on the internet.
I was also going to write an entire post on my New Year’s resolutions, and I still may because I like to fly by the seat of my pants like that, but I’m not going to do that right now.
Instead I shall write about how the south is covered in snow and how we just don’t know what to do with ourselves.
Now that we’re in the mountains, we’re seeing more snow than we used to when we lived a little bit further south around Atlanta, but we still only get a little snow occasionally, enough to stick for a handful of snowballs and the most wee snowman you ever did see, and then it melts fast away. This week, however, we are hit with what I’m assuming will be named The Great Blizzard of 2011 (akin to The Great Blizzard of ‘93, of which I possess fond memories). Schools have been closed all week, people are encouraged to stay home, there is a handful of crews for the entire state, roads like our backwoods country ones haven’t even been touched, and people are going out of their minds.
I, on the other hand, am loving it. I worry that my future self will have that debilitating fear of leaving the house since I have enjoyed being stuck inside of it for so long. Reading facebook, I’ve been amused by how quickly posts went from “Yay, no work and school!” to “Go away snow, I want out of my house!”. Here in our little happy home Jeff has kept an ongoing fire, I suppose to entertain his inner mountain man since our heat has worked just fine. We have eaten an extra meal a day, because why not? The kids lived in their flannel pajamas only changing in order to put on several layers of clothes for outdoor play, which involved crunching through the top layer of ice only to sink down into the deeper powdery stuff, and taking turns shoving each other on a Rubbermaid storage top down the hill in the backyard. I spent a good amount of time trying to see how large of a piece of ice I could break off just for giggles, and then stopped to question at what point I had lost reason. We watched an insane number of movies and played checkers and stood at the windows at night, looking of the reflection of the moon on all of the unbroken ice in the fields. It seemed like each day just stretched on and on, and it was marvelous.
Jeff went back to work tonight, but the kids and I will just be at home again tomorrow, enjoying this nice and needed little break from the outside world.
And now I have just written an entire post on the weather and put it on the internet.
Wednesday, December 8, 2010
Notice Housecleaning is Not On the List
Since I have last posted here I have:
- Turned 31, which is not spectacular in itself and I really didn’t care much about it except that the week following my birthday turned out to be sucktastic in various ways and I started wondering if 31 was to be a curse to me.
- Took care of Faith who has been battling an ongoing cold and a bout of pinkeye, and James who has had the same cold, a painful ear infection (which warranted a weekend trip to the emergency room). Also, James slipped and fell on our tile outside of the bathtub which has resulted in a huge, painful-looking bruise on his forehead. Oh, and my mother-in-law has organized grandkid Christmas pictures this weekend! I’m thinking of makeup over the bruise. . .
- Finished my fall semester and my final grade for the course is an A. Normally I’d be all whooping and hollering and feeble attempts at cartwheels, but I just feel satisfied and that, hell, I deserve that A. I worked hard for it and I would be sour and bitter with anything less.
- Started trying to enjoy my winter break, but the weather is too cold! (indulgent whine here)
- Decorated the house for Christmas, and I love it so much I don’t ever want to take any of the lights down.
- Attended Jeff’s holiday party with him. I was so excited for weeks because it was an excuse to dress up, since I live in jeans or scrubs and those things does not make one feel The Pretty. So the day came and I dressed in my short white and black dress with the bell sleeves, and my high black boots and I wore black hose so that I would not show too much skin and Jeff spiffed himself up and my mom loaned me her expensive black coat with the (faux) fur trim collar and off we went and I felt pretty snazzy if I say so myself. Upon entering I saw crowds of people in khakis and some jeans, sweaters and cardigan sets. An occasional dress or two here and there but they were of the older-woman-at-church variety. Well, didn’t I feel like the over dressed harlot.
- Become obsessed with Dexter, and the series has taken over my brain and life.
- Indulged in cheesecake, crackers with gourmet spreads, onion roll sandwiches, peppermint coffee, and other various foods. I need to get out of this house and start doing something besides eating before I won’t be able to fit through the doors anymore.
- Watched Thanksgiving come and quickly go. It was …eh. The kids ate biscuits and gravy and nothing else at my in-laws, and we didn’t even all sit together, and for my side of the family we were over at my sister’s for the food and then quickly over to my mom’s to get her Christmas stuff out of the attic. I mean, I like Thanksgiving and all, but when I was a kid it seems like I remember it being a Big Deal, and now it just seems like another dinner with the family.
- Gotten sick. As in right now. Once again I am reminded that the job of “mother” never gets a sick day, and it particularly sucks when your husband works night shift.
Wednesday, November 3, 2010
Five
And now I have a five year old. Her hair, which has never been cut, is not unlike Rapunzel’s. Long and golden and reaches her thighs. I meant to give her a haircut on her birthday, I really did, but I paused and in that moment I knew I would not. I will, of course, I’m not a freak, but she didn’t want to really, and neither did I. Just last week I was at a little fall festival at her school and when it was Faith’s turn to stand up and go get her cookie I heard a couple of mother’s gasp at the sight of her hair. It is her trademark, and so she will undoubtedly cut it short and dye it black when she’s a teenager, but for now I get to have my girl, peaches and gold, and long silky hair that curls at the ends.
Her freckles really came out this year in the sun and she has been developing her sense of humor. I worried for a moment that I was complimenting her too much because she started becoming matter-of-fact about how nice time spent with her must be, but I can’t help but to show love. With words, with hugs and kisses, she surely does not doubt how much I adore her. And while she is a cute child (as if I would say my own is not) she has a beautiful soul and a tender heart. I have tried to instill in her that it is much more important to be beautiful on the inside rather than the out, and so I have a sweet child and that is a blessing that I cannot describe.
She is intelligent, always has been and I’m sure always will be. She is imaginative and enjoys playing with someone or by herself, always creating story lines for her dolls and barbies. She has become much more interested in pregnancy and babies, often working a child on the way into one of the plots of her toys, and has told me that what she wants to do when she grows up is to have babies. And live with me. And I can help her take care of them, won’t that be fun?
She enjoys singing with her kid’s songs on cd, especially a church music for kids one that my mother-in-law had originally bought. She enjoys movies, and some shows, but more than anything likes other kids. She’s made friends with our neighbor’s kids and still struggles to find her “best” friend at school. She wants to help me all the time, and I try to let her as much as possible to see the satisfied look on her face. She says her prayers every night and enjoys reading with me. She is blunt and to the point when telling me something that I need to know and won’t hesitate to put her hands on her hips or shake a finger at me if I’m not doing as she thinks I should.
She is a true joy to be around. She is special, that one. I still thank God every day for her, my sweetheart, my very own strawberry blond, freckled little girl.
Her freckles really came out this year in the sun and she has been developing her sense of humor. I worried for a moment that I was complimenting her too much because she started becoming matter-of-fact about how nice time spent with her must be, but I can’t help but to show love. With words, with hugs and kisses, she surely does not doubt how much I adore her. And while she is a cute child (as if I would say my own is not) she has a beautiful soul and a tender heart. I have tried to instill in her that it is much more important to be beautiful on the inside rather than the out, and so I have a sweet child and that is a blessing that I cannot describe.
She is intelligent, always has been and I’m sure always will be. She is imaginative and enjoys playing with someone or by herself, always creating story lines for her dolls and barbies. She has become much more interested in pregnancy and babies, often working a child on the way into one of the plots of her toys, and has told me that what she wants to do when she grows up is to have babies. And live with me. And I can help her take care of them, won’t that be fun?
She enjoys singing with her kid’s songs on cd, especially a church music for kids one that my mother-in-law had originally bought. She enjoys movies, and some shows, but more than anything likes other kids. She’s made friends with our neighbor’s kids and still struggles to find her “best” friend at school. She wants to help me all the time, and I try to let her as much as possible to see the satisfied look on her face. She says her prayers every night and enjoys reading with me. She is blunt and to the point when telling me something that I need to know and won’t hesitate to put her hands on her hips or shake a finger at me if I’m not doing as she thinks I should.
She is a true joy to be around. She is special, that one. I still thank God every day for her, my sweetheart, my very own strawberry blond, freckled little girl.
Thursday, October 21, 2010
Three
My James is three years old today. While I know that I am supposed to say that I can’t believe it, and it is true that time has flown, it seems like there was no me or us before James. He is a powerhouse of personality, a key figure in our whole family and universe, it is hard to believe that he is ONLY three.
He’s always been such a boy, to the point of making me paranoid and ever-watchful, but he has gone from being rambunctious and rowdy to outright defiant and violent at times. Faith gets the brunt of this, mostly because she taunts him into action, and action is exactly what he provides. A swift kick, or a toy thrown at an impressive speed. My poor girl sported bruises on her school picture day because of Jamie’s inability to just calm on down.
On the flip side, the boy has charm. My father once said that he’s going to smile his way out of trouble all of his life and truer words have never been spoken. He already does it. James is in possession of one of the sweetest smiles I have ever witnessed in my life, the kind that lights up his whole face, the kind that lights up the whole room. I have gone to him, fuming and angry over something awful and deliberate that he has done and he has looked up at me, eyes twinkling and crinkling, and I have been disarmed by his smile, having to catch myself from smiling back. I will have to find a way around that smile, it will be my kryptonite.
Ever since he was old enough to have a preference over anything, he has loved trains. Perhaps a better word would be obsessed with trains. Of course Thomas the Train became a favorite and still is. There are trains and tracks littering my whole house. The trains were essential in potty training. The trains are his best friends. The trains go everywhere with us. In the past few months he has started broadening his horizons, enjoying cars and loving the movie Wall-E, but trains are still the elite of his likings.
I’m so relieved at his appetite that includes a willingness to try anything. His easygoing attitude about going here or there, no need for any sort of routine. His need to cuddle and be loved, hugged, and kissed all throughout the day. He is an affectionate boy, not stingy with touch, willing to give it to anyone who seems to be in need. He will climb onto my lap, look deep into my eyes, and just kiss my nose, my cheeks. I laugh and kiss his neck, savoring these moments, afraid that they will be gone too soon.
He is my heart, my three year old boy.
He’s always been such a boy, to the point of making me paranoid and ever-watchful, but he has gone from being rambunctious and rowdy to outright defiant and violent at times. Faith gets the brunt of this, mostly because she taunts him into action, and action is exactly what he provides. A swift kick, or a toy thrown at an impressive speed. My poor girl sported bruises on her school picture day because of Jamie’s inability to just calm on down.
On the flip side, the boy has charm. My father once said that he’s going to smile his way out of trouble all of his life and truer words have never been spoken. He already does it. James is in possession of one of the sweetest smiles I have ever witnessed in my life, the kind that lights up his whole face, the kind that lights up the whole room. I have gone to him, fuming and angry over something awful and deliberate that he has done and he has looked up at me, eyes twinkling and crinkling, and I have been disarmed by his smile, having to catch myself from smiling back. I will have to find a way around that smile, it will be my kryptonite.
Ever since he was old enough to have a preference over anything, he has loved trains. Perhaps a better word would be obsessed with trains. Of course Thomas the Train became a favorite and still is. There are trains and tracks littering my whole house. The trains were essential in potty training. The trains are his best friends. The trains go everywhere with us. In the past few months he has started broadening his horizons, enjoying cars and loving the movie Wall-E, but trains are still the elite of his likings.
I’m so relieved at his appetite that includes a willingness to try anything. His easygoing attitude about going here or there, no need for any sort of routine. His need to cuddle and be loved, hugged, and kissed all throughout the day. He is an affectionate boy, not stingy with touch, willing to give it to anyone who seems to be in need. He will climb onto my lap, look deep into my eyes, and just kiss my nose, my cheeks. I laugh and kiss his neck, savoring these moments, afraid that they will be gone too soon.
He is my heart, my three year old boy.
Tuesday, October 19, 2010
He taught me Nawlins and Spanglish too
This is such, SUCH, a bummer but I think I need to get this out.
I just found out that an old co-worker died. He died several months ago, but I found out about it by boredom, snooping around on the internet. I found his facebook page and instead of just his name, it was followed by “memorial page” and then after frantic googling I found his obituary, stating his death as being in March.
I’m just shocked right now. This man was not just a co-worker, but a friend of mine. I started working at a small construction company when I was barely twenty-one and he was about forty-five at the time, a small man with an ever-reddish nose and a permanent grin on his face. He was hilarious, and had one of those laughs that was just contagious, whenever you heard it you wanted to laugh too, even if you weren’t in on the joke. He was a nickname type of guy, he had one for everybody. Mine was “Woodstock” because he had an image of me, long-haired hippie chick, peaceful and free-spirited. Our entire office started calling each other by their nicknames and we even had an official nickname board which needed to be updated every so often.
Whenever I was distressed at work, he was always there with grounded guidance and he was one of my favorite things about that job. I loved seeing him come down the hallway and always couldn’t wait to hear what he had to say. He made my two years at that company immeasurably better.
He had a great love for music and we had many a long conversation about it. When I told him that Jeff played he was overjoyed and often sent home music or videos with me for Jeff to watch. He’d ask me every so often about Jeff, wondering if he was “still pickin’ and grinning”. He was from Louisiana, which oozed out of his voice and was a great sense of pride for him. I learned all about Mardi Gras from him, proper Mardi Gras, not just the partying (although he told me about that too).
I left that job one summer, after management shifted and things got to be unbearable for me. He pursued other avenues as well, for the same reasons. He kept in touch afterward and when I got married I made sure to send him an invitation. His R.S.V.P. card was the fastest one returned and at my reception he was waiting for me with a big hug and an even bigger grin. The last time I talked to him he said that I needed to go ahead and become a mama, and then time sped by on warp speed and I never talked to him again and it breaks my heart I wasn’t at his funeral.
He was a good man, with a wife that he loved very much and three children that are way too young to have lost a father.
I’m remembering good times Andy, and I hope to see you again someday.
I just found out that an old co-worker died. He died several months ago, but I found out about it by boredom, snooping around on the internet. I found his facebook page and instead of just his name, it was followed by “memorial page” and then after frantic googling I found his obituary, stating his death as being in March.
I’m just shocked right now. This man was not just a co-worker, but a friend of mine. I started working at a small construction company when I was barely twenty-one and he was about forty-five at the time, a small man with an ever-reddish nose and a permanent grin on his face. He was hilarious, and had one of those laughs that was just contagious, whenever you heard it you wanted to laugh too, even if you weren’t in on the joke. He was a nickname type of guy, he had one for everybody. Mine was “Woodstock” because he had an image of me, long-haired hippie chick, peaceful and free-spirited. Our entire office started calling each other by their nicknames and we even had an official nickname board which needed to be updated every so often.
Whenever I was distressed at work, he was always there with grounded guidance and he was one of my favorite things about that job. I loved seeing him come down the hallway and always couldn’t wait to hear what he had to say. He made my two years at that company immeasurably better.
He had a great love for music and we had many a long conversation about it. When I told him that Jeff played he was overjoyed and often sent home music or videos with me for Jeff to watch. He’d ask me every so often about Jeff, wondering if he was “still pickin’ and grinning”. He was from Louisiana, which oozed out of his voice and was a great sense of pride for him. I learned all about Mardi Gras from him, proper Mardi Gras, not just the partying (although he told me about that too).
I left that job one summer, after management shifted and things got to be unbearable for me. He pursued other avenues as well, for the same reasons. He kept in touch afterward and when I got married I made sure to send him an invitation. His R.S.V.P. card was the fastest one returned and at my reception he was waiting for me with a big hug and an even bigger grin. The last time I talked to him he said that I needed to go ahead and become a mama, and then time sped by on warp speed and I never talked to him again and it breaks my heart I wasn’t at his funeral.
He was a good man, with a wife that he loved very much and three children that are way too young to have lost a father.
I’m remembering good times Andy, and I hope to see you again someday.
Wednesday, October 13, 2010
Melancholy
Jeff and I took the kids camping this past weekend and it was The Awesome. We went to Stone Mountain which isn’t deep in the woods or anything that proper camping should be, but it’s so much fun for the kids. They went to the pumpkin festival, we watched a 4-D mini movie that I think may have traumatized James, we went on the sky lift that I know traumatized me (I had a “bad imagine” as Faith would say, about us all plummeting to our deaths. *shudder*), and we went on the train, we walked around the top of the mountain, we went to the old plantation houses and petted the farm animals. At night we roasted marshmallows and made smores.
It was the weekend that we’ve been looking forward to having with them for, I don’t know, forever. Just Jeff and I, and our children, all in one place, doing wholesome family type things. It was rather dreamy, actually, and not in a Stepford way because they were still screamy, terrifying children at times, but just . . . good. It felt good.
Then we came home and back to the grind. I washed my hair three times and it still smells like campfire smoke. The clothes are still in heaps in the laundry room, and I’m already behind in my nutrition class for the week. This is all okay, though. This is life, this is what happens, I don’t live in movie land where things behind the scenes get magically taken care of except for comic relief purposes. What really does get to me, however, is that real life settles back when Jeff starts his work week.
Having a husband that works nights SUCKS. There is no poetic way to put it, it just sucks. He’s on a different schedule than we are, he’s always tired. I feel guilty for waking him up at 11:00 a.m. because I know he’s exhausted and I feel like crap for the mornings he has to wake up at 7:30 for me to get to school. We both feel awful when we’ve squandered away the moments that we do get to share by bickering about some non-significant Thing. I get irritated sometimes, thinking that he could bathe the kids on his nights at home, or make their dinner, or play with them, or settle some argument since I do it by myself all the time. I immediately get angry at myself for the irritation thinking that while I’m home with the kids, he’s at work, in a shop, on his feet, at night, lonely, deciphering intricate blue prints, all to support us.
It’s not just hard on our marriage, it’s hard on our kids. Faith goes four and a half days without seeing her father. EVERY WEEK. I try to fill him in on the little things, but sometimes they get lost in translation. I feel so blessed, for all the things I have, and then I feel a little wistful, I suppose, wanting someone to share them with daily. I want us to be a family, to be whole, every night together.
Here’s wishing to a brighter future.
It was the weekend that we’ve been looking forward to having with them for, I don’t know, forever. Just Jeff and I, and our children, all in one place, doing wholesome family type things. It was rather dreamy, actually, and not in a Stepford way because they were still screamy, terrifying children at times, but just . . . good. It felt good.
Then we came home and back to the grind. I washed my hair three times and it still smells like campfire smoke. The clothes are still in heaps in the laundry room, and I’m already behind in my nutrition class for the week. This is all okay, though. This is life, this is what happens, I don’t live in movie land where things behind the scenes get magically taken care of except for comic relief purposes. What really does get to me, however, is that real life settles back when Jeff starts his work week.
Having a husband that works nights SUCKS. There is no poetic way to put it, it just sucks. He’s on a different schedule than we are, he’s always tired. I feel guilty for waking him up at 11:00 a.m. because I know he’s exhausted and I feel like crap for the mornings he has to wake up at 7:30 for me to get to school. We both feel awful when we’ve squandered away the moments that we do get to share by bickering about some non-significant Thing. I get irritated sometimes, thinking that he could bathe the kids on his nights at home, or make their dinner, or play with them, or settle some argument since I do it by myself all the time. I immediately get angry at myself for the irritation thinking that while I’m home with the kids, he’s at work, in a shop, on his feet, at night, lonely, deciphering intricate blue prints, all to support us.
It’s not just hard on our marriage, it’s hard on our kids. Faith goes four and a half days without seeing her father. EVERY WEEK. I try to fill him in on the little things, but sometimes they get lost in translation. I feel so blessed, for all the things I have, and then I feel a little wistful, I suppose, wanting someone to share them with daily. I want us to be a family, to be whole, every night together.
Here’s wishing to a brighter future.
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