Apparently, I don’t learn from my mistakes.
I almost ran out of gas AGAIN. Because nobody gets to tell me how low I can go.
On the way to Thanksgiving dinner I was praying (out loud in a baptist preacher voice, in case you were wondering), “Just get me to the Exxon. PLEASE just get me to the Exxon! Just a little further, Sweet Lawd!”
Look at poor Frank’s face. In the backseat he was saying, “DeeDee call da tow twuck again, mommy?”
I can’t even imagine what Chip would have said if I had called him away from frying turkeys in his parents’ driveway because I had run out of fuel… AGAIN. In a month’s time.
Thank you, Jesus, that I made it to the Exxon.
Also? When I got back into my car to head home Thanksgiving evening, this Cheerio was stuck to my leg.
How long was it there? And where did it come from? I can’t remember feeding Bob any Cheerios, but there you have it. Also? I ate it.
Only God can judge me.
This photo is time stamped with 9:48am on Black Friday morning. I live for the sweet potato casserole at Thanksgiving time. If you ever need me to do something for you, just make me a sweet potato casserole, and I am THERE. No questions even asked. Also, please note baby Bob. The day before he barely touched the SAME FOOD on his own little high chair. Friday morning? He was all over my plate like buzzards on a gut wagon.
Back off, Bob.
Just in case you were wondering, I didn’t share one bit of it with him. I savored every bite of that food while that little man was screaming and grabbing at me.
It’s no secret that I am one of the biggest #momfail ‘s of all time. I’m counting it a miracle that right now: I have two bathed children sleeping away, bags packed, lunches ready, and juice cups full (and labeled… say WHAT?!) ready to go to preschool tomorrow. I feel so accomplished that I #canteven. I am winning at all of life right now. This also NEVER happens.
Last week I picked up Frank and saw that he was wearing girls’ overalls.
I forgot the extra set of clothes in his little backpack. The child pees through his diaper (and consequentially pants) at least 4 times a week. You’d think I would always be prepared with a change of clothes.
Last week Frank was rocking girls’ highwater overalls from the preschool’s stash of laundry that they keep on hand in case of moms like ME.
Oh, the humanity.
Also…. I can’t tell the difference between our chickens squawking and my baby crying. I can’t distinguish who’s who.
I hear the cries and I’m like, “Bob?” and then little Bob busts around the corner with a big ‘ol smile and look out the window and there’s Tina, pecking at the door with the attitude of a middle school girl.
Get off me, Tina.
I haven’t counted points OR ran since before Thanksgiving. I ate what I wanted and slept in and decided to do other things that didn’t involve motivation or discipline the last week and a half.
I also fell asleep in Frank’s room 9 days in a row at 7:00pm, only to wake up hours later and stumble groggily back into my own bed and finish my night’s sleep in comfort.
Every night this happens:
1: I read between 1-9 books aloud to Frank. In character, of course because my background is in theater. And most likely, Frank will have a future in theater.
2: We argue about brushing his teeth for roughly 5-10 minutes. Only to end with my threatening to sit on him because, “doesn’t he realize his teeth will fall out if we don’t take care of them?” But he always puts his arm out at the last minute and concedes saying, “No mommy. Don’t hold Frankie down.”
Nobody puts baby in a corner.
3: I sing two songs to him, all the while he asks for, “4 songs, Mommy. Alouette, Deaf was Awwested, Bootiful Name (sing dat one at church, mommy), Goodnight”. After much deliberation he settles EVERY SINGLE TIME on Allouette and Death was Arrested.
4: We take turns praying.
5: “Mommy, stay 2 meenutes. Just two meenutes, mommy.” I stay, thinking it truly will be only two minutes, only to wake up at midnight and realize his toddler bed is KILLING my back.
Needless to say, the house is a wreck and most nights I didn’t make dinner because I passed out after ALL the toddler negotiations.
That kid has my heart. Also, he still drinks his milk out of a bottle, sleeps with a pacifier and is the reason there is always a bottle of either Chardonnay or Sauvignon Blanc chilling in the fridge, because it is what it is.
I have won at only a few things lately. One being: moving Carl.
I can’t take full credit for this one. My friend Rhonda has literally texted me every single night, reminding me to move him.
The first couple days it seemed laborious, but I’m going to admit…. Now that I’ve committed to it, it’s been an absolute BLAST.
Bob even understands about it and waves to Carl throughout the day. However, anytime poor Bob gets anywhere near him, Frank comes in hot outta nowhere screaming and shoving the poor child over “DON’T TOUCH HIM, BOBBY!!!!!!”
Day 2, Carl brought salt water taffy back from the North Pole. It was fully wrapped when the boys left for preschool, then I texted Chip to eat half of it before we got home so Frank would think Carl comes to life when we’re not around. Making my dreams of Toy Story being real somewhat of a reality.
Chip’s response was, “but how will I be able to stop after one bite?”
The struggle is real.
Frank hasn’t stopped laughing about, “Caw-ruhl ate da candy, mommy!” since that day. And that is the precise reason I’m absolutely loving Carl now. The joy on Frank’s face when he finds him the next morning in his new spot has been a HUGE thrill and source of joy for me.
Tonight on his way to bed, he told Carl, “don’t forget to tell Santa Frankie made da good choices, Caw-ruhl.”
Another win? I finished the 1st Harry Potter book! (praise emoji hands!!!) I go back and re-read the entire series every holiday season and I’m taking forever this year. I should be on book 3 by now, but seeing as how I’ve been passed out from exhaustion at 7:00 every night, I’m taking what I can get.
Here are some photos of WHY I’m so tired.
That last one I was taking a butter knife to Regis’ hooves because the mud is caked in his hooves and the farrier we use is being flaky and something had to be done.
Seriously, how did we get here?
My biggest take away from these last couple weeks is something that my girlfriends and I have been talking about, which is this: being present. I can get so caught up in my to-do list, or beating myself up that I suck as a mom because I have not one thing monogrammed for my children, or the fact that I have a 15K coming up and I haven’t trained in several weeks and will I even finish it?? Or the fact that I AM SO TIRED. But I’m so tired because I am living life and living it to the absolute fullest. So I need to get out of my head that completing my agenda for the day equates success.
What success looks like for me right now is being present with my family when I’m home, being engaged at work when I’m at the office, and making sure everyone is fed and clothed and that the car is gassed up. (Why is this one so hard for me??) The animals are all fed, and the chickens are shut away at night. That Regis is always stocked up on hay, because that little devil will bray until the cows come home if he thinks we’re holding out on him.
But mainly just making sure that I’m not allowing life to pass by and not engage with it. To stop beating myself because I ate 3 cookies tonight, to stop what I’m doing to play fetch with Hermione (my eleven year old chihuahua), to stop doing chores and having the dance party with the boys in the kitchen……… and to just ENGAGE.
When will I get this?! When will I have to stop reminding myself that interruptions are okay and that people and relationships trump all the busy.
The struggle is real, and I just don’t want to get so caught up in the busyness that I look back on my days and realize I didn’t engage enough, I didn’t stop and take the moments to SEE people, that I saw disruptions as annoyance instead of opportunity for God to show up in my life.
Just some things I’m really working on, and maybe you needed to hear as well….?
So without further ado….. Cheers! (Now I need to go move Carl…….)