You never know what you've got...til it's gone.

We've all heard the age old phrase "you never know what you've got, til it's gone."  How often do we really think about those words? On Facebook last week, I saw the news story about sad grandpa. It was sad. All I kept thinking was what I wouldn't give to visit my grand parents. I never knew my grandfathers, but I know my grandmothers were amazing women. I'd love to have one more family meal! And to see the picture of his grandkids when they finally showed up looking inconvenienced makes me want to shake them. 

I stand on my soap box and preach about letting the kids be little, playing with them, and just enjoying their childhood while they're still little. No one really hears me. Just the other day we were talking about why I cater to my three year old. He pouts that lip and flashes those baby blues, and I melt. His favorite phrase is "mumum, I just need you." I pick him up, scratch his back, read him stories, let him help me cook; he is my butthole baby. (For those who need an explanation, a butthole baby is one who follows so closely, that whenever I stop, his nose goes right into my butthole.) 

It was asked why I allow him to "need" me so much, and that's when it dawned on me. He needs me. He still needs me, and as long as he does, I'll let him. It's been longer than I can remember since my older two needed me. They don't climb in my lap and just want to be held anymore. I'm weird and old now. 

Again, I'd give anything for them to need me. I'm so proud of the people they're growing up to be. Nothing makes me happier than to see those tiny humans maturing into great people. Their budding personalities keep me in amazement. 

They're not tiny anymore, although they always will be to me. Altogether too soon they'll need me even less than they do now. Soon enough it'll be drivers licenses, college dorms, and I'm gonna stop there before I tear up. That 3 year old wanted to help me cook this evening, and despite the horrendous mess he made flipping burgers, I let him. I allowed him to stand by my side and help, because soon enough he won't want to. 

Appreciate the time you have. Call your parents. Visit your loved ones. Let those babies get dirty and make a mess. They won't always want or need your help, and before you know it, they'll be grown. 

God bless those tiny humans. They bring more joy to my soul than anything on this earth. 

Spring forward...more like a flop head first into the mud!

Daylight savings is supposed to be a good thing right? Oh it's wonderful....a week after it begins, in the afternoons when you're trying to wear your kids down so they actually sleep.  It's not fun the night of.  Not only do you lose an hour of sleep, but in our case, the universe smiles down and says "Hey, you see that one.  She's been a whole 2 days without a sleepness night.  Pretty sure she's got plans tomorrow too.  Let's play with her.  She's funny when she flips her lid!" And they laugh and laugh, and suddenly the ceiling caves in, a kid throws up, and another whines all night long.

Oh yea, that wasn't an exaggeration. That literally happened....2 nights in a row!!

It's rained here, like monsooned here, for almost a week. Fine and good. We need a new roof. Noted. The high winds and torrential rains created even more havoc. I walked into the bathroom and noticed a soaked roll of toilet paper on the counter.  My first thought was "these kids!" I thought someone had dropped it in the toilet and just fished it out and left it there. No, that wasn't the case.  The first practical joke was in the form of a steady drip down the exhaust fan in the bathroom....right into the jar holding my flat iron.  Sheer panic was the first reaction.  That flat iron and I have been through 10 years!! It took 100 different flat irons to find the perfect one! The images of it's funeral were flashing through my head, with me in the background hyperventilating. Onward.

We laid down Saturday evening. We went to bed early, because we got a little wild Friday and stayed up too late.  Kids were down by 8:30, and we were right behind em! Not 2 hours in, we hear "Daddy! I frew up!"  OH that's not cool! Sure enough, it was everywhere! Sheets stripped, bed changed, kid cleaned up. Ding!! Round 1 complete.  Back to sleep.

Another 2 hours went by of in and out of consciousness, when I hear an odd sound.  "It's outside. It's just raining" he said. No it wasn't.  Something was dripping in my closet! Lights on all around, and upon investigation it was dripping, just not in the closet.  It was dripping in the attic above the closet, but because the insulation was soaked, the sheet rock fell in.  AWESOME!!!! Nothing to be done that late.  I would just clean up in the morning and call the landlord.  Back to bed. Ding! Round 2 done. 

Maybe 30 minutes went by when the second round of "Wiz, I frew up again." Wait. What?! You never ask for my help! You only ever call dad! Why is it suddenly my turn?! Fine.  I'll go, because I have stated more than once when he decided to ask me for help, I'd drop everything and go.  So, I did. Thankfully not much eruption.  Clean kid, clean pillow, new blanket. Ding!! Round 3 complete.

My head didn't so much as hit the pillow, after I tripped over the 16 pairs of shoes I keep leaving at the foot of the bed when the whambulance came through.  Every parent should know exactly what this is.  It's not a cry.  It's not a whale. It is the annoying whine of a kid who has no clue what he wants. "Whaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhh, whhhaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhh...." You get the idea.  ALL. NIGHT. LONG. Nothing helped. Nothing soothed. And finally, I just gave up.  Good night.

6 am. The sun was shining through, and I was beyond exhausted, but I heard the slight moan of a tiny human, and I knew.  I knew that sound! That was the "I'm going to hurl, or maybe explode" moan.  If you think parents can't fly, wait until they hear that moan.  I launched across that room without touching the floor.  I soared around the corner, through the hall and across the second bedroom again, without touching much and with no sound.  That sweet little boy thought I was going to throw him, I snatched so fast. He was grabbing at the door frames as we soared together into the bathroom.  I meant he was going to hit the toilet with the spewage that time, if it killed me.  I was not cleaning up another round of sheets, clothes etc.  I don't do vomit! I could tell it scared him.  I don't think he'd ever seen his Wiz move that fast. All was good.  Calmed him down, no changes necessary, and I was determined to get at least another hour of sleep.  Ding...round 4 down, and my reserves were shot.

Aannndddd the whambulance was back.

Another 45 minutes, and suddenly it was my turn to assist in toiletry habits again.  I'm all about helping, but can it please be someone else's turn? Dad's still snoozing, or pretending or something, but he surely wasn't moving.  He swears he was up all night, but I beg the differ.

By the time 8 am arrived, I was up.  Awake. Wired. Everyone seemed to feel better and off for the day we went.  No activity all day long....and then the sun went down.  It was the nicest day.  The sun was so bright. The breeze was so breezy.  The sun went down, and the demons were back.  The rain was back with a vengeance. Tornado sirens were blaring all around.  The baby didn't have but a small nap in the afternoon.  So, why at midnight was he still awake?!

Aaaaaaaannnnnnnnddddddd another visit from the whambulance.  "Whaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhh, whhhhhaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhh, whhhhhhaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhh..." For hours.  No gum numb, no juice, no crackers, no loving, no sleep, no hugs, no holding. NOTHING CURED HIS MISERY. Finally I just decided to let him cry it out.  Until I heard that sound.... that "I'm going to hurl. It hurts so bad. My guts are going to explode." sound.

My neck hurts. I'm exhausted.  I've washed the same sheets twice, all the pillows, the kids and now the crib linens and the baby again too.  But hey, the suns going to be out an extra hour this afternoon right? Daylight savings is grand!

I will cower no more

The past week or so I have hit an extreme case of writer's block, and the cause was somewhat of a mystery to me up until this morning.  I would sit and stare at the keyboard, but no words would form.  Despite the immense amount of topics to choose from, because let's face it, my life has never been calm, I still couldn't think of a single thing to talk about. Then it hit me....like a ton of bricks, it hit me.  I was cowering.  I have long known that my ex and his wife have been reading this blog.  They monitor my social media closer than a jealous ex girlfriend who's certain her man is seeing someone new. I've known this, but I had never really faced it head on.

Last week we had court, and the court officer told us where to sit.  He placed me a row behind and a few folks to the right of my ex. I was bored and scanning the room for something to occupy my mind when his phone caught my eye.  My phone is your typical smart phone, small case, and you couldn't read the screen from 2 people over.  But, his phone is massive. I couldn't make out the words, but I did notice the web address he typed was very long. It caught my attention, because most web sites have very short names. When the page came up, I immediately recognized the color scheme.  I designed that page.  That was my page!  He was scrolling through my blog right in front of me.  I couldn't figure out why this bothered me so much.  It was my story to tell.  He has his version, and may I add that some of his version is hilarious.  For the record, if I attempted to burn anyone's house down, it would be down. Not to mention, I'd be in prison for arson, because let's face it, I'm not a criminal mastermind, and I would get caught.  I give plenty of thought into the words I type, and I refrain from putting the gory details in most of the time.  So, again, why did it bother me?  I have my suspicions, but basically, I was cowering to a bully I knew would be angry.

That day in court didn't go well in his favor.  In fact, it backfired in an awesome way.  As I walked from the courthouse, beaming with elation, I knew there would be repercussions. Things had been civil for a little too long.  Pulling his wife from the equation calmed most everything down, but I knew that day things were about to heat up quickly.  They did.  By the next morning the storm on the horizon had reared it's ugly head.  It was comical, but I still couldn't put it into words.  I had no desire to gloat the sway in my favor.  I didn't care to publish what all went on that day.  Although, a huge a step in the right direction, to me there was still nothing to tell.  But why? I should've been shouting from the rooftops, but again, to me there was nothing to tell.

Today I spoke with an old friend briefly, as we catch up every few weeks or so.  It was during this conversation I realized how little the reward meant.  The winning felt great, but the reward didn't seem to matter.  Just shortly after this epiphany, I saw that it was time to stop cowering. I am not afraid anymore.  I will cower no longer.  I am done being the doormat.  I am done keeping my mouth shut.  I am done being the bigger person.  This is my story to tell.  I have yet to publish anything that isn't true, provable or if my opinion, protected by my first amendment right.  I have never mentioned a name.  I have never defamed anyone's character.  So from this moment on, I will write my story; the good, the bad and the ugly.  It's my story to tell.

To my faithful followers, I have to say thank you.  I appreciate you very much, but may I add, that if no one ever clicked on this page again, I would continue to write.  This is where I empty my soul. To those who are only reading to find dirt in a snow storm, thank you as well.  I don't do this for profit, but you sure are changing that with every click. Stay tuned....I'm just getting started.