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. 

I'm not fat....I'm textured

So somewhere over discussing health issues and getting older with my bestie, I decided to start working out.  I may have been under the influence of something unbeknownest to me, because anyone who knows me, knows I don't work out.  I'm 32 and besides a couple month stint in the gym after my second child (which did not make much of a difference) I have never worked out.  I'm not the girl worried about her caloric intake.  I don't even own a scale! The number does not bother me, nor does the size.  I am very comfortable in my skin.  But, I decided to work out none the less.  I promised the sig 30 days, and then we'd go to the gym together.  Partially because I need a head start to catch up with his form, but more likely, because he didn't want to pay for a membership if I were just gonna blow it off.  Fine and good. 

So, I've always believed that you can't start anything mid week.  Monday is always the starting point.  If I stop on Tuesday, I'll restart next Monday.  Yes, that's my laziness kicking in. 

Well this lovely day, I got up early.  I laced up those trainers and slid into the shorts. I came to the living room and loaded my workout on youtube. I was ready..... until about 35 seconds into the warm up.  This portion was only 3 minutes long, and I was already dying.  I was sweating.  I don't sweat, but there was perspiration rolling down my back and forehead.  It wasn't delicate, graceful lady glistening either, but full on man sweat. Horrendous pourage rolling in mass quantities down my spine! My thighs were burning, and my shorts were suddenly rubbing uncomfortably against them.  By the time the real music began, I was almost to tears.  What did I get myself into?!

Before the first verse of song #2 was over, I was shaking head to toe. My butt and legs were on fire! I couldn't breathe! Almost certain of my impending doom, I slowed down just a tad.  The thoughts running through my head were of me lying on the floor dead from a massive heart attack with a toddler home alone all day.  How would he explain that to his therapist? How would the sig explain this to the world?  Oh yea so my girlfriend decided to be more healthy and died on day 1 of the work out. AHHHH!

I made it through the second song, and when the third started to play I was on to thoughts of lunch.  Did we have any donuts left? Man I could really use a cheese burger.  The thoughts of sushi, and ice cream, and cookies, and dill pickle chips just flooded my mind.  At this point my legs were numb.  I had stopped wondering if my gut was still jiggling, because I couldn't feel anything other than my armpits screaming for me to quit.  I didn't know there were muscles in your armpits by the way.  Maybe that's why boobs start to sag. 

At this point, my shorts were soaked. My feet were slipping around in my runners like I'd just jogged through a creek bed.  My shirt was sticking to me in the extremely irritating way like someone at the concert spilled beer all over you, but you paid way too much money for this ticket to go home, and there's no way you're getting an assault charge for hitting them.  So you just deal with it.  I was starving! All I wanted was a carbonated beverage of ANY kind. 

I thought I was going to pass out.  I couldn't do another leg lift.  I couldn't squat again.  I probably won't be able to squat for a week to be honest.  I looked down at the clock. IT HAD ONLY BEEN 7 MINUTES!!!!  Are you serious?! I can't even breathe through 7 minutes of exercize without having heart palpatations and fearing cardiac arrest? This 30 days may very well be the longest of my life.  I think it's possible that it could be longer than the last 6 weeks of pregnancy. 

I'm not sure being in shape is for me.  Maybe it's ok to be a little pudgy.  After all I've dealt with my weight and dimples this long, what's a few more years? I'm white, like porceline white.  I can't tan.  I don't tan. It's just not in the genes for me, and I'm ok with that.  I have the map of Asia around my belly button.  That belly button on a good day looks a little mishapen, but on a bad day appears to have a tiny hand pushing out of it.  It's a hernia, and it doesn't bother me.  I still wear my swim suit.  I still rock some shorts.  Life is way too short for all this stress.  I'm not niave enough to say I will go on a diet. It won't happen.  I like greasy food, and fries, and chips, and brownies, and cake, and omg that sounds amazing right now. I'm salivating, so I'm going to wrap this up. 

In short, I'm ok with my size. I'm not going to quit, because I promised the sig 30 days.  Who knows, maybe I'll even start to enjoy it.  Until then, I'll be the one vegging out on the couch with every item of junk food in this house.  If anyone's down for burgers for lunch, come get me! I'll buy.

Vulnerable...

"She's vulnerable," she said.  "She's vulnerable." Those words have repeated themselves in my head a million times over the last 24 hours.  I questioned why anyone would point that out, and then it hit me.  I am vulnerable....and that's the best complement anyone could have ever said about me. 

In a world where it is better to be hardened and bitter, I am vulnerable.  I am so proud to be that.  I type on this keyboard and share it with millions of people: close friends, coworkers, family, enemies, strangers alike, and I am ok with that.  My heart has been broken so much. I have suffered so much, and vulnerable is the best thing I could ever ask to be.  Willing to love, regardless of the pain that may come.  Despite my insecurities, fears, failures, I am willing to bare the deepest parts of my soul for the chance at happiness. 

I met a man, a beautiful man that struck me the minute he walked into my life.  He was my friend long before my significant other.  I watched his struggles in life and in love.  I prayed for him. I worried for him.  I never even noticed it. I was drawn to him, and I didn't even notice it.  So when tragedy struck in my life, and he stepped up to be a friend, again, without even noticing I allowed him to be there.  I let him be my friend even though I was suffering.  I let him in.  He didn't make the first move. I did.  It just happened, but it happened all the same, because I allowed myself to step out there again.  I allowed myself to be vulnerable, despite the heartache I felt in the past.

No matter how much pain comes my way in the future, or what I still feel from the past, I don't ever want to build the walls so high that they're impenatrable.  I want to feel.  We should feel. It's human.  I don't want to numb the pain. I don't want to regret not saying the words in my mind.  I don't ever want someone to question how I feel about them. 

I was petrified the day he said we were going to meet his parents.  I couldn't concentrate over the next few hours, and thousands of excuses flashed through my head as to why I couldn't go.  But, I went anyways. I swallowed the fear.  I stepped out there, praying I was good enough, praying I'd be accepted.  I have grieved the loss of so many friends and family members, but I am willing to make room in my life  and my heart for more.  They may not all stay with me, after all, friends come and go.  But, I will give myself the opportunity to know and love them anyways. 

I am scared of pain.  I do have trust issues, but I am brave enough to say "I love you." I am big enough to admit that if my relationship ends, it will break my heart. It will hurt.  I don't need anyone, but I want them.  I don't need the sig, and I can live without him, but I want him here, and I don't want to be without him. I'm strong enough to trust in love after the hurt. I am willing to be vulnerable, because love is worth the chance of pain.  Because love is the only thing on this earth that cures the heartache and seals the wounds.

Love sucks. I'm sorry that I'm not sorry.

To those I offended by my Valentine's....

My humblest apologies are in order. I took yesterday to really consider why it was offensive. Personally, I don't think it was. When I see a little heart attached to the straw of a juice box, I don't read "love sucks" offensively. I see a pun whose intended purpose was humor. 

Apparently in our society of over sensitive, easily offended, politically correct individuals humor is no longer acceptable, and for that I am sorry. I am so sorry that we can no longer use certain words without someone reading too much into it or getting in a tizzy. Lord help us all, if she was trying to be cute. I'm sorry that your children won't grow up with thick skin. It saddens me to the bitter core that literal is the only form of speech acceptable, and even then silence is best. I'm sorry that your children are being taught that freedom of speech is no longer free. Our fore fathers fought for a freedom we aren't even able to exercise anymore, because heaven forbid if it's too colorful for a fifth grader. 

Your school system can allow our children to learn a terrorist religion, witness violence, be bullied into suicidal thoughts, and learn more about the human anatomy than most adults know, but we can't be funny anymore. For that I am truly sorry. From now on, you can rest assure that I will screen my cards. I will resort to premade valentines if necessary, but I have the utmost sympathy for the kids growing up in this system. There are worse things to be offended by than my poor choice in words, but I am sorry. I will stifle my creativity, be careful of my wording, and give every effort not to be off color. 

I will offer you this, a light bulb and my final pun. Some would think it's because I'd seen the error in my ways, but no. This is for you. I want you to place it visible to whatever chair you rest in to contemplate, so the next time you wear your feelings on your shirt sleeve and decide to invent a reason to cry, you can look at it and remember to lighten up. 

Sincerely and God bless, 

Love sucks. I'm sorry that I'm not sorry. 

The value of a dollar

I realize I've been on a roll lately with my "life skills" rants. There's a reason behind it.  It's something I have taken a personal interest in and made my mission to teach my children. I'll be perfectly honest in saying that growing up, I had no idea the value of a dollar.  So now that I have discovered it's not much,  I want my children to understand.  Money doesn't grow on trees.  Those sneakers aren't paid for with cash.  They're purchased with chunks of time and energy out of my life.

I heard someone talking about her daughter's education last week, and it infuriated me. She said, and I quote "I'm not really worried about her education right now." WHY?! Not trying to be ugly here, but at some point you need to put a little stock in that education.  Marrying well isn't easy even if she's the epitome of a trophy wife.  In this day and age it takes 2 incomes to make it, and the chances of a woman being a stay at home wife/ mother are slim. Instead of assuming this is the path her life is going to follow, why are we not teaching our daughter's to be self sufficient?  The same way I tell my sons, I instill in my daughter that two things will take you where you want to go in life- a good education and a good credit score. That said you'll need a job to buy the items you want and need, and the brains to pay your bills on time.

This subject gets my blood pressure elevated.  The vein in my forehead is thumping as I type.

Not many are teaching their children the cost of possessions. Like I said, they're not purchased with money.  Those $150 Nike shoes takes the average person making $10 an hour, 3 days to earn.  This is because after taxes and such, they only make about $6.50 an hour.  This doesn't include the other bills their working towards earning.  Now multiply that times the number of kids you have.  In my case 4.  That puts it a little more in perspective right? It would take me 8 to 10 days working 10 hours at a time to afford all of them a pair, and that's just shoes.  Now let's add in jeans at $40 a pair, shirts an average of $15 each, a jacket for $30, and that's us shopping at American Eagle.  Lord help us when they develop a real taste for trends and labels.

I've maintained that when my children get to driving age, they will assist in the purchasing process.  Regardless of what I can afford, they're helping.  Them helping pay for the car will give them a better sense of appreciation.  Insurance premiums teach us to drive more responsibly. General maintenance is important for longevity.

I still have toddlers in addition to my preteens.  When they break a toy, I make them throw it away.  I don't rush out to buy a new one. They don't get treats every time we go to the store anymore.  Treats are for good kids who have earned a reward.  I'll buy you a banana every time I walk through the door of Target to keep you quiet, but I'm not buying a set of Legos. Is your room clean? Have you been respectful? Did you help out around the house at all? That's what earns the treat.

For goodness sakes, if I hear another parent talking about not caring about their kids education "at this age" I'm going to lose it. School isn't to retain all the information they learn.  I can't tell you the last time I had to explain the process of photosynthesis, and I have never used the periodic table since graduating.  My years in school did teach me time management, deadlines, the importance of being prepared, and how to deal with people. It also taught me to work smarter not harder. That education is important to get a better job.  I am not by any means belittling manual labor.  Not everyone is interested in being a Dr. or a lawyer. Some folks enjoy working on engines and homes. That's perfectly fine.  We do however need to teach our children that without that education, you won't make as much. A certified mechanic makes more than someone self taught.  A licensed contractor has more call backs than the handy man. See where I'm going here. Invest in your children and yourself.

So the next time you think it's not that important to be concerned about their schooling, think of what you're teaching them.   You're teaching your kid that he gets a participation ribbon just for showing up. No. That's not how life works.   I don't get a pay check just for clocking in.  If I don't accomplish anything throughout the day, my boss is more than likely going to tell me to find employment elsewhere, and then guess what? It's going to take even longer to purchase those sneakers.

Now I'm off to relax just a little, before I burst a blood vessel. Use your head people. Stop teaching your kids to be lazy and that life will just magically be handed to them.

Life skills

I think I've missed my calling in life.  Don't get me wrong, I really enjoy the new path I'm on, but I think I am going to continue my education and get a teaching degree. I want to teach Life Skills in about 20 years.  I can hear those that know me well.  Oh Lort! Our children are gonna learn some crazy stuff. Yes they will! They will learn what life is really about.  

I know I've touched on this in the past, but who remembers learning to balance a check book in school?  I didn't.  I recall taking an economics class, but I don't remember the part where they taught us how to choose the right mortgage or car financing options.  Home Ec never covered the part of how to communicate with your spouse either.  These are things our kids need to know, before they rush out into the world.

On the budget subject, they'd be given a hypothetical life with every option out there. This is your spouse.  Here's your house, with options to stay, remodel, rent it out, sell it, let it foreclose etc. Here's your car, it's set of mechanical problems and options for that as well. Fix it, sell it,  wreck it, send it back, etc.  Theses are your kids. You've got 2, 3, 4, however many they draw out, and here are their issues. This one is ungrateful.  This one has asthma.  That one is lazy. These are your options for the kids.  You can teach them, cater to them, send them to live with Grandma what have you.  Their budget would never include enough money to cover all the bills and live comfortably.  That may very well happen in your life, but not every month, and every person needs to know how to react in a struggle.  The choices made would have consequences too.  For instance, Whoops you got pregnant again! Aha! You're being audited this year! Good try buddy, but you're being sued now.Hey, honey the roof is leaking. Well, it's your roof now, cause daddy found a new girlfriend at the office, and he's moving out. Real life scenarios!! The goal of the lesson is to avoid divorce, bankruptcy, being homeless, suicide, murder or jail. Passing means you managed your money, made cuts where necessary, and made it out with all members of the family, and only ran your bank account into the red once.  You are allowed to zero out 12 times a year, but points are docked for going into the negative.  I think it's a great idea. I firmly believe the next generation, and the last for that matter, have no idea how to be an adult.

If anyone in the class gets in a fight, they're required to spend the remainder of their time that year together.  You'll be best friends or mortal enemies, but you won't graduate unless you can get along.  It means they have to do every project together.  They have to be friends outside of school too.  They have to do homework together, carpool to school, and ultimately work it out.  You know what that teaches them? Divorce isn't an option.  You may not like your boss, but you've got to fake it with a smile. Family will inevitably drive insane, but you have to love them anyways. Bullying would plummet.

Going back to the spouse, there will be an entire semester on relationships.  Like I said, each class member will be assigned a spouse of their choosing.  Some will be compatible, and some will be out of convenience.  You get in an argument? You're not allowed to sleep until you work it out.  Counseling will be made available, but the exam will be graded based on your ability to avoid splitting up at all costs.  Separation is allowed, but points are docked.  Points are given back and even awarded based on the getting back together process. This teaches them to choose their mate wisely.  Looks aren't always everything. Money can't buy you happiness, and psychotic tendencies lurk in the most unsuspected.

Life skills would have a follow up class as well, that deals with all the short comings.  If you and your spouse didn't make it, you get to learn to coparent.  If you filed bankruptcy, you get to learn how to recover and rebuild.  If you're homeless, you'll learn how to get back on your feet.  We'll call this class Recovery. They'll both be required, and at the end of them, these kids will have a clear understanding of real life, responsibility, and ultimately- cause and effect. 

Bitter or Better? Your choice

Sunday service was very inspiring for me.  Obviously, I'm on my second post that struck me from the sermon.  Pastor spoke about a man he met that every time he asked how he was doing would reply with "It's so hard. Life is so hard."  I swear I use that phrase a lot.  Life is hard! But, we all have a choice.  We can revel in the misery, or we can be thankful for the problems we have. After all, someone out there is praying for your battle.  It can always be worse.  That sounds negative, but really it's not.

One thing he said really hit home.  "I got news for you.  You folks that are having the best time of your life, it's gonna change. Didn't say it was good news! But you folks that are struggling right now, guess what? Change is coming." That was monumentous in my world. I feel like I've been circling the drain for a good minute. So hey, there's no where to go but up right? I've said 1000 times, and I'll say it another few thousand. "If I can survive the last 4 years of my life, I can make it through anything."  I have suffered the loss of friends, family, homes, jobs, cars, custody, relationships, material possessions, and the list goes on and on. I'm not sad about it. Every loss lead me to a gain.  My marriage failed, but I discovered that there is life after love.  I wasn't living up to my potential anyways, and I wasn't as happy as I thought.  I couldn't afford that car.  I worked from the bottom to the top at that job, but the view wasn't what I had imagined.  That ride or die friend was toxic to me, and I was toxic to her.  Those relationships taught me to always trust in love one more time, no matter how bad it hurt.  Love is the only thing on earth that heals the pain.  No one is better off alone, but like I've said before, everybody leaves.  By way of death or indifference, everybody's time in our lives has an expiration date, and I am ok with that.

To be happy in the midst of the struggle is not always easy.  When you're stressed to keep a job, or find a job, it's hard not to wonder where next month's rent is coming from.  It took a leap of faith for me to stop worrying. The good Lord has never let me down, and I don't want to doubt that now.

We're going to suffer in this life.  It is my personal belief that how we handle the suffering determines the reward on the other side.  If we get all bogged down and frustrated and negative about everything,  the light at the end of the tunnel is just a way out.  We don't appreciate it.

We need to stop worrying so much. Take it one day at a time and stop looking for problems that don't exist yet.  You may get hit by a train on your way to work tomorrow, but that doesn't mean you rewrite your will every night or take a different path that doesn't take you across the tracks.  Live today.  Kiss your babies. Love your mommas. Just stop stressing.

And that's my soap box speech today.  God bless.

The next phase

It dawned on me today, while sitting in Sunday service no doubt, that we always seem to be looking forward to the next phase in life.  I hear people all the time. "I can't wait to get married." "I can't wait until we have kids." "I can't wait for this baby to be born!" "Oh will I ever sleep through the night again?" "Will the terrible 2's ever end?" "Ugh, I can't wait until he's 4, because apparently the terrible 2's were just a warm up for the terrorist 3's."   We're always looking forward to what's coming next. Do we ever live in the now? 

I'll admit I'm right there with the rest of the world in stressing over the future.  Between work, family, sports, kids, the sig and my ex, there's no shortage of anxiety here.  A few things occurred to me today though. Far sooner than I am ready my youngest won't call for his Nan every time he gets in trouble.  My oldest doesn't use the word "riven room"  anymore.  My 3 year old will soon refuse to kiss me in public. There won't be toys left in the bottom of the bath tub forever.  All this makes me nostalgic.  Those tiny socks will soon turn into full grown sizes, and the cute little puppy love will evolve into full blow heart break.  I'm not ready.  

I miss the days when my sweet girl would ask 100 times a day to watch "the goo goo moo moo."  I would grit my teeth, but now that my sweet angry German wants to watch "the boog"  every single day over and over and over, I let him. I don't say no.  We know every word.  I've learned over time that when the kids ask you to sit down and color with them, you drop everything and color.  They won't ask forever.  There may be years with no crayons in the house, so I smile as I clean out their pockets.  Between the skittles between the couch cushions and matchbox cars lined in the window sill, they each bring a smile and quite frequently with them a misty eye. 

I am excited for what the next step in this life brings, but I am not ready to let go of what's going on now.  Soon enough I'll be meeting the parents of my children's significant others, and my heart will ache for the simple days.  You know, the days when changing pajamas was an accomplishment and brushing your hair was a privilege.  Whew! Who would've thought we'd ever be thankful for 2 hours of sleep, nonconsecutive at that and forgetting to eat all day long, because we were too busy cleaning up after the meals of the little ones?  

Yes, I'm looking forward to the future, but I am not stressing it.  As far as I'm concerned, these are the best years of our lives, and those to come will only be better.