Stressed

Most days...I feel like THIS.

When I wake up at 3:00am and can't get back to sleep I'm worried about work, and keeping my job in an industry desperately trying to transform and evolve to stay afloat.

When I put my chin in my hand and drift off for 30 seconds while at my desk I'm worried about things at home: About paying bills and raising my children in a household where I cry at least once a week and try desperately not to let them see that.

When I put The Munchkins to bed at night, I worry about all the things we're missing out on, being in a single-parent household. I worry about all the things I never got to do, and about the mountain of things I should be doing right that minute instead of wallowing in a sense of quiet desperation. I worry about the piles of school work, the mountains of laundry, the closet of shame that's so stuffed with coats and boots and umbrellas and last year's rain boots and reusable shopping bags that we never reuse - that closet whose door I only pry open  when I'm drunk and find it all just hysterically funny. That closet talks to me...like a Parkay commercial. I worry about it all.

An amazing friend, one of the good ones, recently sent me the following:

And you know how sometimes you receive exactly the right compliment at exactly the right time?
This was it.

It's near-impossible some days to shut off the voice in my head telling me I'm not good enough, that I'm screwing things up, that I've made all the wrong choices in my life. That voice is loud, and it bounces and echoes off the caverns inside me. It settles into small cracks and slides under scar tissue. It is so much a part of me, that on some days I don't even try to shut it off, I just slog through it. That voice makes it hard to roll out of bed each morning. It makes it difficult to lie still at night. It makes it impossible to drive unless the windows are down and the radio is up to drown it out.

But, you know, that's life. 

Isn't it?

Everyone has that voice.

This is my one saving grace. 

I am priveleged to have enough good souls in my life that remind me, everyday, NOT that it will all be okay, NOT that I'm doing a good job, but rather that they feel THE EXACT SAME WAY.

Love you all.
You know who you are.

Bleeding Blue

 

So this happened today...

Fat Pants

Okay, guys, here's the thing... I don't even mind how my body looks right now. I don't. I'm in my thirties...I've had a couple of kids. My abs and I had a good run, but we're seeing other people right now, you know? Could I stand to lose 10 or 15 pounds? suuuuuuuuuuuure Could I do it if I just got my ass in gear and stopped whining about it? Without a doubt. You know what I can't do? I can't go back to my 22-year-old, twiggy-ass little pre-motherhood body. And that's a GOOD THING, people. Because I adore the person I am post-motherhood. I'm stronger, more confident, more well-read, a little wiser and a little wider and much more comfortable in my own skin. I make better decisions by the skin of my teeth these days than I ever did thoughtfully in my youth. I am more artistic, more musical, more entertained by the simple things. I dance worse than ever, but do it more often and in more public places. I stride boldly, I don't slouch. I even wear earrings and put a little lipstick on without having to be reminded to do so...some days. I can travel. I can rent cars and own homes. I can be in charge of three tiny lives even though I kill plants like it's going out of style. But all of these attributes still don't mean I can squeeze my ass into a size 2 stretch denim pair of booty shorts. Who DESIGNED these things, anyway? Hmm? Let's string them up by their toes...in their own shorts...

Role Reversal

It's begun.

I woke up in a cold sweat in the middle of the night after a particularly horrifying nightmare last night. I hadn't had one of those in a while. I dream often enough, but only when I'm stressed out or unsure do I have these truly whoppers of a nightmares. Is that even proper grammar? probably not.

Regardless, I had a million thoughts buzzing around in my head and the ripples of the nightmare were clinging to the edges of my consciousness and refusing to dissapate like good little bad dreams...

And, in the unsilence of la casa I could hear the rattling of the boychild's nighttime breathing.

They all have a night rhythm, The Munchkins. The Monkey tosses and turns and breaths slowly and deeply through her mouth. The Biz sleeps like a rock. I don't think that girls twitches once all night. And Mr. Man? He wheezes. And coughs. And rumbles. It's like having a little preview of what he'll sound like as an 80 year old man. And at that particular moment it was a very welcome sound.

Andso, in a moment of pure insecurity, I crawled out of my bed, padded down the hallway and crept into bed with Mr. Man.

Role Reversal.

I remember when The Munchkins were smaller they used to wake up for one of a dozen different reasons, and make their way silently to my bedside. They'd just stand there, breathing, inches from my face, until I'd wake up with a start. It's a particularly terrifying way to be woken up and never really seems to get any easier. And inevitably I'd greet the sun with one, two, or even three Munchkins curled up in bed with me. A little watercolor montage of these scenes flashed through my mind as I wrapped Mr. Man's Yoda quilt around my legs and curled into his bed, nudging a five foot stuffed Optimus Prime out of bed in the process.

They're growing up.

When did it happen? When did it start? Somehow, between losing teeth and skinning knees and starting school...my babies aren't babies anymore. Even The Monkey has shed the last of her baby fat this year, her spindly arms and legs covered in playing-outside bruises. Her face thinning out into big-girl smiles and wide eyes.

It happens so fast, the growing up. It's why I never stressed letting The Munchkins crawl into bed with me when they were younger. Don't get me wrong... Everyone always started out in their own beds, but nightmares and thunderstorms and lost toys were all equally acceptable reasons to pile into mom's bed at some point during the night. Because I knew, deep down, that there would come a day when they'd stop needing me in the middle of the night.

I just didn't know that I would find myself needing them just as fiercely at the same time...

Sometimes, I dream with my eyes open

 

 

The Monkey:  "Momma, Sometimes I dream with my eyes open"

Me (sighing): "Yeah, kiddo, me too"

The Monkey: "Why do you say it like it's a bad thing? That's Magic".

shit. schooled by my five-year-old.

Again.

 



Go Forth and Label!

So we’re a peanut-free household here at the ranch… Have been since the first day Mr. Man swelled up. And no one bemoans the fact very often any more. It’s just the way things are.

But The Munchkins are away from home more often than not between school, afterschool activities, and here in just a few weeks’ time…summer camp.  Now I’m not what you might call an overprotective parent, but when I get the “your son may have accidentally eaten a peanut butter granola bar…” calls (and they do come every so often) I want to wrap the kid in a bubble. It’s a little terrifying. So anything that can set my mind at ease, even just a little, is a welcome thing.

Enter kidecals stage left.

The fine folks over at kidecals.com approached me to give the product a whirl a day after The Monkey came home in tears having had to miss out on a friends birthday treat because…you guessed it…peanuts. I hopped right on their website and ordered up a batch of “No Peanuts!” Allergy alert stickers.

The Munchkins normally aren’t fond of anything that makes them stick out too far in a crowd, so they’ve never been terribly excited about allergy alert bracelets and the like, but stickers? 

 

What kid doesn’t like stickers?!?

A Medium sized order netted me 12 Medium Size decals and 24 small decals, perfect for lunch boxes, bookbags, sandwhich containers, overnight bags, anywhere The Munchkins might roam without me.

So far the decals have survived hand washing and a trip through the dishwasher with no visible wear & tear and no peeling off! Ditto the actual washer when one decal got left on a shirt. These things really do stick!  And, with summer camp quickly approaching, I can’t think of a better time to pre-label…well…everything.

The site has such a gorgeous array of all kinds of decals – you can slap your kiddos’ name and design of choice on a variety of decal shapes and sizes.  Their labels stick to any surface – including clothing – and are waterproof, dishwasher and washing machine safe. Woah. They also offer custom labels for birthdays, weddings or other special events; as well as hand-painted kids wall decals for the insta-mural effect.

And the best part? Are you ready? FREE SHIPPING.
No lie. They offer free shipping on every order! Win!

The decals arrived within a week of order in some pretty darn adorable packaging, and we’ve already run through almost the entire sheet of decals!  I’m pretty jazzed about those sweet little chalkboard style decals they offer as well…I might just have to place an order for myself here again soon!

 

If you're considering the folks over at kidecals came through with a pretty clutch offer and are giving you lovelies 15% off your next order just for being here. All you have to do is punch in the code: blinkblog at checkout to receive your discount.

You can also find them online over here  as well as facebook, twitter, instagram and, of course, pinterest!

Now, go forth, and label!

Accidental Discoveries

A Few things I learned while hiking today:

1. My father still uses everything as a teaching device, even a fall.
Especially a fall.

2. My children never sit still. Apparently this is not unusual

3. If one sits still in nature, one gets left behind. Sitting still isn't always a good thing

4. Canyon walls were meant to be climbed.

5. Point 4 was meant to be both literal and figurative. No one ever got very far in life by leaving their feet on the ground. You're welcome. 

6. My mother is still the adventurous one. I still have trouble keeping up with her after all these years.

7. I remain steady in potential crisis situations. I'm not bragging especially, as I believe this is a learned trait. Pops was always the calm eye of the storm when we were growing up. And, somewhere along the middle point of trail #3 this afternoon, we found ourselves dually transporting The Monkey across a fairly sheer rock wall with a few inches of depth for foot holds and very few handholds. We were light years behind the rest of our party, and took turns letting The Monkey hold one of our hands while encouraging her, slowly; keeping eye contact over her head and trying not to smile at the absurdity of the entire situation - crab-walking our way across a canyon; a fair fall from the creekbed below.

Sometimes, life can be like that, though. Sometimes you make the best of a muddy situation and work to remind yourself and those closest to you that there's no rush. No hurry. No need to try and keep up with the other half. Even when your heart beats steadily to the tune of 'hurry...hurry...faster...faster...' you've got to remember that life won't go on without you, even if it seems that way. Life remains, steadfastly, where you've left it when your sanity takes a little vacation. Much like ours did when convincing ourselves that taking a five-year-old across a rock wall with little-to-no-purchase was a totally valid way to spend a Tuesday afternoon... 

8. Some of my best days have occurred out of doors.  While I still maintain that I'm a bit of a homebody, there is nothing like setting off for the day with the sun warm on your head and the crunch of dried leaves underfoot to make you feel alive.

9. These are the days I want my kids to remember.
I still remember entire weekends spent camping and hiking across state parks from my own childhood. They're some of my fondest memories...and I'm going to go ahead and allow for the fact that I've completely blocked any arguing from my memory...ditto crying and/or whining that occurred in the car before and after the hiking trips...ditto any falls or spills that at the time were surely tragic in the extreme. This gives me hope. This tells me that, surely, The Munchkins will gloss over the rough edges of some of our more adventurous weekends and look back fondly on these excursions; blocking from their memory the whining and crying and arguing over the last chocolate chip cookie on the car ride home.

10. As much joy as there is in the hike, there's something to be said for crossing the suspension bridge back toward the head of the trail. Knowing there's a finish line out there waiting for you makes a trail manageable in some respects.

And if we can finish a trail...finish one hike...manage one day...why not two?
We are capable of so much more than we give ourselves credit for.
Sometimes it just takes falling in a little mud to remind us of that...