Tiny Bubbles

Life is upside-down but back to normal. Dad-dy (as my two-year-old says) has returned.

Back to the goal:
Live, Love, Laugh and have fun.

With great pride I relate the following story to you. I believe I demonstrated incredible restraint and control, while relishing the moment. A feat that I must brag is completely aligned with my goal!

Returning from an overseas jaunt, daddy never fails to entertain and delight the kiddies with wonderful gifts, stories of adventure and new-fangled toys. One deserves mentioning. He began with, "I never imagined our outdoor fun was over, this may not be appropriate now"..., and ended with handing the kids their own bubble-makers. Of course, no new toy can be left in the package or remain untouched for longer than 15 seconds, a rule I'm quickly becoming familiar with. In short order, a bubble-maker emerged from the packaging, even before I could read said packaging. Wow, bubbles you can hold and that don't go away, how exciting!

In shear minutes the room was filled with bubbles, bubbles that floated in midair, bubbles that skidded along the floor as we walked, bubbles that made little guy squeal in delight and big guy laugh uncontrollably. Bubbles that made mom giggle and dad nervous. Someone turned the stereo on, and then the dancing began, dancing and rolling around the floor in bubbles, tiny, floating and skidding bubbles. Uncontrolled craziness.

My mom voice kept whispering in the back of my head, this can't be good. This won't lead anywhere good. Someone will get hurt..., someone will take an eye out..., the hardwood floor..., the leather couch..., someone will need to clean up this mess... I held back, I didn't let my mom voice out. I was biting my tongue, I was holding my breath. And then, dad--dy said it, "OK, boys, that's enough, you're making a mess!"

The mom voice was right. There was a layer of white goo on everything. The leather couch, the hardwood floor, the walls... It's three days later and I found a shrunken bubble on the hutch in the dining room. Big problem? Nothing a little Windex couldn't fix...

The last time I had so much fun I was 19 and we had returned to our friends' home after a night at the bar. A case of the munchies, a decision to make popcorn, and a crazed and very inebriated cook had similar results. Imagine a

Life is upside-down, but back to normal, DAD---dy (as 2 year old would say), has returned.

Back to the goal:
Live, love, laugh and have fun.

With great pride I relate the following story to you. I believe I demonstrated incredible restraint and control, while relishing the moment. A feat that I must brag is completely aligned with my goal!

Returning from an overseas jaunt, daddy never fails to entertain and delight the kiddies with wonderful gifts, stories of adventure and new-fangled toys. One deserves mentioning. He began with, "I never imagined our outdoor fun was over, this may not be appropriate now...", and ended with handing the kids their own bubble-makers. Of course, no new toy can be left in the package or remain untouched for longer than 15 seconds, a rule I'm quickly becoming familiar with. In short order, a bubble-maker emerged from the packaging, even before I could read said packaging. Wow, bubbles you can hold and that don't go away, how exciting!

In shear minutes the room was filled with bubbles, bubbles that floated in midair, bubbles that skidded along the floor as we walked, bubbles that made little guy squeal in delight and big guy laugh uncontrollably. Bubbles that made mom giggle and dad nervous. Someone turned the stereo on, and then the dancing began, dancing and rolling around the floor in bubbles, tiny, floating and skidding bubbles. Uncontrolled craziness.

My mom voice kept whispering in the back of my head, this can't be good. This won't lead anywhere good. Someone will get hurt..., someone will take an eye out..., the hardwood floor..., the leather couch..., someone will need to clean up this mess... I held back, I didn't let my mom voice out. I was biting my tongue, I was holding my breath. And then, dad-dy said it, "OK, boys, that's enough, you're making a mess!"

The mom voice was right. There was a layer of white goo on everything. The leather couch, the hardwood floor, the walls... It's three days later and I found a shrunken bubble on the hutch in the dining room. Big problem? Nothing a little Windex doesn't fix...

The last time I had so much fun I was 19 and feeling no pain, it was a wee hour in the morning, and the bar had closed. I was gathered with a number of equally painless school friends at our most unlucky friend's apartment. We all had munchies and someone had a bright idea to make popcorn. As it was back in pre-microwave popcorn days, the popcorn and oil were heated in a pot on the stove. Our self-appointed chef; probably the least qualified for the job, knew the intricacies of good popcorn. He waited for the popcorn to begin popping, and then began to gently shake the pot. Just as everything seemed to be going smoothly and we imagined we were minutes away from a bowl of butter (yes, real butter) covered popcorn, an evil glint and mischievous smile appeared on the chef's face. He yelled, "Free for all!!," as he lifted the lid off the pot and; laughing insanely, continued to shake it, ducking and weaving to avoid hot flying missiles of popcorn. Popcorn flew across every corner of the 500 sq. ft. apartment, we threw it in the air, rolled in it, and laughed uncontrollably at our chef, as he seemed to enter a 'zone', ducking and weaving, ducking and weaving, insanely laughing throughout. Someone had to clean up that mess, too... At 19, that wasn't something that even crossed my mind!

So much has changed since I was 19. Many changes I'm glad for. I'm far from a confused and self-conscious adolescent, and that's a good thing. Some of the things I miss are the adventures, the excitement, the friendships, and the laughs. Think about it, if we were to put a penny into a piggybank each time we laughed from the time we were 2 to 20, and take one out for every time we laughed beginning when we were 20, how old do you think you would be before you emptied the bank? I know I would be over 60, in fact, I would be surprised if I EVER emptied the bank!

A Day at a Time

So, who remembers that great sitcom, 'One Day at a Time'? Doesn't it take on new meaning once you're a mom? I'd love to get a glimpse of an episode again, I would imagine that Valerie Bertinelli's slick '70's teen image would fit right in with today's teens. Oooh... I so wanted to be cool and sassy like her!

I realized that these posts get read backwards, so I decided I need to re-state my focus each time. Here it is:

I'm committed to living without guilt and dedicating my energy to living, loving, laughing, and fun!

I'm just days into living my new life; and, much like a diet, or the decision to quit smoking, it's on my mind constantly. I'm very grouchy, and I keep looking in the fridge... OK, I admit, the looking-in-the-fridge problem existed before, maybe even the grouchiness.

Honestly, It's harder than I thought. The snags I keep running into revolve around my children. It seems that when I am in my happy, pleasant and loving parent mode, my oldest doesn't take me seriously. When something needs to get done; I ask, and then I ask; and later I ask... and finally I let the mean, grouchy ogre out and I demand, then I threaten, then... magically, it get's done. I'm working on getting some action on the first 'nice' ask, but resistance is strong.

I keep saying to myself: It's a marathon, not a sprint, persistence and diligence will win the race. I hope I have the fortitude.

Now for the good part, the moment... This time, the moment didn't seem to be coming along on it's own, so I went out to make it happen. You got it, I hit the mall! If you recall the last post, snow was everywhere, well, it still is. Once I brushed nearly a foot of wet and heavy snow off my vehicle, warmed it up, and got the kids in, my carefully teased 'do and neatly applied lipstick had seen better days. A quick fluff and touch-up in the mirror made me feel mall-worthy again, and I trecked through the parking lot pushing the stroller, a mopey 7 year-old dragging along behind. I was on a mission to bring consolation, happiness or maybe just new clothes into my life. I've been thinking about just the extravagant addition to my wardrobe that would turn me into a chic, happenin' kinda girl. Once I arrived at my destination, it took only moments to set my sights on the target, but I would need to return. My strategic mom-sense told me it was essential to appease the troups. I found a delectably sweet cinnamon treat that would do the trick. Now, I could sneak up on my prey!

It was some time ago, but my target first came into my sights as Sarah Jessica Parker strutted her stuff against a white background next to a jazzy guitar-playing hip kinda guy. My first thought was, WOW, she just had a baby and she's no younger than me; my second, maybe those jeans would make me look like that, too (yeah, right!). At any rate, I knew what I wanted, and I knew where to find it. It was worth a trip to the mall, an hour in a dressing room, trying on 10 pairs of pants, and all in the company of my rather patient, but captive, boys. Only $80.00 later, I had a knowing smile on my face and a GAP bag draped on the arm of my stroller. Fait accompli!

Sometimes, you just need to grab fate by the hand...

Fun-Loving and Fancy Free

OK, not quite. Let's just call me a work-in-progress. You know, Rome wasn't built in a day!

First I must confess my sins.

I admit to racing around my house at a frantic pace in preparation for my mother-in-law's visit -- ensuring all surfaces were clean, my two year old's last meal wasn't stuck to the floor, and the cracker spill in the pantry made it into the vacuum. Is that a sin, or is it survival? Full awareness of the Mother-in-law News Network (MNN for short), fills me with forboding. In the end my race began too late and I got caught in cleaning mode -- a much better impression, the smell of Mr. Clean in the kitchen and the vacuum out in the living room.

I also admit to a harried and treacherous cross-city trip in a snowstorm -- just to make it to my son's hockey game. Why? Isn't that what hockey moms do? Alone with my children while hubby is away somewhere across the world, I've been tasked with getting son #1 to all scheduled hockey activities while dragging along 2 year old son #2. Normally, the feat of pushing the stroller carrying the bulky and heavy hockey bag the length of a soccer field into the arena is enough, yesterday it was through slushy snow, and a chilling wind. That's only the beginning -- gearing up son #1 in a crowded, sweaty dressing room while son #2 runs away, screams, and eats cheerios off the floor (yeach) is another. Definitely, I am a warrior!

OK, there was another, even more tell-tale sin. Yes, I did decline an invitation to a movie with my brother and his wife. The decision was easier than it should have been. After all, I've been on my own with the boys for two weeks, been sole-provider and caregiver. A night out was not only warranted but important for sanity. My excuse? There was a blinding snow storm, you know! The fifteen minute drive was too much to consider after spending over an hour on the road for hockey and another hour in a cold arena. Sensible, don't you think?

Finally, down to the good stuff.

My precious moment yesterday? Once the rucus and commotion of gearing up a seven-year-old for hockey was done. Son #2 and I took to the stands armed with popcorn and a pop for the big game. With sweet innocence my, normally unstoppable, little boy sat on my lap taking everything in with rapt attention. He oohed at the ref as he blew his whistle. He called out his brother's name and cheered as he went by. He jumped when the crowd roared; at first searching my eyes in fear, and then; recognizing the positive energy, clapping and roaring in kind. Together we cheered and laughed, feeling the action and excitement on the ice. Through the eyes of my two year old an average hockey game was transformed into a wondrous and exciting event filling me with renewed excitement, pride and happiness. At that moment I knew, I was right where I needed to be. And everything else? It was worth the precious 60 minutes of bliss.

My First Entry!!

Who would have thought this could be so easy! I've only recently heard about blogging and who would have guessed that within days I would have my own blog! Exciting!

This is the deal -- this blog is dedicated to making mom's out there feel like the goddesses we are! Yes, I said -- goddesses. You better believe it, we all rate. Ours is a righteous role, and we are all running along on that treadmill as fast as we can.

The thing is -- most of us are in a continual state of guilt because of all the things we haven't found time to do. It's a vicious circle. The guilt is an energy-sucker, lack of energy leads to less getting done...

Guilt over what's left undone, guilt over dissatisfaction with the mom role (we should gain satisfaction from nurturing and shaping our children's future, our mom's did).

Here's my take. Women's liberation changed more than the glass ceiling -- the boundaries that so clearly defined society came down, trouble is -- they weren't replaced with anything else. What I've found out from working with children is -- boundaries are essential. Without them, chaos and confusion rule. Sound familiar? Maybe not -- how has your family re-defined mom/dad/children roles?

Here's my limb. I believe that we all imagine everyone else is doing more, coping better, and more successful in creating family harmony. I'm starting to doubt it. You see, I've made a few choices in an attempt to gain control over 'the mom issue' and have found the result to be the same regardless of how I've defined my other roles. -- Guilt and inability to meet personal/societal (supposed) expectations rule!! I've been a working mom, and dissatisfied with my parenting efforts, a stay-at-home mom and dissatisfied with my personal achievement and now I am a self-employed, work-at-home mom and the day of the week will determine where my dissatisfaction lies. Is it me? Or is it that idealistic image I'm comparing myself to? How are you measuring up to your own expectations?

My solution is to change my focus. No longer am I worried about what I'm not doing, but from now on I'm focussed on living and finding love and laughter, and, oh yeah, the opportunity for fun (in many forms but mostly in the form of shopping). So welcome to my web-log, let's see how successful I am in this commitment, and if you like the idea, you're welcome to come along for the ride!!!