Good Cheer

Project Good Cheer is going well, thanks for asking.

Even the quasi-road trip we took on Sunday was fairly cheerful thanks to my conscious effort to be effervescent and witty and well, not-bitchy or whiny.

So yes, it’s going well.

And other than the middle of the night lapse in good cheer, everyone is benefitting from my efforts.

The girls both seem to be more relaxed in the evenings. Tom’s more pleasant was we go about our evening routines.

And I know that this pleasantness is partially how I perceive it. He probably hasn’t even changed his tones or words or even moods.

But I have and that’s all the difference.

One day last week, Tom moved some kiwi he’d bought earlier in the week. He put it on the counter more in the open. He said in passing, “Maybe this will remind me to cut one of those up for Olivia.”

And I nodded and continued what I was doing it. I never once thought, “He’s saying that because he thinks you’re a lazy cow and he knows you won’t get around to cutting those kiwi up for her.”

No, I didn’t let myself think that. That’s not what he’d said and I was going to take what he said at face value. I’m tired of getting myself all in a lather over imagining what he’s implying instead of hearing what he’s saying and accepting it as what he meant.

Even when he continued a few minutes later with, “Or, if you think of it, you could cut them up.” I didn’t let my thoughts go further than that. I didn’t read into it. I just nodded again and continued the evening with good cheer.

I realize that this is not something I can always do but while I can, I’m making the most of it.

I want to build memories of happy, relaxed evenings with my girls. I want them to look back at their childhood and feel good about it. I want them to remember their mother as someone who enjoyed their company, someone who loved them with abandon and who took joy in their stories.

I don’t want them to only remember my tiredness, my stress, my anger.

But that’s not to say I want to hide all that from them. I am okay with them knowing I’m human, flawed.

But let’s make the good parts outshine the bad, shall we?

Uh Huh

Olivia has taken to answer questions in the affirmative with an, “Uh huh.”

As in, “Olivia, do you want a waffle for breakfast?”

Olivia will utter, “Uh huh.” The nod that accompanies her little throat utterance confirms that she does, in fact, want a waffle for breakfast.

It’s cute. And yet…it’s also slightly annoying. I’d prefer she continue to use the “Yesh.” Of yesterday (okay, last week, whatever.)

So we’re in the ‘uh huh’ phase.

I have to admit that this is better than the infant stage, where we suffered the screaming phase for several months. Or Alyssa’s phase when she was four to eight weeks old. Every single evening she fussed from 4pm until 9pm. Nothing pleased her. And the thing was, she never really cried, she just made this horrible, fussy sound.

But one night when she was nine weeks old or so, I realized we’d made it through the fussing hours without the fussing. The phase was over.

The thing about phases is that they end and new ones begin and we, as parents, have no real control over these phases. We can try and change the behavior that is accompanying the phase but in the end, we have to weather the phase and come out the other side.

I’ve been in the bad sleep phase forever.

I know, I know, this is such a boring topic because I’ve bitched about it so many times I can’t even stand it myself.

And yet, I know this is a phase. Surely O won’t be waking me up four times a night when she’s nine or twelve or seventeen. Right? Oh dear heaven, please tell me I’m right.

This morning even the cuteness of an ‘uh huh’ couldn’t stop me from snapping at her when she woke me up for the fourth time at 4:30am. She woke up at 1am asking me to take off her nasty pull-up. She woke up at 2am wanting me to scratch her back. (For the record, no scratching occurred.) She woke me up at 3am asking me to let her lay with me. She asked for a tissue at 4am.

Finally, at 4:30 she rolled over and asked me when we were going to get up.

I’d had it. I told her we weren’t getting up because wasn’t MORNING yet and that she needed to not talk to me anymore while it was still dark.

Harsh? Maybe. But I’m not wallowing in mommy guilt over this one. Girlfriend is FIVE years old. 5p- or not, she knows that night time is for sleep.

So I rolled away from her and tried to sleep for the last hour before the alarm went off.

And guess who had to be woken up at 6:40 this morning?

Uh huh. It was Olivia.

When I asked her if she was tired, she replied, “Uh huh.”

I wonder why.

You Gotta See the Baby...

Yesterday we made a trip south to see Isaac, the new grandson. He’s seven weeks old now and while Tom made the trip soon after he was born, this was the first time the girls and I got down there to see him.

The girls and I hadn’t seen Tom’s older sons and their families since we moved into our new house back in fall of 2010. But to be fair, even when we lived just a few miles away, we didn’t see them all that often. Easter, Christmas, birthdays…that was pretty much it.

So I refuse to feel guilty about moving 75 miles away since Tom actually still sees the boys just about as often as he did before.

Anyway!!!

The baby is adorable. He looks just like his big brother and sister. And they look just like their mom, so yeah, cute kids.

But…wow was he fussy. Poor baby. Poor Momma too. She was tired from a rough night the night before and with the baby fussing and fussing and then fussing some more for the fun of it, I could tell she wasn’t really into having company.

I get that. I do. See, hearing that poor baby fuss took me back to O’s first few months and wow, can I say I’m so freaking glad we’ll never face another infant stage again? Does that make me a bad step-grandma?

So be it.

I felt for K, my step-son’s wife. She’s got three kids under five years old. Her first two kids were good sleepers from the beginning and it looks like the littlest doesn’t plan to follow in his big sibs’ foot steps.

And see, this young woman, bless her, wants to put on a brave face. She wants to show the world that they are the perfect family, that life is wonderful and grand and there are never any rough patches.

I get that need. I do. And yet…I often feel like we moms need to stick together and sometimes admit that it can suck. That doesn’t mean it always sucks but it can suck. Admitting that doesn’t mean we don’t adore our children but it does mean that sometimes, we’re at the end of our rope.

It was a nice day for a bit of a road trip. Tom was gracious enough to drive. Okay, fine, I plunked my butt down in the passenger seat and refused to move. Whatever, the end result was the same. He drove, I dealt with the girls, who are seasoned travelers, so all went well.

On the drive home, my mom called me and asked if seeing that baby gave me any ideas on the baby-front. Dear heaven no! It made me grateful that my ovaries are old and my IUD is new and that Tom is on the same page as far as us being done having babies. Whew!

Guilt-Free Epiphany

Last night the experiment began. The conscious decision to bask in my family’s love and adoration rather than run from it or endure with a sigh and gritted teeth.

Yes, I know how awful that sounds. Imagine how awful it was to feel that way? Or, even worse, how awful it must have been to be Tom or Alyssa or Olivia and deal with me feeling that way? My poor family.

But I’m not beating myself up over past behavior. I can’t do that or I will never get past any of this.

Instead, I’m moving forward. The experiment last night was awesome. It was wonderful.

We were all so relaxed and we smiled and laughed.

That old saying, “If mom’s not happy, no one’s happy.” It’s true. One person truly can set the tone of the entire household.

It’s an awesome responsibility to be that one person. But since I am, I have to consciously choose happiness. I have to be thankful for the love that my family lavishes on me. I have to embrace the fact that they want to be near me and I have to realize that I’m truly lucky in this.

But the most amazing thing about last night isn’t that I was able to pull off kindness for several hours in a row.

No. Though that was a pretty amazing endeavor, if I do say so myself.

No, the most amazing thing that happened was that I realized that I can say no to a request and not feel guilty about saying no.

How did I figure this out? I said no to something with kindness in my voice. I said no to a request from each member of my family with a smile on my face and an explanation that I was already doing something else and if I had time, I’d get to their request soon. But if not, perhaps they could figure something else out.

I also realized that an ounce of kindness can go for miles. And martyrdom is never, ever appreciated.

I know that my family would rather I just get over myself and go be alone for ten minutes than to do something I don’t want to do while sighing and huffing and puffing and rolling my stupid eyes the entire time. There’s no grace in that.

But there is grace in saying calmly and kindly, “Mommy is going to go upstairs and use the bathroom. I’ll be back in just a few minutes. You can stay here with Daddy while I’m gone and when I get back, I’ll do that thing you asked me to do ten minutes ago.”

Everyone is happy with that. Even me. Imagine that.

Actions

This morning started too early. Every morning does, though, doesn’t it?

For the last few nights/mornings Olivia has slept really well, waking up only after I’ve gone into the bathroom and turned on the light to start the day.

This morning, however, she woke up about fifteen minutes before my alarm went off. She wanted to lay with me but she wanted her “nasty pull-up” off first. (Her words, not mine.)

So she snuggled in but she wasn’t interested in going back to sleep. She wanted to chat.

I listened as I dozed and finally, when the alarm did go off, O was up and running. She wanted to wear this dress and those socks and don’t forget her new ballet shoes that Gram picked up for her at a garage sale yesterday. And could she please go down and watch hew new ballet movie before breakfast.

Ugh, yes, go. Ask Daddy to put in the movie and start it.

Before O was out the door and down the stairs, Alyssa was up, glowering at us all. (Alas, poor dear is so very much like her mother.) She went about getting dressed on her own with little conversation. Did I mention she’s a lot like me?

The morning progressed and we were rounding up our routine, teeth were brushed, hair was dried, etc. And then I went up to comb my wet hair. Three seconds after I started, Alyssa joined me in the bathroom to brush her own hair. She’d had to bring the brush with her as it’s usually used in the bathroom downstairs.

And I was graceless and bitchy. I didn’t actually say anything. But I sighed and combed and thought mean thought about how I couldn’t even have five damned minutes alone to comb my stupid hair. Like I said, graceless and bitchy.

Five seconds after Alyssa left to go back downstairs, Olivia arrived to make sure I wasn’t lonely as I continued to stew and comb my hair.

Finally, we all emerged outside to wait the last five minutes before I had to leave. It was a lovely spring morning, a hint of the coming humidity in the air.

At one point, Tom, Alyssa and Olivia were talking to me, each trying to be heard over the other two.

I thought to myself that it’s hard to be everyone’s favorite.

And yet…that’s just it. I am. I’m the one they all want to be with. I’m the one they all wait for anxiously to get home and I’m the one they all want to respond to whatever they’re saying or doing with a kind smile or a nice comment.

There are moments when I do manage that but I’m ashamed to admit that there are more moments when I wish for five minutes of alone time, five minutes to go down to the basement and throw the wet clothes into the dryer.

But this morning as I was driving to work, I had an epiphany. It hit me hard that rather than lamenting my lack of time alone, I should be rejoicing in the fact that my three favorite people return my love. That they each want to be with me. That I bring them comfort, my mere presence gives them joy.

I need to stop saying I love them and start showing it. I need to stop being such a bitch and sighing when one of the girls arrives at the bathroom door and instead, I need to smile at them and show them how happy I am to see them, even if I just saw them ten seconds ago.

I know today is May 3rd but I’m making a resolution anyway. I resolve to be happy when any member of my family seeks me out. I resolve to listen more attentively to my husband when he’s talking to me and to be more present with my children when they’re telling me about their day or their dreams or their fears.

I resolve to stop selfishly hoarding my quiet time and start sharing it with the people I love most in the world. It’s the very least I can do for them.

Actions speak so much more loudly than words. And I resolve that my actions will be loving, my words will be softer and kinder.

I will stop being such a bitch and start being a better wife and mother.

Last Minute Mothering

Warning: Bad Mommy Moment coming up…

It’s been a tough week at work. Inventory on Monday wiped me right out. I was very physically tired and yet sort of wired. It was ugly.

Yesterday was a bunch of waiting, which is just as tiring as being busy. You just end up being a different kind of tired.

So when Alyssa announced last night that today was the day of their class pen pal party, I think I lost my mind for a little while.

I distinctly remembered her giving me the form asking parents to contribute food/drink to this party as well as asking if parents were willing to attend the party and help with activities.

This was at least a month ago. I remember signing the paper, saying we’d bring drinks and I’d love to attend the party. Off it went to Alyssa’s teacher.

The very next day, I came to work and filled out a vacation request for the day of the party.

And then I forgot about it all.

Except, I sort of, in the back of my mind, though about the fact that later this month, I have a vacation day coming up so I can attend a party in Alyssa’s class.

Then, last night, she was telling me it was today. And I was SURE it couldn’t possibly be today. I mean, I’d KNOW if it was today, wouldn’t I? I’d put in for a vacation day and everything and I was just positive that the teachers must have changed the date on us because, duh, I’d know if I had a vacation day the very next day.

I decided I’d run into the local grocery store (where everything is more expensive than the Walmart that is 18 miles away instead of three miles away) and bought two jugs of Hawaiian Punch and 100 paper cups. I’d wanted to get small bottles of water because I really do think it’s better than sugary beverages but…this grocery store didn’t have the smaller bottles at a decent price and I wasn’t going to spend almost $5 for 24 full-sized bottles of water when I knew the kids were more than likely going to waste it anyway.

I told Alyssa I’d take the drinks to the school this morning, talk to her teacher about the party and head to work to get a least a little work done before the party.

She seemed okay with that.

This morning, my phone rang at 6:05. Two-hour delay due to fog. Whoo-freaking-hooo!

I made a deal with Tom. I’d take Olivia to my mom’s if he’d take the punch to the school later today. I’d call the teacher for the details of the party, if it was even still happening and we’d all be happy.

I got to work and looked at the calendar…d’oh…I had today scheduled as a vacation day. I am such a jerk! Seriously.

But there was still so much work to do that I was vaguely relieved that I’d forgotten about the vacation day so I could get the work done and save the day for another, nicer day when I don’t have so much waiting for me on my desk when I get back.

I called the school, left a message with A’s teacher. At 8:40, my phone rang again. School was closed due to the weather. Wheeee! I called Tom, I called my mom, through me they arranged for my mom to drop O off at home at noonish.

We’re hoping the pen pal party is rescheduled and if it is, Alyssa and I are going to write the date on our calendar together, so I won’t be caught in another bad mommy moment like last night.

But hey, even though I feel like a big jerk, I do take consolation in the fact that while at the grocery store last night, we ran into three of Alyssa’s classmates and their haggard-looking mothers. Perhaps I wasn’t the only one who forgot to write the date of party on the calendar. Misery does love company after all.

Heaven

Last night I was tired. So, so tired. Not so much sleepy as I was physically worn out. We had a tough, physical day at work yesterday and it took a lot of out of me.

Olivia and I were sitting in the rocking chair. She was draped across my lap as she often is in the evenings as I try to lull her to sleep.

There was no lulling this child. She was busy, she was thinking. She had questions and was demanding answers.

We have a hanging lamp in the corner behind the rocking recliner where O and I were sitting. It’s an amber glass globe with etched roses all over it. It’s prettier than I just described.

It casts interesting and pretty shadows along the wall and ceiling.

Olivia was enthralled. She asked, “What happens if we go into that light?”

I was half listening and responded, “What do you think happens?”

She said, “I think we’d die.”

That got my attention. I looked down at her and she was grinning at me.

She asked, “What happens when we die?”

I told her we go to heaven and live with God and Jesus and are surrounded by peace and love.

Oh, my did that get her going. She was fascinated by the idea of heaven and God and Jesus. She kept looking back up at the light and saying, “That light is heaven.”

It got to the point that it was almost eerie, as if she was talking about more than the lamp behind me, as if she could see into that light and was seeing The Light, if you know what I mean.

We continued to rock and I continued to field her questions about heaven and death and light and love.

Finally, out of the blue she suggested, “Maybe we’re in heaven now. We have lots of love and light.”

Wow…deep thoughts from a five year old, right?

But maybe she’s right. Maybe God is so good to us that He is giving us a glimpse of heaven right here on earth, that glimpse being the pure, true love of a trusting child.

I kissed her cheek and pushed myself to my feet. Olivia was still cradled in my arms. We trudged off to bed, my aching knees and hips protesting with every step up to the bedroom. But my heart was full, my head was swimming with thoughts of love, light, heaven and peace on earth as viewed by a five year old.