Crazyville, Population: Me

Posted by Missy in Family | 12 comments

If you’re seeing weird formatting below, as I am, I apologize. Something technical is going on here, and I don’t excel at technical. Will work on fixing this before the next post… Thanks!

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The other day was perfect. The children were in full-on adorable mode, and even I held myself together quite nicely. We laughed and played and thoroughly enjoyed ourselves. And yes, I’m writing this here partly to have a permanent record of the fact that we all behaved for one entire day.

I’m also writing it because at the end of the day I didn’t think, “This day was a smashing success and I am so blessed!”

I ended the day thinking, “Oh, Lord, don’t let this day be our last one together.”

What? What is wrong with me and why did I go there?

When she spoke at Blissdom, Brene Brown told a fictional story about a family out for a drive at Christmas, having one of those picture-perfect family moments. I’m paraphrasing in the extreme here, but she painted a picture of peace and joy. Of near-Norman Rockwellian bliss.

As she spoke, I was thinking, “Oh, please don’t end this story by telling me a tractor trailer ran over their car, killing them all instantly.”

Turns out, I am a good student, because that is exactly what she knew I would think. No, the family didn’t die. They had a fantastic Christmas, visions of sugar plums and all. Ms. Brown’s point was that most of us do exactly what I did. We ruin all joy, refusing to revel in it, by assuming the worst.

We do it for a number of reasons, including my favorite – and the one at the top of my personal Crazyville list – we think if we imagine the worst, it won’t happen. Like we can control the world with our minds. My own self doesn’t listen to me half the time, making it absurd to think my mind has power over anything else on the planet.

In the process of dwelling on worst-case scenarios and imagining fiery crashes, we eliminate our joy. We effectively tell ourselves we don’t deserve to dwell in joy, because then something terrible is going to happen. And boy won’t we feel stupid when it happens. I was so happy, and now look, we’re all dead. If I had prepared for this death by walking through life like Eeyore, this never would have happened.

Bullshit.

Of course it’s bullshit. We deserve to experience every ounce of joy we can squeeze from our lives. And we should hold tight to it, because – as we’ve discussed – we have no control over where things are going.

I heard Brene Brown speak in January, and since then I’ve done a good job of holding it all together. I’ve worked hard to be present, to let my emotions do their thing. Happy, sad, excited, scared. I’ve felt it all and then some. I’m not sure how successful I’ve been, but I have worked at being more open, accessible. If that means it hurts sometimes when things don’t go how I hoped, that’s okay. At least I was there; at least I tried.

In the last few weeks, however, I feel a backslide. Maybe it’s kindergarten looming. Maybe it’s attempting to reclaim my professional self and try my hand at some new writing endeavors. Maybe I’m just nuts.

This morning I had a babysitter scheduled so I could steal away and work for a couple hours. Before I left, my two year old asked me to read I Love You Through and Through four times. And he said I yuv ewe, mommy, while clinging to my neck. The five year old wept when I left, begging to go with me so he could spend time with me.

Did I think, What beautiful, sweet children? Yes, I did. But I also thought, Oh, God, what do they know that I don’t? Are their sensitive, intuitive souls picking up on impending doom?

The insanity, it’s rampant. I can see the city limit sign from here and it says: Crazyville, Population: You, crazy lady! Get it together.

I know the answer is to consciously choose joy. To work at it. And to not accept anything less. But I’m really doing a terrible job with that right now.

I wonder…

:: How do you reign in the crazy when you feel yourself going there?

:: Any tried and true exercises for staying in the present and enjoying your life, rather than worrying it away? (Me, I know how well I do when I am prayerful, so why don’t I do that?)

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Today

Posted by Missy in Family | 24 comments

24 comments

Know Your Audience

Posted by Missy in Family | 16 comments

After my five year old’s well check today we went for treats. Shots always equal treats.

He took that shot like a man. You know, a lot of dramatic anticipation and some subtle tears, shrouded in a tough guy act. But even had he melted down at shot time, we would have gone for treats. Because that’s what you do.

And because throughout the entire exam he was a perfect gentleman. He acted like an actual person. In the day-to-day grind of “I don’t want to” and “you’re the meanest mommy” and “he hit me first and took that toy and why can’t I sit there,” it’s easy to forget that our kids are people.

As H talked to the doctor today, politely answering questions and following directions, my pride puffed a little. I thought, Forget getting a treat, singular, that small person could talk me into a dozen cookies or an ice cream parlor.

Thankfully he didn’t ask for a Ben & Jerry’s franchise. I’m not prepared for a full time scoop shop job.

Instead we went to Central Market and picked up a couple of peanut butter cookies, a coffee for me, and a pro-biotic shake for H.

On the way home H talked wistfully about how super good and dee-licious his cookie was.

“I love peanut butter cookies, Mom.”

“Me, too. They’re one of my favorites.”

“But I like them more than you do, Mom. Go ahead, tell me the number you like them, like a number for how much they’re your favorite, and I bet you that I like them more.”

“Um, I haven’t assigned them a number, buddy. I just like them.”

“But I thought you said they were your favorite, and how can that be if you don’t know the number? Like are they your number 1 favorite or your number 20 favorite?”

“Bud, I just can’t answer that.”

And here’s where I think I’m going to seize a Mom Moment, what with him acting like a real person today. Here’s where I decide to share some deep, philosophical thinking with my five year old.

I think I know my audience. And it’s time to wow that audience.

We drive, and I talk. I talk about how our tastes grow and change with us. I explain that when I was his age I hated fish, but now I love it. H is so quiet in the back seat, I assume he’s listening, nodding with all the wisdom of his five years.

I go for the big closer.

“That’s one of the best things about life, H. You grow, you change, you learn new things. Today peanut butter cookies are your favorite, but one day it might be oatmeal chocolate chip. It’s a big world. Don’t be afraid to change your mind and try new things.”

Silence.

“H-man, what do you think? Isn’t it exciting that there are always new things to try?”

A mumbled uh, a beat of silence and finally, he speaks.

“Hey mom, that is crazy.”

This is where I think I’ve nailed it. I’ve imparted some words to live by. Who knows her audience, baby?

“My tongue got caught in my pro-bionic drink. It was awesome!”

I wonder…

:: When’s the last time you had a conversation with your kids only to realize you were sharing a Deep Thoughts moment with yourself?

:: Do you take your kids for treats after well checks?

:: What’s your favorite cookie?

16 comments

It Only Takes A Moment

Posted by Missy in Family | 18 comments

It’s been busy here lately, and rather than blog utter crap I haven’t blogged at all.

Today, though, I felt like blogging even though I’m not sure what I have to say. Lucky you (or not). We’ll find out together whether there’s a story here. Today, there’s no editing. No over thinking. I’m going to set some words free and then I’m pushing that “Publish” button.

I was already a bit behind on blogging, my focus needed for family, life and some other writing endeavors. I felt like I was moving at warp speed, focusing on all of it and none of it simultaneously.

Then, around 6:15 Monday night my world stopped momentarily. The blog, the writing, my life and everything in between disappeared.

We were sitting at dinner, about to give the boys their little Valentines treats. P, who is 21 months old, was strapped into his booster seat, and the seat was, of course, strapped to the dining chair. In his excitement over presents (“Prays!” he says), P pushed his feet against the table and launched straight back, like a tree falling in the forest.

And let me tell you, it makes a sound when the tree falls. It sounds like a clap of lightning followed by screaming. So much screaming.

I launched out of my own chair, my husband later noting that I looked like a cartoon version of myself, feet spinning, the air moving like a tornado around me. I bashed my arm on another chair, my hip on the table, nearly slipped, and narrowly missed falling on top of my wailing child, who was still strapped in his chair.

Mark and I reached P simultaneously. Mark undid the buckles while I scooped P, mouth wide with a scream, into my arms. Instinctively I put my hand on the back of his head. Within a second or two I registered warmth and wetness.

Blood. And lots of it.

According to witnesses (okay, just Mark), my face went from Mom-Fear-Thinly-Veiled-as-Mom-Comfort to Blank to Panic in a sort of slow motion montage.

We assessed the wound and realized that an ER trip was imminent. As only parents can do, we put on our grown up pants, made our faces calm and our voices even. We rallied older brother, H, into the car and gently loaded P into his seat.

I had this bizarre internal debate with myself over strapping him into his car seat. I wanted to hold him, but I knew that I could not risk further injury should we have an accident on the way to the ER. The debate didn’t last long, but deciding to put him in a car seat made me ache, deep in my chest, down through my gut. The mom soul.

Once again I was reminded that there is no end to a mother’s ability to feel… what? To feel pain, guilt, fear, doubt. And to feel strength, courage, faith.

The rest of the story is standard fare, thank God. P calmed down as soon as the car started rolling. He talked about the lights and cars we saw on the way, and I was reassured. A mother’s mind automatically goes to brain injury when her child’s head splits open. It was comforting to hear him chatter, to see him coherently take in his surroundings.

In the end, P got two staples in his head. He took them like a champ, sat up and said, “Home. Night-night.” Mark and I looked at him and said, “Yes, sir. That is exactly what we have in mind.”

And then I choked back a sob of grateful relief.

This was not our first trip to the ER. It was not even our first trip with P. Twice before – before this most recent incident – I’ve felt time freeze and had fear render me temporarily blind, numb, breathless.

Twice, and now a third time, we’ve been abundantly blessed. The accidents, while scary in the moment, have been mild. Things often look way worse than they are. Yet another lesson motherhood hands us.

In my life with this little daredevil, danger magnet, I’m sure there will be more scary moments. And I will never be prepared for any of it. How could I be?

My prayer, though, is that it’s never scarier than this. That when it’s all said and done, we’ll be laughing, joking about our little Massive Headwound Harry, and saying prayers of thanksgiving that the world only stopped for a moment. And that once it started turning again, we were all whole, healthy and together.

18 comments

Vegetarian Veterinarians

Posted by Missy in Family | 22 comments

The other day Mark and I tried to have a conversation in the car. Mistake number one.

We were talking about an article, or maybe a show? I don’t remember. It was something we saw or read or heard somewhere about health, specifically cancer risks. This show, or podcast, or article spoke to the cancer risks involved with consuming too much meat.

During our conversation we spelled most of the big, telling words. A discussion that should take two minutes takes us about three days when we’re in the car with H, because we have to spell everything. He is nosy. And he’s learning to spell, so I’m doomed, but that’s a whole different post.

Anyway, at one point I said, “You know, we eat a lot of vegetarian meals already, and P and I both have some very anti-meat, pro-veggie tendencies, so maybe it wouldn’t be too hard to reduce our meat consumption even more.”

I was so into our conversation that I forgot to spell. Mistake number two.

From the backseat, H, who up until that point had been talking to his brother and to some imaginary friends (yes, we have several and they are dragons, just FYI), stopped chattering and practically screamed, “What did you say about P?”

“I said, darling child of mine,* that P acts like a vegetarian sometimes.”

Incredulous, “What?”

“P. He’s a bit of a vegetarian.”

“Mom, he’s way too little to take care of animals.You are crazy, silly.”

“Not a veterinarian, sweetie, a vegetarian. Someone who doesn’t eat meat.”

“Why don’t the people who take care of animals like to eat meat?”

“Okay, let’s back up. First, veterinarians, like your uncle M, take care of animals. The word veterinarian describes their job, not what they eat.”

Skeptically, as if I am about to punk him, H says, “Okay…”

“And then we have vegetarians. Those are people who don’t eat meat. They can have any job in the world. The word vegetarian just describes what they eat, not what their job is.”

“Okay. I see. Since Uncle M takes care of animals, he doesn’t like to eat them?”

After that I screamed, silently, in my head for a moment. Then I got the giggles. Who’s on first? anyone? Once I recovered, we re-reviewed the two words. Eventually he got the concept. I think.

I wonder…

:: Do you spell everything when you talk around your kids or do you just wait until they’re asleep to talk?

:: If you’re a vegetarian, what are your favorite resources: web sites, cookbooks, etc.?

*Some editorial liberties taken here.

22 comments