Heartbreakers

I am moving in two days and I'm desperately trying not to lose my mind.

We're at that stage where movers have been hired, logistics have been figured and boxes have been obtained. Most of my packing is done -- largely under control, anyway -- but the fact that anything left in cabinets and closets has been taken out and a giant game of What Random Crap Will Fit In This Box has begun, well, it makes me more than slightly lose my shit.

Add to it the fact that all our dishes have been packed, as has the toaster and that we don't have much food left in the house and my left eye starts to twitch. My children have taken it upon themselves to help with the disposal of any remaining food items from the pantry ("MOM! CAN I JUST EAT SOME OF THESE HONEY NUT CHEERIOS OUT OF THE BOX AS A SNACK?") as well as any left over Easter candy.

Because laundry needs to be done, bathrooms need to be cleaned and odds-n-ends packed, my boys have been spending more time than usual in front of the TV. (They may have also found there were still a dozen popcicles in the freezer last night and may have decided to try and eat them all before I noticed.)

Lots of TV + sugary snacks = APE CRAZY LITTLE BOYS PRACTICING WWE STYLE TAKE DOWN MANEUVERS ON MY LIVING ROOM FLOOR

So when this exchange happened...

Nick, rolling on the ground, clutching his shin: "WAAAAAAAAH!!!!! HEEEE KICKED MEEEEE!"

Me: "William! Did you kick your brother?!?"

Will: "Yes."

Nick: "WAAAAAAAHHHHHH!!!!!" {begins an Oscar-worthy re-enactment of a Civil War soldier who's just lost his leg to a land mine}

Me: "WHY would you kick your brother?!?"

Will, innocent, wide-eyed, shrugging: "Cuz he told me to."

Me: "WHAT?!?"

Will: "Well, he said I'm just little and I couldn't even hurt him, so I should kick him and I did."

Me: "WE DON'T KICK OUR BROTHERS."

Will: "But --"

Me: "EVEN IF THEY TELL US TO."

...The Muppets Take Manhattan got shut off and they got sent to bed.

Ten minutes later, I was bringing the last of the laundry up from downstairs when I heard the bathroom door shut.

"Mom - I'm just going potty I swear," came the excuse from behind the door before I could even protest. They'd both just gone about 15 minutes before.

I sighed deeply, and started to throw the stuff that was on my bed into a box. I heard the door shut, then a little voice behind me. When I turned to look, angry that he didn't go right back to his bed, I found a skinny, freckled seven-year-old, lips parsed, looking for a kiss.

I couldn't help it. I smiled as I kissed him.

"Now go to bed!" He loped away smiling.

Five minutes later, I was sitting on the floor folding the laundry when I heard their bedroom door open again.

"OHMYGODWHAT?!?" I shouted. In my mind, I was trying to calculate just what time I might get to bed if I still had to fold that laundry, pack some more boxes and unload the dishwasher.

A small smiling face peeked around the corner at me.

"Mama?" Will asked quietly.

"What is it, baby?" I was clearly frustrated.

He skip-walked over to me in that way that little children often do, then jumped and landed on both feet right next to me. I was sitting on the floor, so he was taller than I was.

He didn't say a word, just leaned over and kissed my forehead, then each cheek, then the tip of my nose.

"Nothing. I just love you is all." He stood there, grinning, wearing nothing but his Diego underpants.

I realized my kids could tell I was losing my mind, and they both wanted to give their Mama a little extra love.

I grabbed him and hugged him tight, and apologized for being cranky.

"Its OK, Mama," he replied, and skipped back to bed.

What would I do without them?

Epic Crap-itude

The other day a friend of mine and I were sitting in the break room at work, taking a little afternoon time-out. The fact that this breakroom is on the 36th floor and has pretty stellar views of Lake Michigan really just means that we're some of the luckiest women ever.

So we're sitting there, in our posh leather chairs, zoning out at the Lake, and we got into a conversation about potty training. Specifically, how to you get over that last hurdle? Your kid knows what he or she needs to do, regularly does it, but still has an occassional "crap-in-the-pants", seemingly for no other reason than to drive you bat shit crazy.

Because my kids are a few years older, I often have something to offer in the way of advice. In this case, I had no idea what I'd done at that time, probably because potty training is that traumatic. Like childbirth, as soon as its over you push the details out of your mind only to be ridiculously optimistic when it comes time to do the same with your next kid.

But I did remember my youngest son going through that stage.

"Did I ever tell you how Will used to poop his pants almost every time we went to the McDonald's PlayLand?" I asked.

Eyes wide, I think she said something like, "Wait - what???"

Yep, its true.

And only when at the McDonald's PlayLand. I still take my kids there quite regularly. Even if we don't eat at Mickey D's, or even if we just go and have ice cream, its a pretty cheap way to entertain your kids and get rid of excess energy in the dead of a Midwestern winter. Two years ago, when Will was three, I swear he pooped his pants every single time we went.

It was during a time when my life was utter chaos. I was working full time, my husband (at the time) wasn't around and I had two very small kids to entertain constantly. I wasn't handling my life so well and letting them play in that germ-infested cage for 30 minutes meant I got to read a few chapters and regain a bit of my sanity.

Before my kids would go play, I'd ask, as any good mother will, if they had to use the bathroom. Sometimes I'd even take them and both would go, but it didn't matter.

There would inevitably be a point at which I'd see Will come down the slide with a slightly shocked and horrified look on his face.

I knew exactly what it meant. I'd round up both boys, attempting to ignore the fact that the older boy was wailing about how UNFAIR it was that he had to stop playing and drag them both to the bathroom.

The absolutely gross, dirty bathroom.

Too heavy for the changing table, I'd pull off his pants and dirty underwear and throw the skivvies away in the diaper pail. I'd then lean him over my leg while squatting down on the floor and fix him up. Most times I had an extra pair of undies with me or a pull-up, but I'll admit - there was a time or two when the pants would go back on, commando-style, and after washing up well we'd make our way back out there.

What? You mean to tell me you'd let a little lack of underpants stop you from getting your 30 minutes of shriek-laden sanity? Pshhhh...WUSSES!

Then...there was that day.

That memorable, fateful day.

It was about -10°F outside with the wind chill and we were at the gool ol' PlayLand. There was the grimace at the bottom of the slide, the clean-up, the re-release of a lighter, freer (ahem) child back into the box of germs.

A few minutes later, when doing my regular child head count...what was this? Will? Wait! Will! What the hell?!? FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, CHILD, YOU DID NOT JUST COME DOWN THAT SLIDE WITH THE LOOK OF SHAME AND DISGUST ON YOUR FACE!!!

Oh no he di'int.

Oh yes, he di-id.

My cherubic-faced toddler had, in fact, crapped his pants. Again.

While wearing no underwear.

Its a damn good thing they're cute!

Will, in more recent, poo-free times

ink'd

A few years ago, I was married. I was overweight, overworked and not appreciated. My husband worked a shift opposite of the one I did, meaning most days I'd work my 8+ hours then run around to pick kids up from day care and spend the evenings juggling them and any chores I had to do on my own. I had abandoned any friends I'd had in the hopes that any time I may have gotten to spend with them could be spent fixing my broken relationship. I had no free time, nothing fun to look forward to, and it was exceedingly hard to recognize all of the positive things I had in my life.

I had painted myself into a corner, and was cutting corners everywhere in the hopes that I could just hold everything together.

I didn't have enough time or patience with my kids to be a decent mother.

I didn't have enough time to myself to do anything.

I didn't feel sexy enough to attract my husband...I didn't feel wanted, and I didn't feel valued.

I simply wasn't ENOUGH of any one thing.

I was failing -- struggling to stay afloat -- and I felt alone.

I spent the better part of a year unbelievably depressed about all my shortcomings. I had a husband I rarely saw, and when I did, he wasn't even nice to me, let alone a partner to me.

It was the most lonely I've ever felt in my entire life.

It wasn't merely my ex-husband that had me feeling down on myself, a lot of it was internal. In fact, most of my anxiety and stress and self-doubt was self-imposed. I held myself to standards I'd never dream of expecting a friend to live up to...God knows why I'd put that pressure upon myself but I did.

Eventually I got to that point where I'd had enough. I simply wasn't going to allow myself to be that woman anymore -- the one who ran herself ragged. The one who couldn't handle her kids and who yelled all the time. The one who turned down invitations to girls' nights. The one who wasn't enjoying life and felt guilty for wanting to be happy at all.

Something had to change, so I started to go to the gym. I lost weight and got in shape. I got back the body I had in high school. I realized -- I am attractive.

I looked at my life and realized I had amazingly smart and funny kids. I realized that I might not have time to make home cooked meals every night, or attend every school event, or to know on a first name basis any of the mothers of the other kids in their classes, but my kids were happy and well behaved and loved. I knew -- I am a good mother.

I started to realize that I didn't need to wait for a man to travel with me, to go places and share experiences I wanted to have. I could do those things alone. In fact, I could fly to cities across the country and meet up with friends and have a damn good time...see amazing things...laugh until my solar plexus hurt. I saw -- I am fun. I am worthy enough of companionship.

Realizing these things were true helped me to start to mentally get my shit together. I realized it may not be the job of my dreams but I had a great job working with great people that paid me enough to live on my own, pay my own bills and still have enough money left over to take my kids on little weekend trips. I am worthy of a blessed life.

The further I got into this journey I've been making over the past few years, the more I saw that I was ENOUGH, and no one needed to see that but me. That word started to bear significant meaning to me.

I. AM. ENOUGH.

Of all those things.

I repeated it to myself until I believed it. I wanted to tattoo that word on my arm so that in those dark moments when I cried at night...feeling that I might always be alone, or that I wasn't good enough...I'd have some reminder of who I really am...something to snap me out of my funk and remind me that I won't always feel that way. It won't be like this forever.

But I hesitated.

Something about that word -- ENOUGH.

It sounds rough. Harsh. Like I'm proving to someone who I am...that I'm good enough. And that was missing the point. I don't believe anyone should ever have to prove themselves to anyone else. EVER.

So I waited.

And over the past 6 or 8 months of my life a new word emerged.

faith

I realized that to believe all of those things about myself, I had to have faith in myself. I had to believe, without a shadow of a doubt that I was a good mother...a good lover...a good friend. I had to have faith that where I am in my life right now is not where I'll always be. I had to have faith that I needed to go through all of those trials and tribulations in my life to truly see the blessings I've been given. I had to see that in my darkest moments I had friends...that no matter how much I'd pushed them away in the past...that those friends would be there to pick me up and love me when I felt like I deserved love the least.

And most of all I had to have faith that God gave me all of those bad things just as he gave me the good, to make me the best me I could be. And I continue to have faith that just like he does for all of us, God wants me to be happy. That I deserve happiness. And companionship. And love.

I have to have faith that if I can just be patient...if I can continue to work on myself and being the best ME I can be...that God will send me the things I need in my life to be really truly happy.

I will continue to have faith.

I want to note that this was an extremely emotional post for me to write. I often hesitate to write things of real substance here, for fear that people who know me personally will read them and take offense to what I've written. But I'm tired of being a coward. In no way do I mean this post to bash my ex-husband - despite what happened between us (which could never be summarized in a short post like this) I harbor absolutely no ill will toward him and wish him only good things in his life. I can only tell MY story, and I've come to realize through telling it personally that lots of people can relate and find strength knowing that I've come out the other end a stronger and happier person. That is why I wrote this today and showed my new tattoo to y'all...in the hopes that some people will see it and a little seed of faith will begin to grow inside their hearts as well.
~ Colleen

I am grateful...

I sorta just needed to remind myself how awesome my life is this morning, and I've been wanting to write more here, so two birds...one stone...

...for a car that starts every time I turn the key.

...for having enough money to fill my tank as often as needed.

...for kids who get themselves dressed and ready in the morning.

...for sunrises over half-frozen farm fields.

...for morning radio DJ chatter.

...for random questions from the backseat. ("Momma, how much longer till winter is DONE?")

...for remembering to pack myself a lunch.

...for NOT forgetting my wallet a second day in a row.

...for light traffic.

...for tea and a cozy chair with a great view for a few minutes' break with a friend.

...for work that keeps me busy...and paid.

And most certainly, for more love (and goofiness) from friends than one girl should ever be lucky enough to have!

This shot is straight-out-of-camera.
We were having too much fun posing under this bar's blue track lighting.
WHO THE HECK WOULDN'T?!?

“The soul is healed by being with children.”

~ Fyodor Dostoyevsky

Yesterday I wrote about this horrible dream I had Sunday night.

It left me shaken for some time afterward and I finally fell asleep that night after letting my mind wander through the various cute and funny things my kids had done over the course of the weekend. We'd had a great few days together. I have to say it was the first time probably EVER that I thoroughly enjoyed my kids the entire time when usually, by Sunday night (with two kids by myself for days on end) I would be exhausted and completely ready for a day in the office the next morning.

Normally, my kids go to sleep without much fuss. I want them to have the experience of being brothers in bunk beds, whispering and giggling with each other in the dark, but to a certain extent, you know? If they get too loud or start fighting, it typically takes only one warning and they're out a few minutes later.

Monday night a little voice called out from his bed long after I thought he was asleep.

"Mama? I'm HOT!"

The electric baseboard heating in my apartment is probably from 1972 and has two settings. Antarctica or Arizona. I, apparently, had selected Arizona. I think it was about 93° in there when I opened the door to tend to his cry.

I turned the heat back to Antarctica and checked on Nick. He was sweaty-headed, but sleeping peacefully.

Still affected by my dream the night before, I asked, "You wanna come sleep with Mama?"

Mama's Bed is like the all-time favorite spot in our house right now. A few weeks back I finally set up my second TV in my bedroom. It had been on my dresser for awhile with no real purpose. I wasn't about to pay AT&T for a second U-Verse box considering how little I watched the one we had, but I liked the idea of burrowing under the covers in the midst of the dark Wisconsin winter to watch TV at night.

So just after New Year's I bought an off-off-off brand blu-ray player with wireless Internet capability and connected it to my existing Netflix account. Mama's happier than a pig in poo and my boys are more than willing to put on PJs at 6:30 on a Saturday night so that they can watch episodes of Walking With Dinosaurs or America's Funniest Home Videos while all cuddled up. Plus they have my ex thinking that I have a "Movie Room" in my apartment.

Invited to the Holy Grail of Awesome Places They Have to be Invited to Go and Never Get to Sleep, an excited four-year-old excitedly whispered, "YEAH!"

It was just before 9:00. I had planned to watch a few episodes of Breaking Bad before bed, but a little one-on-one time with one of my favorite little men was suddenly way higher on the good times list.

I had him climb under the covers while I stood in my adjacent bathroom washing my face ("Why do you do that, Mama?") and brushing my teeth ("Hahaha! Momma, you're funny!"). I flipped the switch across the room, leaving nothing on but the bedside lamp. ("Oooh! Its all cozy and dark in here!") And he just kept talking.

Most of the time when he gets into these talk non-stop moods I'm busy trying to do other 20 other things at the same time and the sound of his little voice continuously asking questions and demanding answers drives me slightly batty.

Monday night, his questions were beautiful.

He excitedly told me about his swimming lessons, his friends from school and his favorite Nintendo DS game. He snuggled up with me, his face inches away on my pillow, his pink cheeks slightly chapped from the pool water. He giggled as he asked if we could have McDonald's for dinner the next day, and when I said no he laughed again while asking if we could have Taco Bell instead. His big brown eyes sparkled in the low light as he took in every word I said. I could smell the bubble-mint scent of his toothpaste.

I wanted to memorize the expressions on his face, the roundness of his cheeks and the earnest way he waited for me to answer every question.

Finally, sighing and slightly laughing, I said, "Ah, Will..."

With a huge grin on his face he said, "I'm a funny little dude!"

I laughed. "That you are, buddy!"

"Mama?" he asked.

"Yeah?"

Rolling to face away from me on the pillow he asked, "How bout we finish talking about this in the morning?"

Now really, what could ease my mind better than that?