My Chaos

I like to move through daily activities with a sense of humor, but tonight I find myself just so darn tired that there’s no humor.

No humor what so ever.

Typically, if I can’t be humorous, I can tap into some sort of nostalgia or whimsy. Trust me when I say: I’m all out of effin whimsy.

This was my first full week on the third shift (aka midnights (aka the graveyard shift)). While it started well, and it hasn’t ended poorly… I’ll just put it this way: at one point I found kielbasa in the toilet.

See evidence below:

Exhibit A: The Aforementioned Toilet Kielbasa
When I wasn’t discovering that dinner has been literally chucked in the toilet, I was cutting holes into Baby J’s diapers… To make room for a tail.

Somehow in the chaos that is our life, we lost track of how old Lucy girl is now. When we realized that she was on her doggie girly time, Scooter and I had an ‘ohh yeah’ moment; one where we looked at each and realized that we’d been forgetting something. Surprise! Lucy’s officially a woman, and you two are officially idiots. How could we forget to spay her? 

Eh, soon soon.

These are a few of the occurrences that unfolded between the planned events of the week. Events like: grocery shopping, eBay package sending, scrub ordering, preschool sign up-ing, parade walking, meal making, calorie logging, laundry folding, party planning, suit case packing, and night shift working.

It’s overwhelming, and I’m tired beyond being cute. Being a working mom is new territory and has come with a whole new group of challenges. 

But it’s the same chaos as before. It’s my chaos, and whether I’m too tired to laugh about it or not…

I love my chaos.

Old Lady Changing

” How old would you be if you didn’t know your age?”

The late Dr. Wayne Dwyer asked this question, and I have to be honest, I feel OLD.

I’d blame it on the minivan or the three kids that roll in it, but that’s not really fair now. Is it? 

The truth of the matter is that I feel old because I’ve not been properly taking care of myself. 

I recently started working at a health care facility for the elderly and those who can no longer care for themselve; it’s been eye-opening. 

I want to be as healthy as I can for as long as I can. 

And that’s why I’ve really made the commitment to set a solid example for those three kids rolling in that minivan.

I’m talking salads and workouts.

The Gingerbread Mom

Hi there all. Well, in case you were wondering what would happen when you work out routinely for months and then stop with little to no movement for months, the answer is: it will feel like starting all over again. In my case, it may possibly be worse. 

I’m currently on Day 3 of my 21 Day Fix…

 and I am sore…My muscles are so stiff that I currently have the gait of a gingerbread man. 

Now let me tell you: walking like a gingerbread  man is troublesome enough when you’re alone, but when you have three hooligans (also known as my children) and a puppy running around your house, it’s a whole another ballgame. And I mean that literally. My son just hit my daughter in the head with a nerf football. My dog then soon snatched it up, chewing into foam bits all over our carpet. Super!

Normally, this would be a minor fiasco that could be extinguished in under 2 minutes, by because I am currently gingerbread Mom, I can’t move much faster than grandma after Christmas dinner. 

So it should be quite the sight for my kids to see me as I hobble over side to side trying to reprimand and discipline, but let’s be honest here people: there is no discipline today. No discipline at all. These kids are running a muck, and I’m just trying to maintain survival for us all.

Wish me luck this coming week as I push through this discomfort. Today is “leg day”, and one of my last “leg days”, I tore the moulding off of the wall while trying to position myself on the toilet to pee. Elle told me I was like a robot monster (Yes, she busted into the bathroom to be witness to the whole thing.)

Today’s real challenge though…

These stairs. 


Big love,

Meg

Lullabies and Lessons

* This was written before Lydia and Jax entered our lives, and before Scott left this earth. *

Last Wednesday was like any other Wednesday afternoon for a while there, then my life changed a little bit, and I was given a window of insight into the true meaning of motherhood.

It was a gift.

A woman, of about 60 years, came through the vestibule, wheeling her son into the restaurant. They had visited The Country Inn before, and it was always my assumption that he was born with a disability of some sorts.

It’s the kind of disability that makes one uncomfortable no matter how kind of heart you are. For this poor soul, this grown boy had no voice. No speech. He wailed out once in a while, his tiny arms coiled under, tucked into his frail white body. He had a head brace and flailed about every so often. For me it was difficult to see. I wondered if he suffered.

So Wednesday they came in, and Wednesday this boy (We would later learn his name: Chris) was in a particular disarray. He grunted loudly, wailed, and flailed his wrists. We even had another couple stop us to ask if we’d box their meals up, “We can’t eat with all this noise.” (As servers, we granted their request. As human beings, we wanted to tell them to grow a heart.)

Approaching the table of Chris and his mother, I saw a woman caring for her child. I saw myself in her, “Why are you so unhappy today, baby? What can Mommy do to calm you down?” She looked at me, “Maybe some ice cream?” She was directing her thoughts aloud to me.

“That sounds good,” I said, “We have vanilla, chocolate, or strawberry.”

“Mommy’s going to get you some ice cream. Ok?” She said, cupping his head in her hand, “We’ll take a little bit of vanilla please.” She was sure to smile warmly at me, but her eyes looked tired.

I brought the ice cream out to her, while holding my own tears back. My heart swelled to see such love between a mother and a child. I left them to their dessert, watching from afar in pure admiration and awe as she spooned the ice cream into his mouth to the tune of a lullaby.

You are my sunshine, my only sunshine.

You make me happy, when skies are grey.

Coming by to take her order, she spoke before I could ask if she was ready, “He wasn’t always like this. You know.” I didn’t say a word. What would I say? I was just called upon to listen, “When Christopher was six, we lived on the canal. He was outside tagging along with his uncles when he fell through the ice.” My eyes flooded, “but they rescued him. They sure did. He would have died. It took them 20 minutes to get him out from under there, but they got him.”

“Oh my goodness.” They were the only words I could manage to get out.

“Yes, when they rescued him, his lips were blue. He aspirated. That’s actually what cut the oxygen supply to his brain. He hasn’t grown since then,” She spooned another bite of vanilla into his mouth, and I looked into his brown eyes, wondering what his thoughts were. Was he that six year old little boy trapped in a completely disabled body, unable to talk, walk, or smile? “He’s actually 31. Believe it or not. It happened 25 years ago, and he’s been my little boy all this time.”

“Bless you.” I said and quickly walked away so I could cry and pray.

And she sang on…

You’ll never know dear.

How much I love you.

Please don’t take

my sunshine away.

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I kissed my daughters about a hundred times that evening. Since then, I’ve snuggled with her to the very second she’s fallen asleep at night. If she wants to read a second, third, fourth book, I’ve done it.

Because it’s more time with her. Precious time.

I don’t want to generalize everyone, so I will only speak for myself. I know I tend to take life for granted. I make plans around growing old and complain about happenings that are outside of my control; Petty things that won’t matter five years from now, next year, or tomorrow.

What I’ve never known though…

What Chris’ mom taught me is…

I am not guaranteed to grow old.

Everything I’ve been blessed with in this life…

it isn’t mine forever.

So I kiss my daughter a few extra times before I leave her, and I tell the ones I love that I am happy to see them because I am. I don’t take for granted that everyone knows how I feel any more. I tell them.

Sophie and I have a thing we like to do at night. We take turns telling God what we are thankful for that day. My wish for her is that she grows up, knowing how precious life is and how lucky we all are to experience it.

Chris’ mom has a remarkable love for her son and her inspiration will have a warm place in my heart forever.

————————————————————————————————————-

Big love.

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