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Showing posts from January, 2012

Let's grab 'em and go...

You know those days?
The ones where you go to bed anticipating all you will accomplish, how awesome you will feel, how little you will rely on caffeine, how you'll wake up early and care for your spirit and have a shower and joyfully make a roast beef sandwich for your husband's lunch. You anticipate the productivity. The blessing of another not-yet-promised day.
And then it rushes in too early, when it's still dark, by the demands of a toddler who doesn't see the need to sleep until the sun is ready to bloom. You wake with your to-do list nearly in your hands and a headache already ricocheting through what feels like your entire body even though it's isolated, you know, in your skull.
It's one of those days where I felt the tiny beginnings of a stranglehold of despair. That feeling where you know that today you're going to have to fight if you want to keep grasp of your joy. Those moments when you know it's all going to end up in a dark pit if you do…

You're a standing ovation...

He's worn dinosaur pajamas all day. He slept in them for a good twelve hours, woke up and had breakfast and watched Mickey Mouse in them and then I hauled him to Walmart, shamelessly. His big puffy winter coat shrouding the t-rex and the snug hood squishing his precious face. We had things to do and it was more important that we did them than if we did them looking pretty.
I pushed the prized nap later into the afternoon - both in hopes of him taking a longer more full restful time and because he had been so contentedly playing and reading his books in the corner behind the front door. There are toys all over the main area of our house. Literally, all over. Buzz Lightyear lies face down on the couch, while all the pillows are on the floor. There are police cars and tractors, cows and a rhinoceros and my coffee table where I used to keep my journal, Bible, laptop, and planner is now devoid of anything if it isn't toddler approved. I told my husband, "If you let him …

Don't be stupid, you know I love you...

A week or so ago I ambushed my kid while he napped. It's the only way to cut his hair (and now, apparently clip his nails, since he's become such a boy who despises all-things involving personal care, cleanliness and upkeep). He fights when I slather on lotion. He screams like I'm trying to pull his toes out if I attempt to bring them near a set of clippers. He waves me away if I play with the too-long hair over his ear. The only part of getting dressed that he likes is if he happens to be getting to wear his Buzz Lightyear shirt (which I faithfully wash about as soon as it comes off his squirmy little self.)
So, I snuck into his room during nap time, armed with a small pair of scissors and a lint roller (trust me, it works great for picking up those fine baby hairs from the bed!) And I went to work. The only problem is, Mommy was impatient and had entered too soon. It's my own fault for being in a go-go-get-it-done mood. I blame the beloved Second Trimester …

This is my song in the desert...

I hadn't thought about it much, but when the new year arrives, you tend to embrace it like a jumbo bag of M&M's... and look on the year past as a stale bag of potato chips. (I'm pregnant; you're just going to have to forgive the food analogies.) Human nature tends to like to number the grievances and the hurts vs. the blessings. But, as much as 2011 devastated my heart, on more than one occasion, what came alongside to guide and to heal has made it all precious, in a sense. Bittersweet, really.
We had some definite hard times this past year. The aunt I was closest to unexpectedly passed away. Just like that. I got a phone call in the middle of the night saying they didn't know what was wrong and she was going to the ER. The next call I received was from my Dad, saying we lost her. And it makes my eyes sting with tears remembering my disbelief and the memory of locking myself in our bathroom to cry, so afraid my grief would scare my little boy and prayin…