Since I wrote a letter to M it's only fair I do the same for her bro. Bare with me.
NPF4-
June 7, 2012 at 5:30 pm when I was 12 weeks pregnant with you I started crying and I've never really stopped. I'm crying right now. There is something about you sweet little Nicholas that always brings me to tears. Tears of happiness, fear, joy and unending worry. I'm not even sure I can write this - my eyes are overflowing already. Ugh.
For the first 22 days of your life I would visit you everyday in the NICU or Special Care Nursery. I would cry every single time. Some days I would cry so much I couldn't catch my breath. I would stare at you and feel so many emotions. Other days I cried because I was relieved you were finally here with me. And some days I would just cry because I couldn't bare to see you with a feeding tube or when you would forget how to breathe and all the machines would beep. I always felt a little crazy because I don't really think anyone understood why I was so emotional. After all, I was the lucky one. At one point you were sharing a room with another baby boy born weighing just over a pound. Well, I cried for him and his parents too. At the time in my head it was the worst possible thing in the world. I had a baby. He was early. He forgets to breathe. Looking back now, I was just scared. So incredibly scared. I wouldn't take back a single tear from the past 15 months for this simple fact: you are worth it. So worth it.
I read your early intervention reports every week and cry. I read them over and over. I cry because I'm proud and happy you're doing so well. I'm excited about the progress you've made and continue to make. I look forward to the future and all that it holds for you. I mostly look forward to the day you start talking. I can't wait to hear you express yourself and to hear you say that you love me or when you finally yell at M for her constant abuse.
Okay, enough with the crying.
I love your dad and sister with every ounce of my being but when you came into this world I swear I was so overwhelmed with love it hurt. I never ever thought I could love someone so much. I don't know the first thing about being a mom; your mom. What I do know is how to love you and feed you fatty foods so you can gain some weight.
NPF4 you are a fighter. You came into this word fighting and you are still fighting but only now with your sister. I love your T-Rex stride, your annoyingly loud cry, your cute little good-bye wave, I even love that you're so proud of yourself when you climb the stairs despite the fact that you shouldn't be. Sometimes I even love when you throw your food on the ground but it ends up getting stuck in the dog's hair before it hits the floor. I love your fierceness and feistiness cause it reminds me of a gal I know.
You are enamored with your big sister. You are like M in many ways but mostly in that you have an immense love for life. She is forever your protector and you her sidekick. M is the first to tell others that you are her brother and she'll be the first to push you down when you steal her toys. It's okay, she means well. I promise.
I'm not sure I can put into words how much you've changed me and how much I've learned about myself because of you. I am stronger for you and because of you. I've learned more from you in the fifteen short months you've been in my life than I have in my last 34 years. I can only hope I teach you as much in your lifetime as you've already taught me.
NPF4 you are magnificent and truly a blessing. Thank you for being you. Because of you our family is complete; I am complete.
XOX
Mama
Thursday, January 23, 2014
Wednesday, January 22, 2014
who knew
It was a bold assumption to think my second child would be mellow. Very bold. Based on my logic it wouldn't be possible or fair to have a second child as crazy as the first. Makes total sense. Right? Wrong. Very wrong. M is the true definition of a high maintenance gal. Can't imagine where she gets that from. Takes one to know one. He haw. She is a spunky, loud, hyperactive three year old with absolutely no listening skills. Okay, I can deal.
Now throw NPF4 into the mix. I can't deal. NPF4 is feistier, louder and fiercer than M. Yup, you read that correctly. Fiercer. My 22 pound fifteen month old has a temper unmatched by no other (well, maybe his mama.) The kid is totes insane. My little guy is a wrecking ball, leaving a path of destruction behind him wherever he goes...
Went to the doc's office on Friday and was checking in at the front desk. M decides to take off her boots. When I'm done with check-in M is sitting in the waiting room picking her nose and NPF4 is nowhere in sight. "M where is NPF4? Where are your boots? Please stop picking your nose." She points to the bathroom. I open the door and M's boots are submerged in the toilet while NPF4 has a smile from ear to ear and is holding up his hand waiting for me to slap him a high-five. Now, it's totes impossible to get mad at the kid because he is beyond clueless. I mean c'mon, I'm still basking in the fact that he just learned to wave and high-five. So, being the amazing mom that I am - I did nothing except text my friends to tell them.
Now trust me, I get it's not an easy age. The kid is into everything. But I truly, never in my wildest dreams thought that both of my kids would be certifiable. I know what your thinking - apple doesn't fall far from the tree. Why is it that M & NPF4 seem to have inherited all of my best qualities - they have explosive tempers, are annoyingly loud and are incapable of comprehending the word NO. It's totes not a part of their vocab. Things that make you go hmmm.
So who knew two crazies were a potential? It sure wasn't on my radar. That's all I've got. I must enjoy some me time because M & NPF4 are at daycare today while this gal has a snow day. File this under: WINNING. xox
Now throw NPF4 into the mix. I can't deal. NPF4 is feistier, louder and fiercer than M. Yup, you read that correctly. Fiercer. My 22 pound fifteen month old has a temper unmatched by no other (well, maybe his mama.) The kid is totes insane. My little guy is a wrecking ball, leaving a path of destruction behind him wherever he goes...
Went to the doc's office on Friday and was checking in at the front desk. M decides to take off her boots. When I'm done with check-in M is sitting in the waiting room picking her nose and NPF4 is nowhere in sight. "M where is NPF4? Where are your boots? Please stop picking your nose." She points to the bathroom. I open the door and M's boots are submerged in the toilet while NPF4 has a smile from ear to ear and is holding up his hand waiting for me to slap him a high-five. Now, it's totes impossible to get mad at the kid because he is beyond clueless. I mean c'mon, I'm still basking in the fact that he just learned to wave and high-five. So, being the amazing mom that I am - I did nothing except text my friends to tell them.
Now trust me, I get it's not an easy age. The kid is into everything. But I truly, never in my wildest dreams thought that both of my kids would be certifiable. I know what your thinking - apple doesn't fall far from the tree. Why is it that M & NPF4 seem to have inherited all of my best qualities - they have explosive tempers, are annoyingly loud and are incapable of comprehending the word NO. It's totes not a part of their vocab. Things that make you go hmmm.
So who knew two crazies were a potential? It sure wasn't on my radar. That's all I've got. I must enjoy some me time because M & NPF4 are at daycare today while this gal has a snow day. File this under: WINNING. xox
Tuesday, January 21, 2014
we've got a situation
It's a hairy one. M is obsessed with having her hair did. Yup. I have a daughter who convulses with excitement over pigtails, ponytails, braids, and barrettes. Really M? M successfully sports a receding hairline, mullet and is already showing signs of balding. It's possible folks. Just look at my gal. Be jealous.
So here's the problem. I don't do hair. I don't do makeup either but we can address this in a few years when she asks me to buy her an eyelash curler. I wouldn't be caught dead with one of those devices in my house. I digress.
For those of you fortunate enough to know me you are aware of the fact that I've had the same hairstyle (actually it's not even a style) since about 1986. It's simple. I get up. I shower. Two strokes of the brush through my lovely locks and presto I have a glamorous low ponytail. It suits me. I think. I mean I look a tad like a boy but whateves. I don't have a clue how to blow dry my hair never mind attempting to style it. I couldn't be bothered. On the rare occasion I'm feeling incredibly ambitions I use my flatiron and straighten it BUT my flatiron does not require my hair to be dry. Yup, I run it through my soaking wet hair. The results are amazing. I lie.
Back to M. My little lady repeatedly asks me to do her hair. I always deflect. Let's go eat cupcakes, let's go watch Dora (I DESPISE DORA). I go to great lengths to avoid this arduous task. I'll pretty much offer her anything in an attempt to distract her from having her hair done. Anything. Three days a week M goes to daycare and low and behold every time I pick her up she has the cutest little pigtails or braids. Seriously, she looks adorbs. I decided to step out of my comfort zone on Sunday and this happened:
It looks strikingly similar to a rattail. I believe the rattail was popular for all of 20 seconds back in the 80's. Apparently I have an affinity for 80's hairstyles. Who knew.
Since 2014 is my biatch and it's all aboutme bettering myself, perhaps I'll take a class on popular hairstyles for three year olds.
I know what you're thinking - mom of the year. I get that a lot. Another lie. xox
So here's the problem. I don't do hair. I don't do makeup either but we can address this in a few years when she asks me to buy her an eyelash curler. I wouldn't be caught dead with one of those devices in my house. I digress.
For those of you fortunate enough to know me you are aware of the fact that I've had the same hairstyle (actually it's not even a style) since about 1986. It's simple. I get up. I shower. Two strokes of the brush through my lovely locks and presto I have a glamorous low ponytail. It suits me. I think. I mean I look a tad like a boy but whateves. I don't have a clue how to blow dry my hair never mind attempting to style it. I couldn't be bothered. On the rare occasion I'm feeling incredibly ambitions I use my flatiron and straighten it BUT my flatiron does not require my hair to be dry. Yup, I run it through my soaking wet hair. The results are amazing. I lie.
Back to M. My little lady repeatedly asks me to do her hair. I always deflect. Let's go eat cupcakes, let's go watch Dora (I DESPISE DORA). I go to great lengths to avoid this arduous task. I'll pretty much offer her anything in an attempt to distract her from having her hair done. Anything. Three days a week M goes to daycare and low and behold every time I pick her up she has the cutest little pigtails or braids. Seriously, she looks adorbs. I decided to step out of my comfort zone on Sunday and this happened:
Since 2014 is my biatch and it's all about
I know what you're thinking - mom of the year. I get that a lot. Another lie. xox
Tuesday, January 14, 2014
Dearest M
M-
You are fierce. I love this about you. You're stubborn, determined, sweet and o' so smart. You're bossy. You have a propensity to lead. You love being the center of attention. You love having your hair done and your toe nails painted. Pink and purple are your fav colors. Barf. You're in love with your brother whom you've dubbed "little rabbit." You have a zest for life and I'm quite certain you've adopted my "unless it's fun I don't want to do it" mentality. Um, this is bad for a tot of your age and beautiful thing when you reach mine. Unfortch, they'll be oodles of things you'll have to endure that aren't "fun" in the years ahead. Grin and bare it little lady. Sorry in advance.
M, I love so many things about you, but I beg of you to STOP hitting me, pushing and kicking your brother, spitting your milk out to be cute, stealing my DY jewels and hiding them under your pillow, helping yourself to all the goodies in the fridge, wearing my undies around your neck as a necklace, going into my closet and trashing it, throwing your Dunkin' Donuts bag out of the car window while I'm driving, dumping the sea glass we collected over the summer into NPF4's crib, tying the scarf (stolen from said closet) around NPF4's neck and telling him to giddy-up like a horse, asking to look at my toots after I go the bathroom, tossing yourself on the ground when you don't get your way (the flailing of your arms and legs is totes annoying), taking my water bottle and drinking out of it leaving a wad of snot behind, using my legs as a tissue to wipe your nose, rummaging through my bag stealing my credit cards and then not telling me where you hid them, peeing on the couch, shampooing your bestie's hair in suncreen- coating my entire bed as well as the walls and floor with sunscreen (stay away from the damn sunscreen), arguing with me about what you're going to wear to school, letting the dog into the shower when I'm in there, calling me Becky instead of mom.
Oh, and one last thing - please stop ignoring me when I talk.
You're a hot ticket. You are you - your own unique self and don't ever apologize for that. However, I do think a few apologies are in order for the aforementioned offenses. Yes, offenses. I know, I sound like your dad.
I don't want you to ever change M (maybe just address some of the behaviors above). Don't ever lose that smile, your willingness to learn or that insanely infectious laugh. I thank you for making my life eventful, messy and pretty much worth living. Shine on M. Shine on.
xox
Becky Mom
You are fierce. I love this about you. You're stubborn, determined, sweet and o' so smart. You're bossy. You have a propensity to lead. You love being the center of attention. You love having your hair done and your toe nails painted. Pink and purple are your fav colors. Barf. You're in love with your brother whom you've dubbed "little rabbit." You have a zest for life and I'm quite certain you've adopted my "unless it's fun I don't want to do it" mentality. Um, this is bad for a tot of your age and beautiful thing when you reach mine. Unfortch, they'll be oodles of things you'll have to endure that aren't "fun" in the years ahead. Grin and bare it little lady. Sorry in advance.
M, I love so many things about you, but I beg of you to STOP hitting me, pushing and kicking your brother, spitting your milk out to be cute, stealing my DY jewels and hiding them under your pillow, helping yourself to all the goodies in the fridge, wearing my undies around your neck as a necklace, going into my closet and trashing it, throwing your Dunkin' Donuts bag out of the car window while I'm driving, dumping the sea glass we collected over the summer into NPF4's crib, tying the scarf (stolen from said closet) around NPF4's neck and telling him to giddy-up like a horse, asking to look at my toots after I go the bathroom, tossing yourself on the ground when you don't get your way (the flailing of your arms and legs is totes annoying), taking my water bottle and drinking out of it leaving a wad of snot behind, using my legs as a tissue to wipe your nose, rummaging through my bag stealing my credit cards and then not telling me where you hid them, peeing on the couch, shampooing your bestie's hair in suncreen- coating my entire bed as well as the walls and floor with sunscreen (stay away from the damn sunscreen), arguing with me about what you're going to wear to school, letting the dog into the shower when I'm in there, calling me Becky instead of mom.
Oh, and one last thing - please stop ignoring me when I talk.
You're a hot ticket. You are you - your own unique self and don't ever apologize for that. However, I do think a few apologies are in order for the aforementioned offenses. Yes, offenses. I know, I sound like your dad.
I don't want you to ever change M (maybe just address some of the behaviors above). Don't ever lose that smile, your willingness to learn or that insanely infectious laugh. I thank you for making my life eventful, messy and pretty much worth living. Shine on M. Shine on.
xox
Monday, January 13, 2014
bacon
Hello and happy Monday lovelies. I would love to wow you with tales from my weekend but just not today. If you feel so compelled stop by tomorrow. I'm sure you're itching to read about how M started hitting me or how she lathered my entire bedroom with sunscreen. Or maybe my meltdown at the gym will peak your interest. Today, I'm focusing on the positive - bacon.
Thursday night I went out with some darling ladies and ordered myself a burger. Extra cheese. Bacon jam. Yes, bacon jam. A.MAZE.ING. There are no words to describe the deliciousness. All you need to know is that reliving the 4 seconds it took me to inhale this wholesome goodness got me through dodging M's punches and my sunscreen slicked bedroom floor this weekend. I'll find a good recipe, test it out and share. Scratch that. I'll just break into the restaurant and steal the recipe or the jam.
Bacon. One of the many reasons 2014 is my biatch. xox
Wednesday, January 8, 2014
Roar
So I yell scream at my kids regularly. On any given day I scream so much my throat hurts by the time I hit the hay. I'm loud. Annoyingly loud. Stop right there. Please don't forward me the article floating around FB about how you shouldn't scream at your children. I do and I'm okay with it. Yes, I recognize it's ineffective but I continue to do it regardless. Must have something to do with my need for being in control. Apparently yelling and screaming at them gives me the false sense that I'm actually in charge. Perhaps I should just surrender to the fact that nobody listens to me no matter what tone I take. Ouch.
Last Saturday in the YMCA lobby I was yelling so loud at M & N I'm pretty sure the phones stopped ringing, the coffee machine stopped brewing and the kid climbing up the rock wall lost his footing. It was bad. The worst part is that the people around me were totally disturbed while my kids remained completely unfazed. Surrender. Just surrender.
Here's what I don't understand. If someone yelled at me the way I yell at my children I would totes write them off or get in my wagon and try to run them over. My kids on the other hand keep coming back for more. It doesn't matter how often or how loudly I scream they are beyond obsessed with me. M & N are the only two human beings on this planet that are truly enamored with me. Like totes smitten.
I must admit - I love it. Well, I love it except when its time for me to do tinks, toots or shower.
It's scary to think at some point the tables will be turned and they'll be screaming at me. It's scary to think that although their love for me is unconditional (I hope) that they won't always be so smitten and obsessed. It's scary to think one day they'll say they hate me, I embarrass them, or that they want me to go away. It's scary to think they'll grow up and tell me I'm not that cool (despite the fact I think I'm the cat's meow). It's all just scary.
Last Saturday in the YMCA lobby I was yelling so loud at M & N I'm pretty sure the phones stopped ringing, the coffee machine stopped brewing and the kid climbing up the rock wall lost his footing. It was bad. The worst part is that the people around me were totally disturbed while my kids remained completely unfazed. Surrender. Just surrender.
Here's what I don't understand. If someone yelled at me the way I yell at my children I would totes write them off or get in my wagon and try to run them over. My kids on the other hand keep coming back for more. It doesn't matter how often or how loudly I scream they are beyond obsessed with me. M & N are the only two human beings on this planet that are truly enamored with me. Like totes smitten.
I must admit - I love it. Well, I love it except when its time for me to do tinks, toots or shower.
It's scary to think at some point the tables will be turned and they'll be screaming at me. It's scary to think that although their love for me is unconditional (I hope) that they won't always be so smitten and obsessed. It's scary to think one day they'll say they hate me, I embarrass them, or that they want me to go away. It's scary to think they'll grow up and tell me I'm not that cool (despite the fact I think I'm the cat's meow). It's all just scary.
Glasses, greasy hair and gym clothes. It doesn't matter to them now and hopefully it won't 10 years from now. At this time, in this moment the only thing I can do is enjoy it. Enjoy
that I go to bed hoarse. Enjoy the looks of dismay in the YMCA lobby.
Enjoy their love. Enjoy them and all their naughtiness. xox
Tuesday, January 7, 2014
Two & Through
My family is complete. I have two kids a husband and a dog. So save yourself the breath no need to ask if we're having a third child. NO. For once the Big Guy and I are on the exact same page - two & through. It's prolly the only thing we're 100% certain of. Actually, I'm 100% certain that I need this DY necklace with M & N charms but hell, I won't hold my breath. So don't waste yours and I won't hold mine. Woof.
Having 3 children seems to be the "norm" these days. In fact, most of my friends and family have 3 kids. For all you mamas and dadas that have three or more kids - I'm in awe of you everyday. Kudos. Very big kudos.
In the rare and very unlikely event that we do decide to expand our family I would adopt. The reasons being: 1) it's something I've always wanted to do 2) I would adpot a teenager old enough to watch M & N so I don't have to pay my sitter $18 an hour. Bam. Wicked smart. 3) I'm petrified to get pregnant and give birth to another preemie.
Here is why two is enough for this gal:
Ta da! What a lovely lil' list. You're enlightened - so keep on breeding my friends! xox
Having 3 children seems to be the "norm" these days. In fact, most of my friends and family have 3 kids. For all you mamas and dadas that have three or more kids - I'm in awe of you everyday. Kudos. Very big kudos.
In the rare and very unlikely event that we do decide to expand our family I would adopt. The reasons being: 1) it's something I've always wanted to do 2) I would adpot a teenager old enough to watch M & N so I don't have to pay my sitter $18 an hour. Bam. Wicked smart. 3) I'm petrified to get pregnant and give birth to another preemie.
Here is why two is enough for this gal:
- I cannot sacrifice anymore of my myself. I don't think I have anything left to give. Truly. The more kids you have the more of yourself and your time you have to sacrifice. I don't think I can go there. I'm working on getting me back.
- My marriage cannot withstand another child. Seriously. Marriage is hard work. Anyone who says otherwise is full of crap. Marriage with children is super hard work. Anyone who says otherwise is extremely full of crap. It's not easy. Then again, nothing worth doing is easy.
- You've read this before. I'm not a natural. Motherhood does not come easy to me. I have absolutely no clue what I'm doing and I'm okay admitting this. The only thing I know how to do is make homemade mac and cheese to feed them and to love them. Other than that I'm flying by the seat of my pants. {NPF4 just got over a staff infection. I failed to tell the doctor that I left him diaper-less and unattended for all of 4 minutes and he crapped himself. When I came back into the room he was playing with his toots like it was Play-Doh} Case in point.
- I'm insanely materialistic. Again, you've read this before. I love stuff. I love spending money on ME. More kids = less spending on me.
- I want to go to the bathroom and be able to fully wipe my behind without holding a 1 year old and having my almost 3 year old trying to paint my toenails at the same time. Along the same lines - I would love to shower alone, talk on the phone alone, shop alone. You get my point. Another wee one in the house just prolongs all this alone time I'm apparently craving.
- My V can't handle it. Enough said on this one.
- I'm a runner. I want to start training and running marathons. My running options at the moment - 4am or 11pm and I can't image they would improve with another tot in the house.
- I would have to buy a bigger car. Absolutely not. Volvo does not make anything larger than the wagon. True fact. No, the SUV is not larger inside based on square footage. I swoon over Volvo's and I will not drive any other car. With that being said a third child would have to be strapped to the roof.
- Signs. I believe in signs. The fact that NPF4 is here with us today is nothing short of a miracle. I don't take one bit of my good fortune for granted and I am blessed and content with two healthy children. Trying for a third would be like playing with fire.
- Oh and the best reason of all - I'm a smart gal and I know my limits. I've reached my limit. I'm okay with this and being honest with myself.
Ta da! What a lovely lil' list. You're enlightened - so keep on breeding my friends! xox
Monday, January 6, 2014
hello, 2014
O hi. I've missed you. I know, you've missed me more.Obvi.
2013 is over so naturally I find myself compelled to bestow all the wisdom and knowledge I've gained this past year onto YOU. Yes, you feel like you've hit the lottery. You'll be rich in mind, body, and spirit after reading this post. Speaking of rich - one of my goals for 2014 is to "be rich." Legit. Big guy and I had a lengthy conversation about how to bring this to fruition in 2014. It ended with - well, nothing. Absolutely nothing. I digress.
Back to the other kind of non-monetary richness you'll gain after reading this.
So I'm totes one of those gals that always needs a "project." I always need a focus, a to-do list. I can't sit still - I've never been good at loafing around. I'm not happy unless I have something to work toward or look forward to. It kind of sucks. For a long time I beat the crap out of myself for never just "being." Being content in the moment doesn't work for me - or maybe it does but it's super hard. Before I even finish one project or task I'm already asking myself "what's next?"
Planning a wedding. Training and running marathons. Perfecting my house. Focusing on being skinny. Trying to get prego. Blah. Blah. Blah. You get it. I think.
When you live life this way often times you forget to enjoy the present because you're so focused on the future. But what happens when the Big Guy makes one statement and somehow it all becomes clear. Yup, this rarely occurs because 85% of the time I'm not really listening especially when the Big Guy is doing the talking. I know, I'm keeping you in suspense. You're dying to know what he said.
But first you have to get through this:
Last March I came home from a 6 mile run, laid on my kitchen floor dripping in sweat and cried like a baby. I looked up at the Big Guy and said "I'm lost. I'm so lost and I feel so out of control." Like really? Lost? If someone said that to me I prolly would have handed them a map and said be on your way. Now, the Big Guy is a total pain in my ass but somehow he managed to say the right thing in this moment. He responded - I know. I was just waiting for you to ask for help. It's ok. We can do this.
And so it began the journey to figure out what I'm doing with myself and my life. Amazing huh? I know, you're still waiting for the words that changed it all. Well the short of it is that not until after NPF4 turned one in October did I start to feel like me again. Yup, I'm a slow bloomer. I blame it on the Big Guy because had he made this statement when I was having my meltdown back in March instead of October the year may have played out a tad different.
This was all it took - YOU'RE LIVING THE LIFE YOU ALWAYS WANTED. What? Ding. Ding. Ding. Is he right? OMG. Was this it? Could that simple statement be the kick in the ass that I need to get it together?
Back in 1999 the Big Guy and I would hop in his car and drive from Merrimack College to Marblehead and admire all the houses and talk about how amazing it would be to live there. To raise a family there. When I recall those conversations all I remember is that I wanted a home in Mhead and a family. Go figure - I have the house and two healthy children. We have each other, health and happiness. I'm working on the wealth.
Cheers and happy 2014. This is my year and I'm beyond excited to live it and more importantly to live it in the moment. xox
2013 is over so naturally I find myself compelled to bestow all the wisdom and knowledge I've gained this past year onto YOU. Yes, you feel like you've hit the lottery. You'll be rich in mind, body, and spirit after reading this post. Speaking of rich - one of my goals for 2014 is to "be rich." Legit. Big guy and I had a lengthy conversation about how to bring this to fruition in 2014. It ended with - well, nothing. Absolutely nothing. I digress.
Back to the other kind of non-monetary richness you'll gain after reading this.
So I'm totes one of those gals that always needs a "project." I always need a focus, a to-do list. I can't sit still - I've never been good at loafing around. I'm not happy unless I have something to work toward or look forward to. It kind of sucks. For a long time I beat the crap out of myself for never just "being." Being content in the moment doesn't work for me - or maybe it does but it's super hard. Before I even finish one project or task I'm already asking myself "what's next?"
Planning a wedding. Training and running marathons. Perfecting my house. Focusing on being skinny. Trying to get prego. Blah. Blah. Blah. You get it. I think.
When you live life this way often times you forget to enjoy the present because you're so focused on the future. But what happens when the Big Guy makes one statement and somehow it all becomes clear. Yup, this rarely occurs because 85% of the time I'm not really listening especially when the Big Guy is doing the talking. I know, I'm keeping you in suspense. You're dying to know what he said.
But first you have to get through this:
Last March I came home from a 6 mile run, laid on my kitchen floor dripping in sweat and cried like a baby. I looked up at the Big Guy and said "I'm lost. I'm so lost and I feel so out of control." Like really? Lost? If someone said that to me I prolly would have handed them a map and said be on your way. Now, the Big Guy is a total pain in my ass but somehow he managed to say the right thing in this moment. He responded - I know. I was just waiting for you to ask for help. It's ok. We can do this.
And so it began the journey to figure out what I'm doing with myself and my life. Amazing huh? I know, you're still waiting for the words that changed it all. Well the short of it is that not until after NPF4 turned one in October did I start to feel like me again. Yup, I'm a slow bloomer. I blame it on the Big Guy because had he made this statement when I was having my meltdown back in March instead of October the year may have played out a tad different.
This was all it took - YOU'RE LIVING THE LIFE YOU ALWAYS WANTED. What? Ding. Ding. Ding. Is he right? OMG. Was this it? Could that simple statement be the kick in the ass that I need to get it together?
Back in 1999 the Big Guy and I would hop in his car and drive from Merrimack College to Marblehead and admire all the houses and talk about how amazing it would be to live there. To raise a family there. When I recall those conversations all I remember is that I wanted a home in Mhead and a family. Go figure - I have the house and two healthy children. We have each other, health and happiness. I'm working on the wealth.
Cheers and happy 2014. This is my year and I'm beyond excited to live it and more importantly to live it in the moment. xox
Thursday, November 7, 2013
Daisies & Diapers
Well hello. Yesterday I sent this little box o' goodies to the Big Guy at work. Twelve pineapple daisies dipped in chocolate. The card read: Dada enjoy your daisies because we bought them with your credit card. Love - M, N & Brody.
It wasn't a kind gesture or a nice little treat to reward him for working so hard. Nope. I'm not that sweet of a wife. What I do know is that I will remind him about this box of daisies when he realizes that I flushed a dookie diaper down the toilet. Don't worry, I picked up all my TB flats off the floor and have my pants rolled in anticipation of the flood. I know. You were concerned.
I'm off. I need to fetch M from my bedroom where she is sitting on the bed eating a DiGiorno pizza watching Calliou. Oh, the horror. Child watching T.V., eating frozen pizza in the middle of the day. At least she is sitting on the Big Guy's side of the bed. I've got that going for me. xox
Wednesday, November 6, 2013
fun police
O hi. It's been a month. Not my fault. Yup, for once in 34 years it's not my fault. Place the blame on a 6'3 bald guy I like to call the fun police...
Mid August the Big Guy asked me if I would stop blogging about our family hence the reason I've been MIA. Okay, I get it. He's a private person and doesn't want his cluster of a life displayed for all to read. Write about anything just not our family he says. Oh, sure, because my life is so exciting and I have so many other things to write about. Not that my family life is all that enthralling either but for some reason ya'll read this garbage. I've got a sneaking suspicion you read because my life makes you feel better about your own. Ouch.
I injected myself in the stomach with cancer causing fertility meds to get pregnant with these kids and sat in a hospital bed for 40 days to stay pregnant with one of them. I do believe I've earned the right to share some pieces of us using this blog as my outlet. The good, bad, happy, sad and quite truthfully the downright hilarious. He haw.
Here is why I have two issues with this request. 1) has the FP not seen my FB page? I mean c'mon. There isn't much I don't share. 2) I'm writing a book. I've been writing a book (like one word a month) for the last 3.5 years. The title of the book includes the word vagina. You don't get much more personal than that. So for those reasons I should blog. I need to blog. Scratch that. I need to write. There is something incredibly cathartic about sharing my thoughts, feelings and raw emotions. Barf.
So where shall I go from here? I can blog about Tory, Kate and David but truly, I think you get the point. I. WORSHIP. THEM. Taking about the stuff I'm currently coveting is fun and writing about all the things I want and cannot afford is great, don't get me wrong, but it perpetuates the vicious addiction I have to spending the Big Guy's hard-earned money.
Perhaps I just need to buckle down and get serious about writing that book. After all, I work 3 days a week and have a husband that works 90 hours a week - I've got a ton of spare time to sit, sip some tea and type my days away. {insert sarcastic grin here} xox
Mid August the Big Guy asked me if I would stop blogging about our family hence the reason I've been MIA. Okay, I get it. He's a private person and doesn't want his cluster of a life displayed for all to read. Write about anything just not our family he says. Oh, sure, because my life is so exciting and I have so many other things to write about. Not that my family life is all that enthralling either but for some reason ya'll read this garbage. I've got a sneaking suspicion you read because my life makes you feel better about your own. Ouch.
I injected myself in the stomach with cancer causing fertility meds to get pregnant with these kids and sat in a hospital bed for 40 days to stay pregnant with one of them. I do believe I've earned the right to share some pieces of us using this blog as my outlet. The good, bad, happy, sad and quite truthfully the downright hilarious. He haw.
Here is why I have two issues with this request. 1) has the FP not seen my FB page? I mean c'mon. There isn't much I don't share. 2) I'm writing a book. I've been writing a book (like one word a month) for the last 3.5 years. The title of the book includes the word vagina. You don't get much more personal than that. So for those reasons I should blog. I need to blog. Scratch that. I need to write. There is something incredibly cathartic about sharing my thoughts, feelings and raw emotions. Barf.
So where shall I go from here? I can blog about Tory, Kate and David but truly, I think you get the point. I. WORSHIP. THEM. Taking about the stuff I'm currently coveting is fun and writing about all the things I want and cannot afford is great, don't get me wrong, but it perpetuates the vicious addiction I have to spending t
Perhaps I just need to buckle down and get serious about writing that book. After all, I work 3 days a week and have a husband that works 90 hours a week - I've got a ton of spare time to sit, sip some tea and type my days away. {insert sarcastic grin here} xox
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