Question For You

I'm pretty sure I've whined about this before, and here I go again....how and when am I going to make me a priority?

This is a constant struggle and I have great admiration for all women out there who somehow find the time to exercise, to do crafts, to spend time with your friends, to volunteer, to read a book - to do whatever it is that gives you pleasure and energy for the demands on the rest of your time.

My day generally starts at 5:00 a.m. with the alarm going off and if you know me AT ALL, you know that I'm not exactly a morning person unless I can be very quiet (at one time I would have suggested "quiet as a mouse" but having heard them in the walls and ceilings of our house I can inform you quite honestly that mice are about as quiet as a 4-year-old's birthday party. Therefore, being quiet as a mouse should actually mean that you are screaming loudly, fighting over a Barbie doll and on a sugar rush that has you speeding around like you've just swallowed your first hit of meth.)

I shower and get ready to leave for work by 6:15 (this routine always includes checking on the three kids and giving little hugs & kisses - hubby too - and double checking there are enough bottles made for the baby because lately she's been waking up a lot - growth spurt-check.)

My commute is approximately 40 minutes long, depending on the traffic and I start work at 7:00 a.m. I eat lunch around 11:30 and weather-depending go for a walk and try to read a bit of my book. Workday ends at 3:00 p.m, commute home is longer because of traffic, pick up the baby at daycare by 4:00, the kids are home from school at about 4:15, and then I'm swarmed for the next few hours. Time to talk to the kids for a few minutes, try to get baby settled so I can make dinner, hubby gets home around 4:30 and he helps with homework if needed, we break up an argument or two over what constitutes an appropriate snack considering dinner will be ready within the hour. The teenager is hugely helpful with the baby and setting the dinner table and then it's dinnertime, clean-up after dinner, playtime with the kids, bathtime, bedtime and before you know it, it's 7:30 and time to put in a load of laundry, make tomorrow's lunches, get everyone's clothes ready and finally GO PEE because I should have done that 2 hours ago, and then it's almost 8:00 and I'm exhausted and ready for bed myself.

Hubby helps out a lot too, but he's swamped with renovating our flooded basement (I still haven't told you about that, but I will) every spare minute he has and he's also on call 24/7 with our local fire department, as well as being a captain there and in charge of training (which they do every other week.)

And somewhere in this long day I am supposed to be exercising my soft ass into rock-hard shape, or do some stamping/scrapbooking crafts, or finish that damn blanket I started knitting some time ago.

Am I really this lousy at time management? HOW DO YOU DO IT? That's not a rhetorical question by the way. I would like to hear your answers.

When The Apple Falls...

Earlier this week, my son was searching everywhere in his room for the battery charger to his remote control truck. And by everywhere, I mean he looked in the underwear basket in his closet, in the hard to open because it's jammed with all kinds of important crap desk drawer, and on top of the pile of dirty clothes he leaves piled up on the floor - logical places one might find all sorts of missing items.

He asked for my help and I dug through the large heavy-duty plastic container he uses as a toy bin, to no avail.

It was lost and he was TICKED OFF, stomping around, sulking, accusing me of putting it somewhere the last time I cleaned his room (and yes, I know, he's old enough to clean his own room, but a mother's gonna hold onto her ability to legitimately snoop, I mean clean, as long as possible, no?)

The very next night he came to me with a sheepish smile, saying, "Um, Mum? You know that charger I said you lost? Um, well, I kinda found it on my book shelf where I put it." He gave me a hug along with his "I'm really sorry I got mad at you".

We agreed we wouldn't share this with his stepdad because Jeff often mentions my own inability to find anything because according to him, I tend to look with my eyes closed and it would seem I may have passed this trait along.

So, as the saying goes, the apple doesn't fall far from the tree, but that's probably because it's also sitting on the bookshelf, waiting to be found.

It's A Beautiful Word

Heading out the door to work this morning, after tripping over the dog who'd found her way in front of my fast moving legs, arms full with a purse, a bag of garbage, Baby Girl's tote-bag filled with her snowpants, mittens, extra pants, socks & underwear, my keys in one hand, oh, and Baby Girl's doo-doo/blanket and baby-doll in the other, still annoyed with hubby about the little spat we had last night, my son reminded me that I say the word 'shit' a lot.

In front of the children.

And, here's the real horror: I don't feel guilty saying it within their earshot. Not for one shitty second.

Birthday Girl

Dear Bébé,

Yesterday was your 3rd birthday and we celebrated it with family (some were near, some are far away) and let me just say that neither Daddy or I are having an easy time accepting that you are "...'free years old". I'm pretty sure we'd give up a lot of things if only we could freeze time a little bit as a way of slowing down you and your big brother getting any older.

Some of the things we'd be willing to part with include my chocolate and Daddy might even give up his favorite fishing rod. (Not the bass boat, because, let's face it - that boat means as much to him as the very dirty baby-doll you carry EVERYWHERE means to you. The dirty, clothes-less, bacteria-filled doll we beg and plead and bribe you not to bring to the store. But you refuse to leave it behind because even at this young age, you understand something important: No one gets left behind in our house. We are a family and we stick together. Bottom line here is that you have the upper hand in these negotiations...but you didn't hear that from me.)

You were plum tuckered out by bedtime and within moments, sound asleep. So of course, I did what every mother does, and snuck back into your room to take this picture of you:

And then I went to Daddy for a hug. I cried tears of happiness that you are strong and healthy and happy and already a girl who knows her own mind. No one will ever push you around because you just won't stand for it.

I cried tears of sadness because my Bébé is not a little bébé anymore and as much as I want to stop time I know that I cannot. Instead, we will love you as much as is humanly possible and we will kiss and cuddle you as much and for as long as you will allow. (Based on your brother who still cuddles some of the time, we've got a solid 8 years ahead of us to look forward to.)

And I can easily speak for Daddy here too because we "aroo" you too, Baby Girl, "aroo" you so much you leave us breathless.

Love, Mummy