Weekend Wreckage

I don’t know what it is about the weekend but I just can’t keep up on the housework. Every Saturday morning I clean and disinfect and deodorize and make the boys clean their room. But by evening a tornado has swept through the house once again. I think it has something to do with the boys being home all day and me not being able to pick up faster than they can clutter and destroy.

So by Sunday afternoon things we’re looking really scary around here. Angel girl is suffering from teething and a crazy goopy runny nose so there are tissues scattered about. This morning she got mad at her bowl of CapN’ Crunch (I have no idea why) and dumped it all over the floor. Luckily there was no milk in it. I see toy cars and DVD’s and lego’s and paper everywhere. That’s just the living room.

In short, Monday is the day I come out of the bedroom look at the house and sigh, wondering when it got so out of control. Monday is also the day I pick it all up, look at my work satisfactorily and think I won’t let the mess get out of control again.

*snort*




Curse you Bloglandia!!!!!

Ok, not really. I just wanted to have that be the title of a post.

Seriously though, I am this close to buying myself one of these:

I remember my uber organized business minded mother always carrying around her weekly planner in her tote bag. Scribbling events, to do’s, phone numbers and the like in it. I remember thinking Heaven forbid I ever carry around a planner someday. I was certain I’d always have memory enough to sustain me. (Mom, I love ya)

But lately I’ve gotten so many freebies to review on this blog by such and such a time, and the boys are both in school now and have various events and library books need to be returned so I’m not paying $27.50 for the 3 educational videos that were 3 days late, and I need to schedule eye exams for everyone and checkups and rent has to be paid by such and such a time as well as bills and…and….and…….

I’m so close to giving in. And so far away because I must. not. acknowledge. I. need. planner. help. *URG* *ACK* *SPLUTTER*

Obviously I have issues with accepting the fact that I have Mommy Brain and am only doomed to get worse as the years go by.




Mommy Thoughts

* What is it about a child’s taste buds that makes them turn their nose down at something as delicious as apple pie, but greedily scarf down a Peanut Butter, Honey & Cheese Sandwich?

* Why will the baby girl willingly put daddy’s hats on her head but pull a light weight bow out of her hair the second I put it in?

* How can the kids listen to one song 50 times in a row and not be sick of it? How can they dance to one song 50 times in a row and not be ready to drop from exhaustion?

* Why does, “Go play in your room,” mean “Ransack the place” to my sons?

* Why is a stubborn “NO!” from a baby girl’s mouth so very adorable?

* How is the amount of love I feel for each of them even possible? Sometimes it overwhelms me.




The chicken smells like fried stairwell

That’s what I told my husband when I walked in our apartment door last night. Obviously I’d had another long day. As we snuggled under the covers last night I said,

“I think I have a mid-life crisis pretty much every month.”

He snickered, knowing exactly what I meant by that. But really, I’m often in a state of transience when it comes to feeling satisfied with my progress in life. Sure it’s ok to cut yourself some slack once in a while but it’s also important to keep striving to be better. I can rarely find a balance between the two. So I got to thinking about my life and where I am as opposed to where I thought I would be years ago. It reminded me of a collage I made with some church leaders and youth 10 years ago. We got together one night and cut loads of magazines apart, gluing pictures or sayings about our dreams onto poster board.

I dug it out of my hope chest today. I don’t know how it didn’t get thrown away years ago but I’m so glad it didn’t. On the back of the poster board is written ‘May 12, 1998 To compare w/life in 2008′
Well here it is, over 10 years later. Let’s take a look see at what the aspirations of my 16 year old self were. I mean other than wanting a cat and a dog, which won’t happen until we have a house.

This was a big one for me - A fiery red head at heart (and sometimes in appearance when I’ve dyed my hair). Tempers run hot in my family and my thoughts as I pasted this phrase on were that I never wanted to lose control of my temper again. (HA! Still trying)

Above is me as a sexy basketball star! Oh how many hours I spent dreaming of playing professional basketball. Yeah, that didn’t happen. At least I had fun playing point guard in High school.

Motivational, a little dramatic - totally me. Yeah, I still think that quote is awesome. I’m a cheeseball.

Funny how the smallest picture on the collage made my heart stop for a moment. Everything that I am now, hinges on those two little rings. Ok, not those rings specifically and not even on our wedding rings specifically, but on our union. I am a wife, I always wanted to be a wife. I am a mother. I didn’t always want to be a mother.

To be perfectly and embarrassingly honest here I was terrified of having to…um…do what it is you have to do to become a mother for a VERY long time. Plus I was never one of those teenage girls who loved kids. I babysat on occasion but I rarely enjoyed it. Babies were messy, slobbery, snotty little things and kids were too annoying, demanding and silly. What a brat I was, huh?

But now motherhood defines me. I mean, I try not to let it completely over run my life. I make sure I have hobbies and spend time to myself. But it defines me in that nothing I do is solely about me anymore. Every decision I make affects my husband and 3 little people who are eager to follow my example. Sometimes that is stressful, mostly though it’s helpful. It’s helped me change for the better. Once I heard my 3 year old say Damn! for the first time, I knew right then I had to be better at watching my mouth when I hurt myself. Once I saw my 2 year old trying to drink out of the milk carton I realized that I’d better stop drinking out of the milk carton.

Children make you see the worst in yourself without making you feel like you’re a bad person. You see them following your bad example and you not only don’t get discouraged in yourself, you know without a doubt that you can be better and that you must be better, just for them. It’s win win. They better you, you better them. Without even realizing it sometimes.

In spite of the many dreams I’ve had to cast aside, in spite of how mentally and physically draining child rearing can be, in spite of how horrible I sometimes think I am as a mother, I know that this is exactly where I want to be right now. I have become and am still becoming the person I always wanted to be. One who is improving herself each day and sharing her love of life with people she loves more than life. What could possibly be better than that?




Labor Day

Yeah, so I know labor day isn’t about actual labor but at the same time it was a heck of a lot of work to bring my kids into the world and since I don’t get the day off (what mother ever does) I’ll just give myself a shout out for hard work well done. Want to play along? Put up your post and go sign the Mr. Linky at Rocks in My Dryer

How long were your labors?

* Count Dooku was 14 hours
* Obi Wan was 19 hours
* Angel Girl was 6 hours (Thank you induction)

How did you know you were in labor?

* With Count Dooku I hadn’t even had a Braxton Hicks so the first time I felt a contraction I knew just what it was and then they kept repeating and getting closer…
* With Obi Wan I had been having strong contractions off and on for weeks. At my doctors visit 3 days after his due date the doctor told me I was 4cm and to go to the hospital
* With Angel Girl I was induced, one stinkin’ day early. I warned them she would be big but would they listen to me?

Where and how did you deliver

All three at the hospital with epidurals. No C-sections thankfully.

* Count Dooku was at the hospital with an epidural that only worked on the left side of my body. He made his grand entrance after 2 1/2 hours of pushing, forceps and a 4th degree tear
* Obi Wan was at the hospital with a failed epidural. One deliriously painful ring of fire and 2nd degree episiotomy later, he was born
* Angel Girl threatened to be a c-section and I had been scheduled for one but when we went in we found she had finally turned. I was pretty sure that’s what they would discover before we went in due to an event a day or two prior. Feeling a baby that big, that far along make the transition into a downward position was one of the most painful things I’d ever felt. When we came back a week later for an induction I was told I was already in labor. But I couldn’t tell.

Birth Stats (I added this one ’cause I always like to know about birth stats)

* Count Dooku was 8lbs. 8oz. and 21 inches long
* Obi Wan was 10lbs. even and 22 inches long
* Angel Girl was 10lbs. 2 oz. and 22 1/2 inches long.

Happy Labor Day!




Back to School

I know I’ve mentioned how excited I’ve been for school to start up again. Well Count Dooku started Monday and it’s been great for both of us. He thrives in such a structured environment and I thrive on time not spent in a battle of wills. Don’t think me completely heartless though. Of course I love him and his moving into 1st grade is just another sign of his growing apart from me. Sometimes tangible reminders like the start of school force me to acknowledge the inevitable. Make me wistful for more time enjoyed with his youth still unspoiled. So this break from my son has already been good on that count.

Little Obi Wan starts kindergarten tomorrow. I’m a bit more apprehensive about his going. He told me with tears in his eyes on Monday that he would miss me. Such a sensitive sweetheart I never imagined calling son. He, too, seems reluctant to face the inevitable. Here is where the sorrow of separation becomes more keen as I encourage him to do what I myself do not want him to do. To grow up. To be brave and leave mommy behind each day. It’s amazing how different two children so close in age can be.

It will be so different with my two oldest children gone all day. Certainly there will be more time for many of the things I wish to accomplish, more time to relax, more time to miss my boys and think about why I love them so much. There will also be more time for their little sister left behind who is, herself, growing up far too fast.




My Mother, My Friend

I was lucky to have such a good relationship with my mom as a kid. Of course we had our disagreements but overall things were good, are still good. I never had any reservations about telling her anything. About asking her anything. She knew how to maintain a proper balance between being my mother and being my friend. She believed in my abilities and let me know when I wasn’t living up to my potential. Sometimes I agreed with her. Sometimes I wished she’d stop expecting so much of me. But I always knew she was right, that becoming a better person was an active decision. And that even if I continued to be stubborn and slough off in my school work or other areas of my life, she would still love me. I knew she would always be there for me.

I remember the night my boyfriend left. I was 18 and he was my first love, the first boy I had ever kissed. I was certain I would marry him, but first he needed to serve a 2 year mission for our church. It wasn’t a requirement, it was his own decision and one I had encouraged him in. But that didn’t make his leaving any less painful.

As we stood out on the lawn that final night in a tight embrace whispering our 10th good-bye, my mother stood inside the door waiting. A final tight squeeze as the tears filled my eyes and we separated. He had to run to his car to avoid being drawn back toward me and I had to run to the door to avoid the same. He started his cars ignition and waved at me with tears in his eyes as he drove away. I waved too and then broke into a sob as I fumbled to open the screen door. I flung it open and then jammed the weight of my body against the main door to push it open. As it swung open I saw the shape of my mom standing there, her arms pulling me to her. I was already sobbing so hard my head hurt. She guided me down the stairs, helped me crawl into her bed and tucked me in. Then she lay on the covers beside me and stroked my hair until I fell asleep. She was completely silent in word but her actions meant everything. Whether my pain was over dramatic or not, she knew how keenly I felt it and she didn’t try to stop that. She let me grieve hard while assuring me with only her presence and I’m forever thankful for that.

I love you mom. Happy Birthday.




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Summer Owens

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