naps

I need a nap like I need oxygen.
This is due to the fact that after having Addison,
I developed insomnia. And it has been visiting again.
That means when I should be sleeping, I am not sleeping.
I am lying in my bed, tossing from side to side, twiddling
my thumbs, cursing the night.
Insomnia is a blight upon everything good and holy...like sleep.
For the last few days, when the sun cracks the sky,
I am loathe to climb out of my bed.
It seems as if I have had mere moments of sleep.
And maybe, if given the opportunity, I could sleep for an
entire week if I could just stay in bed.
So by 9:30 this morning, I was longing for a nap.
Which I know I am not supposed to take, because when you
have insomnia they say, "Whatever you do, DO NOT take a nap."
Because then you really won't sleep at night.
And to this I say, "I understand the general principle of what
you are saying here, but if there is anyway possible on this green earth,
that I can take a nap,I will be taking I nap."
By 10:00, I thought I might just keel over
on my head, mid-sentence, if I couldn't take a nap.
I called my mom, in Virginia, and said,
"Could you please fly here and watch my kids so that I can take a nap?"
Because you can not nap while your children are awake,
leaving them unsupervised, free to run a-muck in the house.
All manner of terrible things can occur, like loss of limbs,
ingesting of poisons or the re-arrangement of all of your spices,
if you sleep while your children are awake.
But this morning I was very desperate for a nap, you see, so I thought
I might give it a try. (Lack of sleep leads to insanity.)
I turned on some very educational television. Sesame Street.
Gave the children little snack filled bowls to occupy them.
Then I laid down on the couch next to the tv with a blanket.
Because in case a fire was started while I was napping,
I wanted to be in the same room with the children.
There was no fire or loss of limbs.
What there was, was a general excitement over me laying down
on the couch with a blanket.
Addison kept saying,"Hide! Hide!" And pulling the blanket over his head.
Then he thought it would be fun to climb over me
like a mommy jungle gym.
I believe I was hit in the head, at least once, with a ball.
Then he decided to feed me and began pushing cranberries and
peanuts from his snack mix into my mouth.
To which I tried to say pleasantly, "No, no! Mommy is taking a nap!"
All the while chewing the healthy snack and growing thirsty.
Next he tried taking books and lodging them in the space
between my neck and shoulders, begging me to,"Read! Read!"
And to this I must say,
"What on earth is television good for if it can not hold a child's attention?"
At this point, Will came and sat on me, so I asked him,
"Will, why won't Addie let me sleep?"
To which he answered with all the wisdom of a 4 year old sage,
"I think it is because he loves you so much
and he wants you to play with him."
So. No nap.
One can only pray for better sleep tonight.
Either that, or that my Mom will miraculously arrive tomorrow morning
so that I can take a nap.

books

I love curling up with a fantastic book,
on the couch, snuggled beneath a throw, all the while,
escaping into someone else's reality.
Because, as you know, my reality right now is disorganized.
So I love to slip into someone else's shoes
and pretend I am tramping about the Welsh hills with its cold clear air
tearing at my lungs as I walk the bracken lined lanes,
or exploring the cobbled alleys of some quaint Italian village on a vespa,
instead of feeling like all of my smudge smeared walls
are closing in on me.
That is the beauty of a book for me. Escape. Travel. Intrigue.
If you talk to me while I am reading, I will not hear you.
I may be vaguely aware of your presence.
I may even hear a slight murmur,
like the whine of a mosquito but I will not recall a single thing that you say.
Jack has taken to calling out to me,
"Mom, are you in there? Are you EVEN in there?"
(No, Jack, sorry to say, you have been emotionally abandoned as your
mother is eating soft pumpkin with Mma Ramotswe
of the No.1 Ladies Detective Agency on a covered veranda in Botswana.)
It is a family trait. My mom says she often got in trouble
as a child for getting too caught up in what she was reading.
When my sister, Jenny, gets a new book her husband,
Brett, calls himself a book widower.
Van tries to parcel out books slowly to my sister Erica,
but she sucks them back like a cup of Earl Gray laced with milk and sugar.
Luckily for our husbands we read quickly.
Sometimes we skip entire pages of flowery
description to get to the actual meat of the book.
Of course, then sometimes we miss crucial details like someone dying or
an integral piece of evidence that would lead us to unravel the mystery.
But really, we don't mind, because in a few months we will re-read it and
will be pleasantly surprised to realize
we have retained only minute bits of the story line
and its as if we are reading it again for the first time.
Scott and I took the boys to the library on Saturday
and we came back lugging a treasury of books,
a veritable wealth of things to read.
Berenstain Bears, Junie B., The Boxcar Children,
a handful of picture books,
mysteries for me and an autobiography for Scott.
Will flipped through pages, memorizing pictures,
sounding out letters under his breath.
Addison accosted us with board books,
shoving them into our hands, saying, "Read! Read!"
And I watched as Jack poured through his books, eyes glazed over,
a high red color to his cheeks as he hunkered down on the couch
finishing 3 chapter books in one afternoon.
I was even a little tempted to say,
"Jack, are you in there? Are you EVEN in there?"
But I know the feeling all too well of being sucked into the story.
And all I can say is,"Welcome home, son. Welcome home!"

disorganized

I am an organizer.
Now let's pause a moment, tsgs, until the raucous laughter dies down.
If you could see the state of my living room right now you would
join in the laughter and then say,"You've got to be kidding me."
3 times in the last week people have dropped by and found my family,
knee deep in popcorn kernels and board books and we had to literally,
clear a path so they could enter the house.
I have died a 100 tiny prideful deaths over the state of my home.
The floor is littered with videos, diabolically small lego pieces and
random pieces of cutlery. Woven in between the toys,
I see trails of graham cracker pieces and
some unidentifiable liquid is pooling on the coffee table.
Apple juice? Yesterday's cup of tea? It is anyone's guess.
Tax stuff litters the kitchen table,
along with voting guides, un-filed bills, and 3 thank you cards
that need to be sent that I don't have addresses for.
4 loads of laundry sit on my bed
and 3 more are over flowing the hampers.
I feel scattered and a bit sad that I have yet to figure out a system
to manage my own household chaos and also,
that I don't have any chocolate to comfort myself with at the moment.
But the thing is, organizing other people and their homes,
is a job...a project...a task with a beginning and an end.
But this house, this space filled with toys and odd scraps of paper,
with cracker crumbs, dirty clothes and even dirtier dishes,
this is my life. And I am in the midst of living it.
We are mucking it out...making snacks, wiping noses, budgeting,
kissing foreheads, changing light bulbs
and racing to the car on rainy mornings so we are not late to school.
And it is messy, this life, oh my goodness, it is messy.
This unkempt house with its closets
stuffed with light bulbs, items to be returned to target,
and bags full of clothes for Goodwill,
the bathtub with its chips in the enamel,
and the half finished cup of coffee sitting on the counter
are a testament to the life I am living.
This busy, crazy, rich, filled-to-the-brim-with-little-boys life.
And while I long for a big clean space, I really do,
because it truly feeds my soul
(and also nurtures my anal retentive tendecies
that I learned about in my college psych class),
I am trying to take a deep breath
and just enjoy the messy living part, too.
Because, God knows, tsgs, it may be a good 15 years
before my living room is really clean
and if I can't let go of some of these
control issues I will CLEARLY lose my mind.
So all of that said, with the kids' rooms in disarray
and the recycling waiting to be taken out,
I am going to make myself a cup of tea,
and drink a toast to me and my messy-full-of-life house.
Anyone care to join me?

rain

It is raining here in California.
And it is cold. Like the arctic. Lows in the 30s.
We can actually see our breath outside.
This changes things up a bit.
Because here, we like to wear flip flops into November.
It is with great irritation that I realize I must go in search of socks.
To those of you who have never been to California,
let me just explain a few things.
We don't have seasons. Not really.
We have sunny, a little bit more sunny, oh for goodness sakes,
it's the sun again, here's winter it's raining, and oh praise the Lord,
here is the sun. Yep, that's about it.
Our winter can sometimes be all of 5 days.
And just so you have an idea of how long our winter is,
in my college days we would take to the the beach in February.
We crammed all of our classes in before lunch because
we knew we would not be able to resist
the call of the sand and salty air nor
the lure of baby oil in which we lathered ourselves
like pieces of teenage bacon crisping in the sun.
Now, I do like rain.
I love falling asleep to the gentle tapping of raindrops on the roof.
I love the new clean after rain smell outside,
like the world has been freshly laundered.
I find it the perfect foil for a cup of tea and cookies.
For this very reason, I can only take a few days of rain at a time.
The problem is when the rain goes on for months,
the baked goods stack up and
I can no longer fit into my pants.
When I did a missions trip to Ireland, it rained everyday for 3 months.
I gained twenty pounds.
It took me a good year of California sun to recover.
I think I have grown to be weather intolerant
and am raising my kids to be the same.
When I lived in Illinois as a kid,
we actually played in the snow. The snow!
I don't know if you realize this, but snow is cold.
Here the temperature drops below 60
and I'm calling the kids in for jackets
and plying them with hot chocolate,
like one of those rescue dogs from the alps.
So it is supposed to be cold and rainy here for the next week.
Pray for strength for me, tsgs.
Even now, the chocolate chip cookies are in the oven.

weaponry

I live with 4 males.
Therefore we have weaponry.
We have rocket launchers and squirt guns.
We have plastic bows and arrows with suction cups on the ends.
We have teensy tinesy lego starwars blasters
and pens that transform into missiles.
If by some odd chance, the boys can not find their toy weapons,
the odd stick or rock will do.
Just last week, Addison tried to take out Will with the
surprisingly skillful wielding of a light saber.
The force was with him.
I'm okay with it. I know it is all little boy testosterone laden play.
But I was organizing Scott's office this week, you can imagine the joy,
the rapture, the awe, as Will found Scott's martial arts weapons
that had been carefully tucked away in the closet.
I ask you, tsgs, why must I, on top of everything else, deal with
nunchuks? Why?
Several times I have told Scott that we must get rid of the nunchucks,
and especially, the weird three pointed sword looking things.
And he looks on me with disdain.
What if someone broke in and he wasn't here to protect me?
I could use the nunchucks to take the guy out.
Now let me just tell you right now, people,
if you put a pair of nunchucks in my hands
and face me off with a scary intruder
there will be only one person getting hurt.
That would be me as a I flung the nunchuck around
and was bashed in the head by the other flailing end
as it sailed back around.
Nunchucks and Sue don't mix.
As for the three pointed thing, I believe it is used to fend off swords
and I'm pretty certain most cat burglars do not engage in sword play.
Anyway, Will was utterly enthralled.
He knew Scott was a black belt
but had no idea there were self-defense weapons involved.
He gazed at Scott with open admiration,
"The Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles use those things, Dad."
Scott grinned back at him with a prideful gleam in his eye.
Later as I was straightening the desk, Will asked,
"Mommy, did Dad ever kill anyone with his weapons?"
Like it would be perfectly fine and acceptable to him if he had.
So then we had the big conversation about martial arts
and how these weapons were used for practice and not for hurting people,
just agility training and how Daddy took those classes for self defense
and to learn how to protect himself
not so he could dress up like a ninja and kill people.
And I think Will really heard me. I think he heard,
"Blah Blah Blah Blah Blah." And thought to himself,
"My dad is cool. He has weapons."
And this is the point at which I take the martial arts tools of death
and bury them in the back yard and go make myself a cup of tea.
Because life is short and I really do not want to be worrying about
rounding the corner with a basket of laundry and find myself
facing down Crouching Tiger Hidden Will.
You have to draw the line somewhere, tsgs, you really do.

a conversation with will

A few days ago I was sitting at the computer and
Will came in and snuggled up against me.
I buried my nose in his curls which smelled like the lavender
shampoo he'd used in his bath the night before.
Some days Will's curls have that little boy puppy dog smell.
Some days they have the cold clean smell of outside lodged there.
I squeezed him and said, "I like how you smell, Will."
And he said, "I like how you smell, too, Mom."
"How do I smell?" I asked. (Which could be a dangerous question)
"Like Mom," he said.
As a little girl, I remember folding into my mom's side,
and breathing her in.
Nothing is quite as nice as being little and snuggling up with your mom.
She smelled clean and a little bit like perfume and every bit like my mom.
My mom had a very nurturing and utterly safe mommy kind of scent.
I told Will, "I liked how my mom smelled, too."
"Did she smell like a flower?" He asked, smiling.
"No," I said, smiling back, "Why? Do I smell like a flower?"
"No." He said, "Just like Mom."
And from my point of view, that is the very high praise.

shots

Did you know that it really does hurt to get a tetanus shot?
I know this because I got one yesterday.
I stepped on a nail as I was pulling up wet carpet
in my flooded patio room.
So I called the nurse and said,
"Yes, I stepped on a nail so I need to come in for a tetanus shot."
And she said,"Are you bleeding? Do you need stitches?
Did you soak your foot? When was your last tetanus?"
And I said,"No. No. No. I don't remember."
And she said, "Let me transfer you."
So then I talked to another nurse, who questioned me further.
and then said something like,
"Well, what are you doing sitting on your sofa?
Do you want your jaw to start locking immediately?
You need to come in right away for a tetanus shot."
"Of course," I said. So I did.
The actual shot giving nurse was very kind.
When she heard that I had stepped on a nail,
She said,"Oh, Honey!"
Like she was very sad for me and my nail experience.
And that made me feel a bit weepy, all that loving sympathy.
Then she poked me, put on a tiny round band aid and sent me home.
When I got home I took some advil and for goodness sakes,
the children knocked into my shoulder 49 times in a row.
So I said, "Don't touch mommy's shoulder, she has an ouchie."
And then, they all had to look at it and poke it
and look at the drop of blood on the tiny round band aid.
And then I went to bed
and rolled over on my shoulder 49 times in the night,
each time waking up and thinking,"For goodness sakes,that smarts."
By the time I woke up this morning,
I was officially Miss Cranky Poopy Pants.
I yelled at my entire family and hounded Jack until he got into the car
for school. I was quite mean and nasty. Because of the shot, of course.
I had to apologize to four people and Jesus before I even had
my morning cup of coffee. Shots can do terrible things to people.
So then I took Addison in this morning for his 3 shots.
Which I have been putting off for months. I have been dreading it.
I hate holding the children down as they are pierced
and look at me with that you-are-a-traitor look.
The nurse gave the shots 1-2-3. I held him down. And Addison squirmed.
That's it. No whining. No tears. Nothing.
And he chatted happily all the way home in the car.
He ate his lunch with smiles. And played with his brother, Will.
And then he took his nap. After 3 shots.
Never once did he clutch at his legs or burst into tears.
So I have come to the obvious conclusion that tetanus is by far
the worst shot in the world. Even if someone has had 14 shots
of some other kind, tetanus is still worse.
And that is all I have to say about that.

new

It didn't happen.
I had hoped it would but it didn't.
I started out this week hoping that somehow, magically,
just because it was a new week in a new month in a new year,
that I myself would feel new.
But mostly, I feel depleted.
It may have something to do with still being on East Coast time,
it may have a bit to do with the death flight that brought us home,
it may have to do the flooding in our back room,
the electricity outages or the chaos of unpacking,
or it could simply be the fact that in the two minutes
I was on the phone with my sister-in-law, Cheri, last night,
Addison found 2 contrasting markers
and colored the walls in the hallway,
the front door, the bathroom door and the coffee table.
He ended his artistic spree by dumping a bag of trail mix
in the middle of his room and then sat down to have a snack.
Luckily, there were m&m's in the trail mix.
I soothed myself with chocolate
as I picked up 40 gazillion tiny nuts and raisins.
It has been a rough start to the new year.
And yet I am hopeful. Crazy, I know.
Maybe it is because I am no longer functioning in reality.
Highly possible.
Or it could be because I have talked to several friends who
had similar ridiculous new year experiences
and I don't feel alone in the crazy.
Misery shared brings a bit of comfort.
Or it could be because this verse keeps swirling in my head.
I looked it up in THE MESSAGE. It's a good one.

GOD's loyal love couldn't have run out,
his merciful love couldn't have dried up.
They're created new every morning.
How great your faithfulness!
Lamentations 3:22-23

I think I have hope because God is faithful.
And even though, I feel worn out, he's not.
And did you catch the thing about his loyal merciful love for us?
We get a fresh share every morning just like our morning coffee.
It could be the perfect start to the tired supergirl day ...
a piping hot cup of lovely caffeinated goodness followed by
a big fat helping of God's love made new this morning.
I'm feeling better already.

happy new year

Hopefully, there were very merry Christmas holidays for tsgs
everywhere this nativity season.
Our holiday was spent back east soaking up time with family and friends.
Some highlights....
watching our kiddos opening presents,
(nothing is better than kid joy on Christmas morning)
going to my cousin Jason's wedding,
(except for the part when I went to sit down on my chair
and really I just sat on my winter coat and some air
and ended up on my bahookie next to the chair looking up at
my cousin Julie...thanks for not laughing too hard, Julie),
eating my mom's big round pancakes
(kind of like crepes but oh so much better)
being with family and seeing my boys with their cousins,
visiting the DC monuments in 19 degree weather
(we discovered we only love Abraham Lincoln when it is that cold,
the other monuments got no love from us)
visiting the hospital Will was born at 3 years ago,
(Addison fell out of the crib and landed on his head,
we thought he had a concussion, but of course he was totally fine
Visiting ERs is a gifting our family has.
This time we got a $100 teddy bear with our co-pay.)
And biggest highlight ever....
remaining alive after landing in a crazy thunder storm yesterday.
I thought maybe I would start out the new year with Jesus.
Not just with him in my heart but with me actually being in heaven.
We Californians are not used to inclement weather.
Our city motto is Climate best by government test. For real.
We wouldn't joke about something like that.
But when the pilot asked the flight attendants to discontinue beverage
service and remain seated when we were still an hour out from SFO
we knew we would not be landing in sunny California.
I'm not so good with turbulence.
And apparently neither were the rest of the folks on the plane.
While I tried to keep Addison pre-occupied on my side of the aisle,
Scott attended Will who lost his lunch and then to Jack who followed suit
because he saw Will lose his lunch.
And then the flight attendants who were not supposed to be up WERE UP
trying to find more barf bags because there was
an epidemic of in flight lunch loss
and they were ill equipped to handle such an event.
I yelled across at Jack to throw up on his blanket
lest he throw up on himself. He got his shoes anyway.
By the time we landed the whole plane broke into applause.
Not for the pilot but because we were so very thankful we were alive.
Usually I have a gajillion things I want to do, change, make happen
as I round the corner on the new year.
But I think this year my resolution is this....
to keep my feet on the ground and be thankful I am alive.
It's a good one.