Thursday, July 9, 2015

The Fight

I argued with myself the other day. And when I say, "with myself" I mean with Hazel. This child. This child who I am so smitten with has become one of those creatures not unlike Gollum from Lord of the Rings. I think she spends more of her day writhing around on the floor, or her bed, or the timeout spot than she does walking upright. She is like a werewolf while it's going through the change. It's ugly. Loud. Somewhat entertaining. And utter nonsense. 

I almost always have no idea what has caused the episode. Because we mom's never know. Not really. There could be something that set them off, but half the time, let's be honest, they don't even know!

Really, it could be about anything. Like, eating or not eating, wearing clothes or not wearing clothes, going outside or staying inside, I said yes or I said no, I offered her a snack or a toy or the moon. It is all nonsense.

This particular moment was brought to you by bed time. Ahh yes. The most anticipated and equally dreaded moment in all of motherhood. I long for bed time. I think about it and sing, "it's the most wonderful time of the day" in my head while we are making our way to bed time. YET! Each and every day my children, and all children I assume, are taken by surprise that we must go to bed again. WHAT???? You must be crazy to make me go to bed again!! Yes, child. If you didn't know already I am crazy. Because of you and your special toddler crazy. Anywho. The fight.

I may or may not have been in a particularly feisty mood, which may or may not have made me prone to go toe to toe with my crazy ass toddler in her crazy ass tantrums. Not the best mix for bedtime.
Daddy gave them a bath and I took Hazel to get dressed. This was our conversation...

For the best understanding, try to read Hazel's responses with as much toddler attitude that you can. Because it was all that. Nothing but attitude. And maybe mine too.

Me: Okay Hazel, go pick out your pjs.
H: No. I'm not gonna wear that. I'm gonna wear my tank top.
Me: You can't wear your tank top it's dirty from today.
H: NOOOO! I'm gonna wear my tank. top.
M: Sorry babe. You can't. You are going to wear pjs. It's what we wear to bed.
(Long Pause= toddler is pondering her rebuttal)
H: I'm gonna tell my daddy on you.
M: Fine. I don't care. GO tell him.
H: I am! I am gonna tell MY! DADDY! ON! YOU!

She goes to the bathroom and tattles on me to Brent who has no idea what's going on and asks why she is still naked. Cue huge eye roll from me.

Me: Hazel! Out of the bathroom. You are getting dressed.
H: NO. NO. I am not. I'm wearing my tank. top.

We are now in the middle of the hallway straight up yelling at each other. While the husband goes about his business doing bath time.

M: You can't tattle on mommy. It doesn't work. Daddy is on my side. You are going to wear pjs!!
H: No. I won't. I won't. I am wearing my tank. top.
M: I don't care anymore. You are going to wear pjs or go to bed naked.
H: I gonna tell my dada.
M: No you aren't. NO YOU AREN'T.
H: I. AM.
M: Hazel. You don't have a choice. You are going to go to bed right now.
H: No I am not. I gonna tell my dada. You not my mom. I wear my tank. top.
M: HAZEL! You are not wearing that tank top. You are going to be naked then.

I walk her into her room while she writhes and screams. I dress her while she writhes and screams. I put her into her bed, while she writhes and screams. And then I walk out. While she writhes and screams.

I think when your baby turns two you should be given a strait jacket, ear plugs and a bottle of tequila as a gift from the whomever. Doctor. Community. God. Fellow mom's. I don't know. But what I do know is I have actually worn ear plugs while doing bed time because my ear drums are threatening to quit on me if I don't.

It's these special moments that just make me love motherhood. Said with all the sarcasm in the world. Really, these moments are hilarious in hind site. I love a good story and by golly we have a lot of them. Especially thanks to a spirited crazy little blonde girl I know. More to follow I'm sure. 

Thursday, June 18, 2015

Dreaming Big

I haven't written in a while. All the usual reasons. My inability to sit down and commit to consistently writing on this small space of the internet that I call my own seems to punctuate my problems with consistency in general. I struggle with it so hard. The oils trend is super fun, and I have seen it work wonders. When I am consistent. Dieting is going so well, until I hurt my foot and couldn't do any sort of impact physical activity. Consistency went down the drain. What is it about the human spirit and that once we take a moment to step out of the rodent wheel we choose or find ourselves in that we can not seem to get back on?!


I am writing every morning. Every morning I rise early before my small people to have a single (or if I'm extra lucky two) hot cup of coffee. NOT. MICROWAVED. All my moms just completely nodded their head yes in agreement that that is the best thing ever. Almost as good as all the kids taking a nap at the same time and getting to watch one of your shows on netflix. What? You don't want to watch a mother episode of Ninjago? or Octonauts? or Miles from Tomorrowland?

When I rise for my morning dose of legal addictive stimulates I also sit outside. I enjoy the quiet and cool of the morning. I am alone with my thoughts. My hurts. My joys. My fears. My deep heart murmuring of my soul. My ideas. My journal has become this way of getting so much out so I can have room to breathe in and fill the empty spaces with breath and not burden. I have found so much of a gift in this time.

My morning time is one of the best parts of my day. One that my husband calls me crazy for doing, but I'm crazy for lots of reasons so I don't know why he bothers. I would like to hope that I could find myself in front of the computer a few of these mornings and to share my thoughts and dreams and deep hurts that come from a mamas heart with you lovely people.

We shall have to see how it goes. I know many bloggers and writers alike devote specific time of their day to sit, uninterrupted and write. I want to write. I want to inspire. To share a gift. I love sharing my life, my story and my struggles with others. It is freeing to me. It also allows me to give freedom to others. There have been many moments where a mama struggling with the weighted guilt of depression has thanked me for being the one to be vulnerable first. That is worth all the cups of coffee in the world. I want someday to be able to share my ever evolving story with women on a grander scale. I know those in my small world hear me talk often of the need for unity and transparency in motherhood. But, I am serious ladies. We have to find a way to become allies and all realize we have no clue what we are doing. But we all hope with every ounce of our soul we are doing it right. And, there are a lot of us who are desperately trying to find a way to even like what we are being called to let alone able to worry about doing it "right."

This is a journey and I'm trying to dream big. Trying to not become overwhelmed by my perceived bigness of the small things. And, right now. As I am typing my biggest comes and says he wants to do something with me. This blog could be bigger to me in this moment, but in actuality it is small. The time he WANTS to spend with me is big. Bigger than ever reaching 100s of women some day. He. Is most important. Reaching him is big. So, thats all for today.

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