My idea for this post stems from one this one written by SFTC. Thanks for this inspiration!
My husband is terrific. He has so many redeeming qualities it would be hard for me to list them all. Which is why, in this post, I am going to rant about something all together different...his most annoying habit. Well, I guess you would call it a habit. It's his CrackBlackberry. Seriously, I would like to see that thing suffer a long, slow, painful death.
Like many, I stay home with the children, while my husband goes off to work everyday. When he gets home I like for him to be plugged in here. Engaged with me. With the children. When we sit down to dinner together as a family, my request (okay requirement) is that we eat without outside interruptions. Our children go to bed early. Seven o'clock to be precise, and so it is hugely important that he make the most of his time with them when he gets home. To be clear, this does not mean that he takes over child care duties, it simply means that he be here as an active and willing participant in their lives. For the most part...he is. I said for the most part.
See my husband has a mistress. Oh, there is no other woman's perfume wafting in the door with him when he enters our home. There is no lipstick on his collar. There is never any mysterious late night rendezvous. Nope...his mistress is his Blackberry. That little tramp.
A couple of years ago I made the dire mistake of getting him his first Blackberry for Christmas. I thought it would be helpful for him at work. I thought he would like it. What didn't occur to me then was what an intrusion the little device would be into our lives.
From the time he comes home, the Blackberry is buzzing and chirping almost without pause. Even through dinner, which wouldn't be that big of a deal all by itself. What gets me is the way my husband behaves as if the stupid thing is his lifeline. Like without it, without his constant contact to the outside world, he would shrivel and melt into a puddle like the witch on Wizard of Oz. The buzzing is like a siren song to which my husband has no defense. He hears the buzz and is compelled to action, checking the device with the same feverish intensity of a crack addict about to take his long awaited next hit. We go nowhere without it. Truly, if we tried, telltale signs of addiction would be evident. He would get the shakes. All would notice the tremor in his hands. It would be a catastrophe.
When confronted about his obsession, there is always a legitimate reason (in his mind anyway) as to why he needs to check this message, or take this call. The funny thing is, every message is this message, and every call is this call. No matter if it is Monay or Sunday. Sadly for me, this is a battle I will never win. Why I chose it to begin with is beyond me. I should have recognized his unrelentling need to have her at all times. So while I don't love her (in fact I despise her), I will learn to live with her. As it seems my husband's dependency on her shows no signs of abating. That won't stop me however, from plotting her demise.
...let 'em me doctors and lawyers and such. You've heard this Waylon Jennings and Willie Nelson song, right? If not, you can go here to check it out. I happen to like this twangy old classic, and its title relates well to something that is on my mind in varying degrees every day. No, I am not worried that my babies may actually grow up to be cowboys, nor do I care whether they become doctors and lawyers and such (though that would be wonderful). What does concern me is their character. I am concerned over who they will be rather than what they will be, and I worry over my husband's and my role in shaping just that.
I like to think of a baby as a blank slate when born. A newborn baby doesn't lie, manipulate, steal, cheat, blame, swear or any other number of things our morally bankrupt society does on a regular basis. They are a clean slate, just waiting for someone to make their mark on them. This is where it all begins, this long arduous journey of shaping the moral character of another human being. Heavy.
So what do we do as mothers or fathers when we catch our child in a lie? What do we do when we witness our 2.5 year old manipulate her 15 month old brother so that she can end up with the toy that her little brother was contentedly playing with? What do we do when our 2.5 year old hears what we say, yet deliberately chooses to do something all together different than instructed? These things seem so small when singled out, but I believe that our answers to these questions are the blueprint used in shaping our children.
Modifying my children's behavior on a daily basis is exhausting. It is mentally and emotionally taxing. It sucks the life right out of me. But it is necessary.
Let's take lying. When our child lies to us, how do we react? Well, I for one, do not let it slide. Ever. In my opinion there is no reason...ever...that it is okay to lie. It is one trait that I consider absolutely despicable. So, when my 10 year old lies, he has a consequence. Now, I know that the consequence itself won't stop him from lying in the future, but it may have him at least thinking about it more carefully before he does it the next time around. And so it will go until he is an adult and out on his own. Hopefully, the constant reinforcement while home with us will have taught him that lying is never an okay solution.
Now, one more example. Deliberately disobeying. Addyson does this. Not very often, but often enough to test my patience. So when this occurs, it is stopped swiftly. She is redirected (as calmly as I can muster) by going for a timeout. Timeout is what works best for my daughter. She sits in her timeout spot for 2 minutes, then I calmy re-explain why she had a timeout. I tell her I want an apology, I give her a kiss and a hug and then we get on with our day. Most times, this same behavior doesn't crop up again (at least not in the same day). Through this reinforcement, Addyson will learn that having repsect for others is necessary. It is a characteristic she will carry with her throughout her life.
Our children are a direct reflection as adults, of the way they were parented as children. Being a parent is a huge responsibility and a tremendous blessing. In becoming a parent, I believe, we made a choice to always do what is right for our children. To always put their best interest first. It's not easy. In fact it's down right hard. Which means there are times when I would like to pretend I didn't just witness Addyson push her little brother down, or that I didn't hear Drew teasing Addyson relentlessly. In those times my husband's motto from Westpoint Military Academy resonates with me : Always choose the harder right over the easier wrong. In so doing, I take the worry out of the equation. I feel confident in my husband's and my role in helping to shape who they will be.
And if Colton and Drew want to become cowboys...well, that is A-Okay with me. So long as they are honest, hard-working, upstanding and moral cowboys ;)
Almost three weeks ago we brought our furry little bundle of joy home to join our family, and today he is fighting for his life.
I debated about posting this, but I fear my head may explode if I don’t hash it all out.
Wednesday night we were playing with him in our living room, and he needed to go out for a potty break. Nothing unusual. Nothing out of the ordinary. Then ten minutes later he was at the back door wanting to come back in. When he did his breathing was very labored and his gums were going grey.
Within ten minutes I had him in my car headed for the emergency vet. There he has been since. He has pulmonary edema, which, in laymen's terms is fluid build up on the lungs. He has a severe case. There are two types. Cardiogenic (having to do with the heart), and non-cardiogenic (obviously not having to do with the heart). He has the second type.
Causes could be: anaphylactic shock (brought on by a sting/bite), choking, head trauma, electric shock, or heat stroke. We have no idea what it was, but we know it wasn’t any of the above with the exception of choking. We don’t know if he may have swallowed something and it restricted his airway for a few minutes, or if his collar got hung up on a bush he plays in and freaked out, thereby choking himself.
In any case, most cases of this typically resolve themselves within 24hours. Finnegan has been in the vet hospital since Wednesday night and shows no improvement. Because he hasn’t worsened, they keep suggesting more time. So…we’ve been continuing to give him more time.
My heart is sick with worry, I cry out of no where throughout the day, I look at his toys strewn about my living room and cry again. I am a huge mess. There is already a hole in his absence. I can’t imagine what will happen if he doesn’t make it, and yet the vet has said we need to start preparing for that. How? I am not God, nor do I want to play God. The thing is, we don’t have an endless supply of money either.
I think the consensus that we have reached is to try to give him until Monday to show improvement. If he doesn’t go into respiratory distress before then. If that happens, then I will consider it his way of letting us know he can’t do it anymore.
In the meantime we are trying to figure out how we will come up with the money to support our little guy until then. Our bill thus far is over $3,000.00. Now is one of those times when I wish I were still working.
So…we wait. Just like we’ve been doing since this began. Waiting and hoping that he starts to show us that he is going to pull through. Meanwhile, I am an emotional wreck and was ill prepared to answer my precocious daughter’s questions about his whereabouts. “The doctors will tell us when he can come home, right mama?” “Mama, Finnegan is our dog…so he needs to come home to be with us.” “Do you promise they will tell us when he is ready, mama?” What on earth do you say to that?
Friday Andy and I decided to give Finnegan until Monday to make a turnaround, despite all the animal doctors’ advice. They continued to tell us that all signs pointed toward no, and we were still praying yes.
Nearly an hour after making that decision, the doctor called to tell me that Finnegan was declining. Declining? “What does that mean?”, I asked. “Does that mean we are at the point I have dreaded? The one when I will have to decide for him whether he has given it his all?” So, I went to see him. They led me back to where he was kept, and tears streamed in a torrential flood down my face at first glimpse. Not because he looked worse to my eye, or because he looked like he was hurting. Simply because there he was, looking at me like I should take him home. Looking at me like he didn’t understand why I kept leaving him there.
I talked with the doctor while standing there, and she told me his “prognosis” is not good. She doesn’t have a lot of hope for any recovery at this point. Still, I couldn’t bring myself to let him go. So I left, determined to give him at least until later that evening. Around 9:30pm I called, and a new doctor was in (but one who was with him the previous night), and she didn’t have better news. In fact, she told me it was time to think about euthanizing him.
I went in, and after crying for 30 minutes while talking with the doctor, I made the only decision I thought I could make. I let him go. I rubbed him the whole time, and as he left, so did a tiny piece of my heart. Then, as my tears seemed unending, I walked away. I drove home alone with his little collar in my lap wondering why on earth this happened. What purpose did it serve. Knowing that I may not ever have the answers, and that oftentimes the answers aren’t even for us to understand.
So Finnegan is gone, and our home is missing a family member. While he was only with us a short time, he made an indelible mark. His little paw prints are planted firmly on our hearts.
I have recently come across a blog, appropriately named, Blogtrotting. Go check it out if you haven't already. Sign up, and sign into the region in which you live. Then, when it's your turn, you post about your home! When it's not your turn, you can blogtrot all over the world meeting new people, and learning about new places. So for my readers who are not a part of Blogtrotting, go join the fun!
So welcome to the Grand Canyon State (just click the link to see some amazing photographs), state capitol, Phoenix. It is home to one of the Seven Natural Wonders of the World, and to me ;) Oh, and let's not forget the infamous fight that went down at the OK corral in Tombstone, Az. Yep...the very one which was made into a movie. The very one where Val Kilmer, portraying Doc Holiday, says *insert post title*.
Seeing as how I am not a fan of really long posts, I aim to keep this brief...filling you with some fun trivia about our hellishly hot state. In case you are related to our local scorpion, and you live under a rock, you should know first and foremost that Arizona is hot. H-O-T. I mean 115 degrees for consecutive days and weeks hot. That's pretty much when we hole ourselves up in air condidtioned spaces, fanning ourselves while cabana boys feed us grapes. Well, at least the first part is true.
Winter months are glorious, hovering around a brisk 65-75 degrees. Old timers Snow birds flock to our state in overwhelmingly annoying numbers. They overtake our shopping centers, restaurants and roads...leaving the natives restless and edgy.
We have snakes. All types, but none so well known and smartly feared as the rattlesnake. The Western Diamond Back is perhaps the largest and most intimidating.
As I mentioned above, we have scorpions. The most prevelant is also the most poisonous. It's the Arizona Bark Scorpion. It's sting is rarely fatal, but dangerous none the less.
Roadrunners and coyotes make their way over our property and through our streets on a daily basis. I should clarify that this is not true for all inhabitants of AZ. We happen to live somewhat on the outskirts of town, bringing us closer to all the critters. Javelina also run the streets.
Arizona produces more than 1 million metric tons of lettuce each year. Go have a salad on us!
The Castilian and Burgundian flags of Spain, the Mexican flag, the Confederate flag and the flag of the United States have all flown over the land area that has become Arizona.
In 1926, the Southern Pacific Railroad connected Arizona with the eastern states.
Arizona produces more copper than any other state. This is the reason for the copper star in the center of the Arizona state flag.
The original London Bridge was shipped stone-by-stone and reconstructed in Lake Havasu City.
The world's largest solar telescope is located at Kitts Peak National Observatory in the city of Sells.
Arizona is one of two U.S. states that do not observe Daylight Savings Time (we're such rebels).
Arizona's Valley of the Sun has more golf courses per capita than any other state west of the Mississippi River—2.5 million golfers litter the greens every year.
Saguaro catcti, which can grow as high as a five-story building, are native to Arizona. This one is right in our backyard.
In the words of the great Porky Pig (who, consequently, is not from Arizona), that's all folks!
In the question and answer post my husband so happily reluctantly did he mentioned a couple of his favorite meals made by me. It dawned on me that I have never posted either one of them. So today I bring you...
Salmon Scallopini: For all you salmon lovers, this one is pretty darn good if I do say so myself. All measurements in this recipe are approximations because it is one from the old noggin'. I played around a couple different times before settling on this, and now it's almost the only way we will have it in our home.
Ingredients:
1.5 pounds fresh Salmon fillet (about 4-6 oz per person...so more or less depending on family size). Olive oil 2 Tablespoons butter 3 cloves garlic (finely minced) 2 Tablespoons capers 2 Roma tomatoes (diced) 1/4 Cup white wine 3/4 Cup Chicken broth 1 Teaspoon cornstarch (mixed with 1 teaspoon water)
Instructions:
Remove any skin from Salmon, and cut into 4 to 6 oz portions. Coat the bottom of a large heavy bottomed skillet with olive oil (you don't want to fry, but you do want your pan coated). Set aside. Melt butter in a medium sized skillet over medium-low heat. Add garlic and saute till tender, but not brown. Wisk in wine, and simmer, letting liquid reduce by about half. Wisk in chicken broth and continue to let simmer.
Now heat your large olive oil coated skillet over medium-high heat. Add salmon in a single layer (cook in batches if needed). Cook through (length will depend upon thickness of fillets, about 3.5 minutes per side). Fish will flake fairly easily when cooked done. Remove from heat and plate the salmon. Add capers, tomatoes and cornstarch to your wine sauce and wisk in. Allow to heat through for about 30 seconds, then pour the mixture over the salmon. Serve.
It's great served with or over a simple angel hair pasta, and steamed asparagus on the side. You could go crazy and do some garlic bread as well. It's a favorite (mostly) all the way around in our home.
I'm a mom from the middle of nowhere, South Dakota. Our little town has a population of just over 1,000 now - but when we first moved here, it was still working up from the 900s. Our big family of six didn't quite push the town over the top, but we came close. We moved out here from North Carolina when my youngest wasn't even one year old - now, that was a road trip - so my husband could be near his parents and help keep up the family farm. We also thought it would be a calmer, quieter place to raise a family than the big city of Raleigh.
Our kids had some trouble adjusting at first, but now they love living here and are always begging to visit their grandparents on the farm. Grandma always spoils their dinner with root beer floats and helps them make crafts out of coffee filters or her big jar of colorful buttons. Then there's Grandpa, who gets out the old train set and teaches my son all about golf while the sounds of putts and drives from the TV fill in the background. There are pet cats, cows, and sheep galore, and one friendly dog who greets the kids with slobbery kisses every time they arrive at the farm. It's a great place to grow up, and I'm so glad we decided to give them the opportunity to enjoy it.
Stress and the City
Of course, life isn't always paradise. I left my family back in North Carolina so we could raise our kids in the country, and there were times when I missed Raleigh and the people I had left behind. My mother's age and deteriorating health started to worry me, and sometimes I feel overcome with the desire to move back so I can take care of her. I have brothers in the area, but let's face it - when it comes to care-giving, boys aren't always the best nurses.
One day, I was sitting at home, feeling sorry for myself as I folded the laundry. Always fascinated by "grown-up" activities, my youngest daughter was "helping" me fold the endless heap of clothes that accumulates when you have six people living in one house. My husband came in from work and saw that I wasn't my usual self, so he asked how my day had been. I told him that it had been fine, and he gave me a quizzical look. After a few seconds, he asked what was bothering me if everything was fine. In a moment of overflowing frustration that had been building for weeks, I said, "If you can't figure out how to be sympathetic every once in a while, you'll just have to take me to the funny farm!"
I was about to burst into tears because I knew he didn't deserve my anger when I heard the excited voice of my daughter: "Mommy, mommy! Can I come, too?"
Of course, she didn't understand that I was referring to a mental institution, not her grandparents' farm. To her, "funny farm" was a logical name for the place she loved so much. I couldn't help it; I started laughing until tears rolled down my cheeks.
I was a tired mom at the end of the day, and my daughter had just provided the perfect punch line to help me see how petty I was being. Although her words brought laughter, they were also a profound reminder to me that my husband and I had moved to South Dakota for a very good reason. I believe that it's the best environment for raising my children, and I know my mother would want that every bit as much as we do. My family visits North Carolina once a year, usually at Christmas, and my mom is doing just fine. Every time I start to worry about her, I remember that I'm making the right decision for my whole family by living here and raising my children to love life on the farm.
Bio: Maria Rainier is a freelance writer and blog junkie. She is currently a resident blogger at First in Education where she writes about education, online degrees, and what it takes to succeed as a student getting an online associates degree remotely from home. In her spare time, she enjoys square-foot gardening, swimming, and avoiding her laptop.
I have been remiss. Or just lazy. Or busy...something like that. I am usually fairly diligent about posting each day, but as my sister in law pointed out, I didn't participate in Not Me Monday, and I didn't have a post up today. I didn't realize she relied on me to pass the time while she pumped. Sorry, M...won't happen again.
Anyway, bittersweet goings on around these parts. I have spent the better part of the morning culling through old toys. Toys that have been in our home since the birth of my daughter. Getting rid of them is harder for me than it is for my children. In fact, Addyson was all too eager to dispose of her toys, merrily tossing them in the big box for other boys and girls. Yet for me it simply marks the passing of yet another era. No more baby toys. No more teethers or rattles. Actually, we are even giving away a ton of toys that are still age appropriate.
I have come to realize that having all those toys is just ridiculous. Not only are they constantly scattered ALL OVER MY LIVING ROOM, they never get played with anymore. Too many. So, with Christmas around the corner I decided it was time to do a major clean out. You know...to prepare for the gluttony to come.
In any case, we are donating our toys to a local charity that accepts gently used items. I would have taken them to Goodwill, but my husband just informed me that they just throw them out. They don't like keeping up with recall items...or something. But this local charity is specifically for children, and they assured me that my my children's treasures would indeed go to deserving kids. Awesome.
So today I say goodbye to old toys...and the passing of yet one more treasured time. Thank God that I treasure each and every moment with these guys. The passing days just bring more and more joy (and a few scattered headaches).
I don't understand why moms feel the need to justify their choices to other moms. Or anyone for that matter. I am not even talking about moms who stay at home vs. moms who go to work. Nope, I am referring to the little things that seem so big. For example, I have always been so very laid back over-the-top anal when it comes to my children and their sleep. This was particularly bad with my daughter. When she was napping, I freaked out whenever anyone would make a noise in the house. I wouldn't answer the phone during her naps for fear of my hushed voice waking her. I seriously thought my daughter was born with the special power to hear even a pin drop from clear across the house. So...my husband would get so irritated with me (rightly so), and my dad would blast me for not answering his calls, and I would get looks from friends whenever I mentioned my daughter sleeps on a schedule. You know the looks I mean, right? I think every mom has gotten them at some point. They are the very looks that create the need in us to justify our choices. Now...I will say, that when my second came along, and my daughter was only 18 months, there was no real way to keep her hushed when he was sleeping. So I had to become more laid back. Do I still think sleep in ultra important to their overall health and development? You bet. Do I freak out if one of them wakes too early at naptime anymore? No way. However, back when I was in the freak out mode still, I felt the constant need to justify my hyper-sensitive ways regarding my daughter's sleep. "You need to make noise in your house so she gets used to it." My dad would say. "I know, and I do, but dad she is a really light sleeper, and she needs her naps or she just gets so cranky." I would tell him. I am certain what he heard is "I am a first-time mom, and I don't know what I am doing." The thing is, I did know what I was doing. I knew that I was a little (okay a lot) over the top, but I also knew that her sleep was something that was a non-negotiable for me. It was something that I believed, and still believe, is crucial to healty development.
Just today, my kids and I were at the park for one of our mommy meet ups. A friend of mine was making a bottle for her 8 month old daughter, and asked her 2 year old son if he wanted one too. I can say with the utmost sincerity that I thought absolutely nothing of it! Seriously. But do you know what happened next? She began justifying why he was getting the bottle. There is actually a very sound reason behind it I might add. But that isn't the point. The point is that she is his mom. She knows what is best for him. Who on God's green earth am I to judge that decision?
So what is this innate behavior we moms all seem to possess? Why does it crop up like that? The bottom line is this...we are all just doing what we feel in our hearts to be the best for our children. No one in the world loves her child more than a mother, and we are all in the same boat. So how about next time you see a mom doing something you would never dream of doing, you just give her a knowing smile instead of a what in the world are you doing look. **This of course does not apply to anyone who is doing something obviously harmful in any way to their child**
Just remember the next time you feel the need to explain yourself to someone about a choice you have made for your child(ren)...don't. Remind yourself that mommy does in deed know best.
…Finnegan Two. It may seem strange that we have gone about it this way, but we picked up the very last male from the breeder. We also named him Finnegan. Telling the youngest two of the three kids just didn’t seem like something we were ready to do. They are just still too young to really understand what happened.
So we brought this little guy home, and all the kids believe is that he is back from the doctor. He is making busy work of filling the hole in our hearts (mine, Andy’s and Drew’s), though it is not taking very much effort on his part in the least. While he is so similar in appearance and even personality, there are some definite distinctions, and I can’t help but compare them. I just told Andy, that I will know all is well when I stop doing that, and just love this new one for who he is.
Thought I would share a picture…
Just look at that face. How on earth could anyone NOT love him just as he is?
In the midst of all of this, we have experienced the genuine goodness of the human heart. The breeder we worked with (and I will most likely never work with another as long as we get Irish Water Spaniels), relayed our story to her breeder club. The members have told her that they want to donate to us to assist with the medical expenses we incurred. I don’t care if five dollars comes our way. The fact that she took the time to share what happened, and that they feel compelled to help is, purely and simply, a blessing.
Okay, you all asked, and my husband answered. One of the qualifiers to get him to do this was that I could in no way edit what he wrote. So this is all him, without any meddling from me. I didn't say, however, that I wouldn't add my two cents if I felt it warranted. Just saying...and if my two cents does show up anywhere, it will be in orange. Now, on to your questions and his answers.
Melis of The Zookeeper's Diary asked: If your wife could have any profession BESIDES being a SAHM, what would you want it to be? And why? And do you read her blog? What do you think of it?And finally, would you ever consider moving your family to where I live and buying the house next-door so we can all be IRL friends? Is that weird?
Any profession – A photographer seeing as she has an eye and a passion for it.
Do I read her Blog? – Are you all kidding?…hardly ever, but I don’t need to…I live it everyday.
What do I think of her blog? – I have always thought her to possess a true gift when it comes to that of the written form…On the occasion when I curl up with a cup of coffee and my computer to catch up on the latest prose of “Arizonamamma,” she confirms my thoughts.
Would I consider moving to be your neighbors and is that weird? – I know you are joking…
Keely from MannLand5 wanted to know: What made you fall in love with your wife? How did you 2 meet?Will you have more kids? :-) What do all do for fun as a family? What do you think your wife's best physical feature is? What do you do for a living?
What made me fall in love with your wife? – her independence, beauty, charm and her complete acceptance of me.
How did we meet? -We worked together on an outside sales team.
Will we have more kids? – I can’t answer this one on my own…AZMAMMA has a pretty big stake in this answer as well…however, if it were up to me I think that there will be no more children conceived.
What do we all do for fun as a family? – Every Saturday morning we get up just as the sun is about to rise in the East…saying East is silly…doesn’t it always rise in the East? Anyway, we ALL get up just before the sun rises…we bring plenty of water, lunch and our trimming shears…we hike 13 miles (AZMAMMA and I take turns pulling our two youngest children in the wagon, they certainly couldn’t make the trek on their own) to the llama farm and we sneak into their grazing area….On even days AZMAMMA lasso’s three of these creatures while I teach the children how to shave cool designs into their fur….on odd days, we switch places…The kids find this absolutely hysterical and the llamas, well they don’t seem to mind one bit either….On the way home we usually dig 2 random holes with a large baking spoon (I don’t find this particular activity “fun” at all, but the rest of the family does and sometimes we gotta do what we gotta do). (If you all think this is serious, then you haven't been reading my blog for very long...I would never let anyone use my baking spoon to dig holes).
What do I think my wife’s best physical feature is? – AZMAMMA was very blessed when it comes to her ‘4th point of contact,” her rear end. This, in my humble opinion, is her best physical feature….****This is where I must put my disclaimer, I am sure that ALL of you were hoping for some romantic answer like the beautiful sparkle in her eyes when she is truly happy, or the curls in her hair when she styles it my favorite way…maybe you even wanted me to answer with the color of her lips after she has had a glass of wine…but what can I say? I am an ass man and even after two children that shit ROCKS!!!!(Sorry, there should have been a disclaimer regarding the PG13 language...this is the only spot though).
What do I do for a living? – I work in a sales management job for ADP
Dondi at Confessions of a Housewife asked: Westpoint. Did you like it, was it worth it...I wanna know. West Point is one of those places that is wonderful to be from and not be at…but looking back, in a warped demented type of way, I did enjoy it. I certainly took it seriously and internalized the discipline. Was it worth it? Yes, I would not go back and do it any differently
Liz from Harmonysong wanted to know: Most favorite (material) gift you have ever given Mamma? I would have to say the amethyst heart and chain that I got for her on her 1st Mother’s Day. (I can't resist...I have to explain a little more why this one is so great. It has amethyst which is Addyson's birthstone, and a tiny bit of diamond, which is mine...it was the most perfect Mother's Day gift ever...very thoughtful).
Julie of The Peanut Gallery kindly asked: What is the weirdest thing that your lovely wife has done since you've known her? I can choose only one?…That hardly seems fair as many situations I find myself in with her are weird, not to mention all the stories I have heard of the weird antics of this person…and they are weird because she makes them so. I have struggled with this one and I thought, could it be the time that she clucked like a rooster as she was following behind a group of people? Could it be the time that she dissected a water dog while bored on a fishing trip? Could it be the time she shouted a reminder out of the car window as I trekked through the busy supermarket parking lot, “Don’t forget your hemorrhoid cream!”…No, these are all weird, but I gotta say one of her finest moments occurred on this blog. Her post about peeing while she laughs was a little uncomfortable for me. Many of you may disagree, but the whole time I was reading that rather strange post, I couldn’t help but be mortified. I mean I kept thinking to myself, “Why is she sharing this with the whole blog reading world? Hell, I didn’t even know that she was stricken with this rather strange condition!”….NOW THAT’S JUST WEIRD! (To save you the trouble you can read the post here...it's not as bad as he says...I never claimed to pee when I laugh).
Kate of Kate's Life wants to know: 1) What does your wife do or say that just makes you melt? 2) What do you love the most about her? 3) Do you have a nickname for her? 4) Is there a limit to how many questions I can ask?
OK KATE IT’S FINALLY YOUR TURN…..
What does AZMAMMA say that makes me melt? – You wanna (bow-chicka-bow-bow)…?(Kate, I never say bow chicka bow bow...not ever).
What do I love most about her? – The wonderful mother that she is…
Do I have a nickname for her? – No I do not.
Is there a limit to how many questions you can ask? – you just reached it…
Desert Rose asked: Seeing how AZ Mamma and I are fellow Arizonans...just what is it that she likes to do around these parts?
She likes to spend time with her family in Phoenix…she is extremely close to her family
His sister Melissa asked: Andy, if you were stranded on a island with one of your siblings, which one would you rather it be and why? Seeing as how this was asked by one of my siblings I can’t, in good conscience, answer this. A very fine gentlemen recently advised me to steer clear of offending any one of my siblings, because if you do it may permanently damage a relationship no matter how many “I’m sorry’s” you try to throw at said situation…
Drea of Peanut Butter Jelly Days asked: Honestly, what do you think of your wife blogging? do you think it has taken too much time from everyday things, or do you see it as a good outlet for her?
Honestly what do I think of my wife blogging? – She enjoys it…I say blog away
Do I think that it has taken too much time from everyday things or do I see it as a good outlet for her? Sometimes I feel it interferes with our time together…She never lets it interfere with the childrens' time…but when I ask her if I can get some of her time she obliges…As far as a good outlet for her – sure, I guess so.
Scott of This Daddy's Blog asked: Being a sports fan the best event I have ever been to was the Army-Navy game many years ago at the Meadowlands since you were part of that tradition, besides that what is the best sporting event you have ever attended? Back when I was 12 my Dad took me to a rodeo. I thought that the rodeo was pretty cool, but the idea that pops and I got to spend some time together – that was truly spectacular. He is one of two men that I truly idolize in life…(His dad really is a wonderful man, and though this may make it seem so, was not absent from Andy's life...he did travel a lot in the military, but Andy just treasures any and all time with his dad).
Heide of From 3 to 5 asked: Do you love Seinfeld as much as AZ Mamma? What is your favorite TV show?What is your favortie thing to do in your free time? Did you contribute to Addyson and Colton's name selection? Az Mamma is quirky about the sheets, what is your quirk? Do you leave the seat up? What is your favorite room in your house? Are you originally from AZ? If not what brought you there? If you are from there is there any where else you would like to live? Can the AZ Mamma come visit me?
Do I love Seinfeld as much as AZMAMMA? Does she even like that show? Hahahaha….I like that show, is it as much as her? Not sure :-)
AZ MAMMA is quirky about the sheets…Holy S**t she IS quirky about the sheets! I don’t have quite the breadth of quirks that she does.
Do I leave the seat up? Only on purpose.(No he doesn't...he's very good about it).
What is my favorite room in the house? Our eat-in kitchen…some of the most scrumptious things in the entire world are created in that space just awaiting my consumption…but more importantly, AZMAMMA and I both agree that sitting down as a family for dinner is extremely important. Over the last five years some of my most cherished memories are those that were shared and created while we have broken bread over dinner…
Am I originally from AZ? Nope, my Dad was a career Marine so I don’t have an original home…I ended up in AZ after my short stint in the Army came to a conclusion. I found my first corporate career in PHX.
Can the AZ MAMMA come and visit you? See one of my first answers – AZMAMMA is extremely independent and does not need to ask my permission. In fact, many may say that AZMAMMA wears the pants in the family, so you may be better off asking her this question.
Lula Lola asked: If time and money weren't a factor, how would you spend the next year? And, what's he think is the coolest thing about you?
If money were not a factor how would I spend the next year? I would want to travel to Australia, Ireland, Brazil, Hawaii and Iceland… I would also like to spend several weeks with our out of state family.
Coolest thing about her? She puts up with me.
Sheila of My Crazy Life asked: Why do men start projects and then never totally complete them? Is this a question for me? If it is, my answer would be that we get distracted by women…
Abby of Murdocks Mama wanted to know: What kind of vehicles do you own? What is your favorite household chore to do/help with? What is your favorite meal that your wife makes?
What kind of vehicles do we own? We own a Ford Expedition (Our second vehicle is one issued to him through work...it's a Mercury).
What is my favorite household chore to do/help with? While I do not consider this a chore, it is a task that needs to be done -- Giving our two young children a bath and getting them ready for bed, followed up by reading them 3 stories.(He does this every night! Every.single.night.)
My favorite meal? Salmon Scallopini or Stuffed Pork Tenderloin. (Irony of this is I don't make these that often, and neither has been a Tasty Tuesday feature...yet).
That's it! This is Mamma again, and I just want to give a huge thank you to my husband for being (mostly) a good sport about this. Can I let you all in on a little secret? I did mention this idea to him in a passive way, but I never actually got his consent before I drove forward with it. He was thrilled, let me tell you! He thinks I am bound and determined to have him start a blog. In any case, I think he did a great job. Thanks again, Andy for taking the better part of an evening to get these answered. I love you!
Addyson and I were sitting on the couch yesterday when she picked up a sippy cup from the floor (Lord only knows how long it had been there) and asked me to open it. I complied. She sniffed the inside of the cup, and said "Oh, that stinks...did Daddy fart in it or something? Seeing as how I have the sense of humor of a 3 year old, I laughed.
You might assume, based on her automatic question, that Andy makes a habit of farting in the sippy cups in our home then securing the lids to capture the stench for an unsuspecting child to later discover. I almost want to let you believe that to be true. It's not. He doesn't. Why that was her first inclination is beyond me.
Maybe the people in this house have an unhealthy obsession with farts. Or at least the people under 3 feet high.
Time again for You Know You're a Mom When-sDAZE. It's a fun way to share anything and everything about being a mom. The funny moments, the not so funny moments. The insane, the cute, the melt your hearts. All of it. You can post with pictures or just stories...or even quippy little one liners like "you know you're a mom when you've forgotten what your flooring looks like due to the absurd number of toys constantly cover it up." I'd love to see you link up this week. So come on...join us, won't you?
Lately more and more items have been placed to the highest points possible in our home. No matter what efforts we take, however, it seems my little 3 year old angel manages to foil them.
Child proof Tylenol? Pft. Maybe...but not Addyson proof. Dental floss in the medicine cabinet? Not anymore. Oh, and that one isn’t because I have moved it…nope…that one is because the sweet cherub unraveled the whole stinkin’ thing all over my bathroom counter.
But my favorite? Her inventive way of putting maxi pads to use. Ingenious if you ask me.
So…you know you’re a mom when…in an effort to avoid this…
You turn your house into something like this…
Your turn. What is reminding you today that you are indeed a mom? If you’ve done your post…come on back and link it up. If not, you can always share right here.
A quick hello and belated Merry Christmas. Coming out of what has been a whirlwind for us, we are back home from visiting family. Unloading the car and filling our house with the things we all received. Looking forward to posting later tonight...I have been jonesing for the blog ;)
This past Sunday my Aunt's mother passed away. One of my cousins and I were talking about it, and we both had the same memory come to mind. P.I. (Aunt's Mom's initials) was shouting as we would ride by on our bicycles "E.T. phone home!" We would laugh hysterically at her kooky remark and ride by again to hear her repeat it. We were young kids then. We weren't very forgiving, and so we basically thought she was, well...kooky.
Now I am an adult with kids of my own, and to be honest I can still say that she was kooky. The difference is, today I will tell you I am too. When I remember P.I. now, I don't remember her for being kooky. I remember her for her generous heart, her forgiving nature, her quickness to befriend, her eagerness to smile and her love to laugh. She was a warm woman with a good soul, and she was my Aunt's mother.
It is impossible for me to process the despair my Aunt must feel at the loss of her mom. It was very sudden, and somehow that makes it worse. I think when we know the end is near, we can at least attempt to ready ourselves for the grief to come. But when a loved one is taken suddenly without warning, it hits like a freight train.
I know this all too well. When I was younger I lost one of my closest friends. There was an accident at work, he was badly injured and didn't make it out alive. Freight train. Devastation. Devastation for all of us who were left behind.
An entire year went by, and within it not a day was missed that I didn't ask God "why"? Why him? Why us? I still don't have the answers, but I no longer ask the quesitons. God knows...and for now that has to be enough.
So tonight my heart aches for my Aunt and the suffering she endures. I love her, but I can offer her no shelter in the storm. I know that only time will give her that. For on Sunday P.I. did phone home, and God told her it was time.
I used to be successful. Really successful. I was in sales for a fortune 500 company, and I was great at what I did. I had goals, and I blew them all out of the water. Financially, I was in a place of freedom that I never imagined possible. I averaged around $135,000.00 a year. Me! Not married, no kids. There are times when I miss those days. Not just the money aspect of it (though that was amazing), but the feeling of setting a goal and anihilating it. There is a sense of accomplishment in that. That sense of accomplishment brings about a sense of confidence and a sense of self. I never questioned whether I was good at what I did, or whether I was valued. I just knew it to be true.
Having me stay home with our children is one of the best decisions we ever could have made, yet there are times when I question how I am doing. Whether I am valued. Whether I am good. Part of me realizes this must be natural. Afterall, there is no tangible way to set a goal to be a good mom, and then measure the success. Not really. Nor is there a real sense of feeling valued on a regular basis. In the working world (sales for example), you sell an account, the boss shouts "hooray" and slaps you high five. At home, you shower before noon, get the dishes done, change a couple of diapers, make dinner, and no one is there to say "hooray!" No one high fives you on the days you actually manage to put on deodorant and brush your teeth.
Then, your three year old draws an "A" on her doodle pad, and proudly exclaims "Look, mama! I did it. I drew an A!" And, looking down at the doodle pad, you see that she did indeed draw an "A." That's the high five. Right then, right there.
Then, your children are playing outside when suddenly the baby falls and bumps his head. He is screaming when daddy scoops him up to give him kisses, and the screaming doesn't cease because only mommy will do. You're valued. Right then, right there.
Staying home with these little people is the hardest job I've ever had. There are so mnay ways to make mistakes. So many ways I fear I can mess them up. And while at first glance it seems often like a very thankless job, I know that it is the most rewarding job I've ever had. The most rewarding job I ever will have again.
So while I do miss the straight forward feeling of being successful in the corporate world, I recognize that I am blessed to be able to be present for all the "A's" and bumps. To be the one my children not only want to have kiss their hurts, but also the one with whom they want to share their wins. I'm blessed to have a husband that also believes in how important it is for me to be here with them. I know he values me as a wife and mother and more importantly a friend. Yes...I am valued.
Drew is smart. He's funny. He's charming, and a major talker. Drew also has the last minute syndrome. Okay, I may be making the up the affliction, but I bet you know someone you'd diagnose with this as well. If so, then you are no stranger to the feelings of frustration induced by this particular trait.
My down time happens when my children go to bed for the night and my workout is done. Unless Drew strikes...which he does...often. It's 7:30, the two youngest have been in bed for 30 minutes, and I am about to go do my workout. Drew strikes. "Shannon, I forgot. I need you to check my math homework, or quiz me for my spelling test, or proofread my peom (choose any of them)." I stare blankly at him, trying to reign in my fuming temper. "Drew, why do you wait until the last minute?" (Though I don't know why I ask this, because the answer just makes me angrier...it's the same every time). "I don't know." No longer can I look forward to a little relaxation after the workout...now I have homework to do.
It's Wednesday, and I have gone to the grocery store earlier in the day while Drew is at school. I have dinners planned out for the next several days. Things are looking good. Drew comes home from school and begins his ritual of telling me about his day. With feined interest (don't think me miserable, I can only be actually interested the first 100 times I hear the same story) I listen as he tells me how he scored the winning touchdown in flag football or how so and so told him his breath stinks (hmm, maybe I'm on to something with the whole teeth brushing thing, ya think?). Then...Drew strikes. He tells me he needs Valentine's cards for class. I tell him I will get them when I can. He informs me he needs them for tomorrow. Somehow I fail to see why this should be yet another emergency on my part. Somewhere along the way, I swear, our kids are supposed to get wise to the fact that waiting until the last minute never has a good outcome. "Well," I say "if I can get to the store I will get them for you." That is not an acceptable answer for Drew. He says "If I don't bring them, I can't participate in the party, and I have to sit and do homework while the others are passing out their cards." Nice try, buddy. Somehow I don't think it would fly for the teacher to punish any student who couldn't bring cards. I have already decided that I will get the flippin' cards, yet I don't let him know that. I want him to sweat a little. Call me sadistic, I won't be offended.
I end by telling him that maybe next time he will not wait until the last minute to let me know something is needed. That sitting in class doing homework while the others are getting a sugar buzz will be a good lesson. He says he won't wait next time. We both know that's just a pipe dream. I sure wish I had a person willing to drop everything to pick up my slack when I drop the ball. I think I need a wife.
Note- I have to say, for fear of being lashed, that my husband actually picked up the cards on his way home from work...but somehow, that detracts from the snarkiness of my wife comment, so I omitted it from the post ;)
Once upon a time there was a woman who had a clean house...where did she go? I'll tell you where. Crazy. That's where. Each night I go to bed with my crazy tank at full. I mean topped off. Morning comes, and I rise with slightly renewed vigor. Then it begins. My day as short order cook, washer of dishes, wiper of butts, healer of hurts, teacher of lessons. My day of being incessantly needed by these tiny little people. I once made a reference to the seagulls on Finding Nemo...about their mindless chanting of "mine! mine! mine!" Well, just replace "mine" with "mommy" and press repeat. So it's no wonder my house is no longer the place of cleanliness and order it once was. At first, I was in a constant state of distress. Frazzled at every coner turned within these walls. Not one five foot stretch of floor can be walked over without encountering a car, shoe, doll, ball, lego, unopened tampon (no, there is nothing sacred...no private space), action figure, stuffed animal, muffin tin, and the list goes on. Daily I precariously walked the fine line between this world and looney town. Until I simply decided to not care. That's right. I decided there are glass balls and rubber balls. Glass balls are the ones that will break when dropped...things like reading to Addyson and Colton, making their meals, giving them love. Rubber balls bounce. So the living room floor that is littered with toys and countless other articles, rubber ball...bounce. Having clean laundry... glass ball...break. Having folded laundry, rubber ball...bounce. This way of thinking keeps me hanging on to the last fraying thread that is my sanity. Now, I am about to post some very frightening pictures of my house at its worst. Bear in mind this is not (despite my proclamation) the usual state of my home. If it were, ain't nothin' that would keep me planted in reality! This is the state of my home post Christmas. I will say, however, that it stayed like this until just a few days ago. Oh, and the living room is exactly like this still. Be warned...not for the faint of heart.
One of the two living room couches in its usual fashion.
Part of the living room. Yes that's a bottle of facewash...in the living room.
More living room.
Kitchen island. See the Clorox bottle? Yeah...that helped. I will say though, my dishes are always clean. For me, that is another glass ball.
My nightstand. Sadly, this is always the way it looks. Oh, yes...I sleep with earplugs so I don't have to listen to the rattle and hum from the other side of the bed.
Sigh. My floor. This is gone now.
Just beside our entry. That is a hitch on the floor. You know, in case we need to make a quick get away and have to use the hitch. Really, I have no idea. This area has also been whipped into shape. So now that I have given you ample reason to feel better about your own house, kindly thank me before you leave.
Just a quick little post tonight. We had a great time for Halloween. Very simple, but fun. We (Andy, my dad and I) took our kids trick or treating. Drew was some scary jester, Addyson was a ladybug and Colton was a monkey. Colton made it to two houses before Andy had to take him home to get ready for bed. He did have an outstanding time helping to pass out candy before he went down for the night though. My dad and I continued on with Drew and Addyson until they had their fill until my dad and I were tired. Here are a few pictures:
As my daughter careens toward her third birthday I am plagued slightly troubled by thoughts of what is yet to come. See, she is already so wilfull and mischievous and smart, and...I think you get the point. What scares me most is how similar in personality she is to me. Now that I am a mother, I have a greater appreciation for my own, and all that she endured. One might think I was hellbent on driving her over the deep end. I'm not saying I was a bad teenager, and that I got myself into major trouble. Nope, I was mellowed out (mostly) by then. I am referring to my days as a three year old...not that I remember much of them, but I cringe at some of the recounted tales.
It's 1979 and we are living in Worcester, Massachusettes (my mom's home town). My parents decided to live there for a little while, at my mom's request, to be near her family. My mom is hugely pregnant with my brother, and in no mood for my shenanigans. So she sends me out front to play (I still can't believe there was ever a time when that was okay). After an unpsecified amount of time elapses, she looks out the window to check on me. No Shannon...I wasn't Mamma then ;). Having a brief moment of panic, she goes out front for further inspection. Strewn about the sidewalk are my clothes. With much effort, she bends to retreive my articles from the sidewalk, only to find they are wet...like super soaker style. Blood pressure rising, she looks to the right. Still no Shannon. Looks to the left and there is Shannon, running naked from the waste down. She hollars calls sweetly for me to get my little butt over to her. All sugar and innocence, I come to my mom. My mom rushes me inside to put on clean pants, chastizing me all the way about not peeing in my clothes. "Shannon, when you need to go potty, you don't go in your clothes!" "Okay, momma." I say sweetly. "Can I go back outside to play now?" Of course she lets me...like any mother, she was anxious for any precious moments of peace she could muster.
For the second time, I am outside playing, mom is inside. Time passes, and reluctantly she hefts herself up to check on me. Expecting to see me galavanting down the street with the other little boys and girls, she coems to the window and stares in silent horror at the scene layed out before her. Her daughter, to whom she had told just moments before "we don't go potty in our clothes" was not in fact going potty in her clothes. Nope. Her daughter was squatting on the sidewalk right in front of the house, taking a poop. Paralyzed, my mom doesn't know what to do. Clearly she has to retreive her demon spawn angelic child, and get her into the house. Yet the thought swimming in her head is one of the neighbors saying "I didn't know you had a dog" as she is stooped over scooping the poop. Fortunately for my mother, no one saw her when she did finally go out to clean my mess. In my defense...I did not go potty in my clothes.
If this story is not enough to have me running scared over what's to come, well I need not look any further than my mom's memory of me and my escapades for further horror material.
