Sleep Talking

Today the husband and I were up at 4 in the morning with both kids crying, wondering why we had decided to spend the night at my parents' home. The husband actually asked, "Do you think we can get a refund on your tickets to Texas?" But he didn't mean it. We always find ourselves frustrated in the wee hours of the morning whenever we are away from our beds.

I grow tired of playing ping pong between sleepless boys’ beds, trying to negotiate with a cochlear-less Atrain who screeches every time I slip away to feed the Jdog. Then Jdog howls whenever I unlatch to go calm Atrain. The cycle repeats multiple times. And finally when I can’t figure out how to slice myself in two, I start growling. That’s when the husband starts sleep talking—not because he’s stressed, but because he’s not sure what to do when I am. I know he still wants our growling, howling, screeching crew there for two of the eight weeks he’ll be rotating in Texas. We just need to figure out a way to take our apartment with us.

By way of working out the stress that built up overnight, I ran five miles in a snowstorm today. I loved feeling the falling snowballs pelt against my face. I felt so hard core as I wiped the layers of slush off my sunglasses. I don't want to do that everyday, and especially not when I attept my first half marathon next week, but it felt amazing today.

Stop Crying

This was the day that my big sister, Bambie told me sweetly, but sternly to, “stop crying!” It felt good, like it feels good to have someone tell you to go to bed, or to sit down and eat dinner, or to clean your room. Sometimes it’s just nice to have someone tell you what to do—to roll their eyes at you and refuse to put up with your irrational behavior. Bambie is the best at that. She can do it without crushing your confidence. That’s just one reason why she’s such a good mom.

Moments later my favorite running duo passed me on the indoor track: the father was reading the course for his son who has a disability. He would say, “pass on the left,” or “keep going, a little stronger,” and, “watch your left side, here comes the mother with a baby.” And there I was, inspired by their relationship, wishing for someone to read my course and call out my shots. But then, there is someone—a lot of someones, actually. I just need to listen.

Ogres in the Rain

When rain clouds gather overhead and suffocate the struggling spring sunlight, something strange happens in our home. Music from the Twilight Zone begins to play; our complexions carry a murky greenish hue, we gain 200lbs, sprout saucer shaped ears and jut out our under bite jaws as we frown, spit and groan. We’re not upset at anything or anyone in particular. We’re just ogres.

Aogre enjoys spending his time in destructo-mode. It is a lot of fun (especially when you’re an ogre) to find new, hazardous uses for everyday objects. A backscratcher, for instance, is a great destructive tool for shorter orgres. It stealthily pulls down items from the shelves and freezer that small ogre arms can’t reach—added bonus: it can perform such tasks long before Momogre understands what’s going on.

Then again, it isn’t all that difficult to sneak something past Momogre. She lumbers around, unsure of which household task to take tackle first, loathing them all. Momogre really only wants to bundle up the little ogres, go outside in the rain and make a mess in the mud. But Jogre is not quite old enough to marvel in the merriment of a muddy mess. His tastes have not yet evolved past dirty diapers.

Someday Jogre will find satisfaction in splashing and squishing and sitting in the mud—just like his brother Aogre. But until then, he will have to settle for snickering at Aogre’s puddle antics as he snuggles with Momogre in the sling. Nothing makes a family of ogres more joy than bumbling outside with broken umbrellas in the rain.

Collage Art

And there you have it folks...my first Photoshop project. Once I kind of got the hang of the commands, it was actually a little fun. I'm not going to lie, I'd much rather be writing, but it's good for me to explore more artistic avenues. Though I'm not sure my header would qualify as art—unless you count collages. Yes, I’m definitely going to count collages. I remember my first introduction to collage art in Mr. Nielson's 6th grade class. It was the first time I ever felt like I excelled in an artistic venture. Cutting out magazine pictures and strategically pasting them together was fun and simple; you just have to know what you like and know where you want to put it. I guess that’s also why I like decorating—not that I really know what I am doing, or have the money to experiment, but it is sure fun to imagine. Hope you enjoy this collage and all of the puddle art to come.

Breathing Under Water

Lately I’ve been trying to learn a few new things. It’s been difficult. The Photoshop program the husband bought me for my birthday has been an open tab on my computer for months. Every now and then I hesitantly revisit my one open project—a new header for “the Puddle”—but my brain easily becomes water logged as I try to interpret the program. Today I finally decided that I’m fed up with my life as a photo shop leech (sucking the creative juices out of my sister and sister-in-law every time I’m in need). So instead, I pinned my sister down and forced her to teach this leech her tricks. Though I was slow to remember the various manipulations she taught me, I quickly learned one thing: illustrating the images that lurk within my mind is a risky task. The product might not be very pretty. But at least it’s honest.

I’m also re-learning how to swim. I mastered my summer swim lesson courses at the Spork pool, but then I became a teenager—which always complicates things. Now I have a few sweet friends who go swimming at the university pool every now and then to get a good work out. I was hesitant at first to try. I haven’t bought myself a swim suit since I was an undergrad in Hawaii, I haven’t seen myself in a swimsuit since I was pregnant last summer and I don’t exactly love getting my hair wet unless I’m at the end of my five day cycle (too much work). But with enough persuasion, I mustered a little bravery, let go of my vanity and jumped it.

The first time was tricky. Swimming isn’t at all like running (duh). There’s this thing you need to do when you exercise called breathing, and it’s kind of hard underwater. When you get winded you have to figure out how to inflate your lungs without letting water in. You also need technique to keep paddling and kicking at the same time. And then there’s the assault of the river jostling around in your ears and the chlorine that batters your eyes. But once you get past all that, it’s kind of thrilling the same way that running up a huge hill with a 90 lbs stroller is thrilling. It’s the closest I’ll ever come to feeling like “yah yah yah, I’m so hard.” Take that Rhianna.

Speaking of so hard, I returned home from swimming at 9:30pm to find that my kids were still evading the sandman. The husband was home with them, but he’s somewhat helpless when it comes to soothing the Jdog who insists on his own special nighttime snack to send him off to dreamland. And then there’s Atrain, who made the conscious choice during our night time routine (that included seven books, pajamas, toothbrushing, water drinks, bathroom trips, prayers and scriptures) that he wasn’t going to go to bed. He even got redressed into his day clothes, just to make a statement. Oh yes, and his statement also included emptying all of his drawers onto the floor, tipping over the rocking chair and overturning his basketball hoop. I left the husband with both kids crying and returned to both kids crying. After my swimming high I came crashing down to a mothering low.

There are so many times I wonder if I’m doing things wrong, wonder if I’m being selfish for wanting a moment of my own, wonder how I can help the husband understand how fried my patience are by the end of the day—especially after a day that includes immunizations, a traffic jam, and a continuously howling Jdog on the way home from Spork. And even though he shows no signs of it, I can’t seem to shake the feeling that he thinks I’m a horrible mom for leaving him with a sink full of dishes, baskets full of laundry, and the kids crying so that I can splash out my frustration in a pool of water. I know he doesn’t really think these things; I’m really just projecting my own feelings onto the husband. I just have a hard time dealing with them, so I outsource. I guess sometimes I have to come up for air.

I hate the selfish feeling that sneeks up on me when I seek a little time to myself. But I also know that I am a better me when I find a place of quiet reflection each day. It gives me perspective, and helps me find my happy thoughts...though I sure seem to be struggling right now. I wish I were perfect, even though I know it’s impossible. I want to be better, and I know that that is possible. I need more help. I need to pray for more charity, for more compassion.

Maybe life is like learning to swim; sometimes I need to get more comfortable with my head under the water and every couple of strokes I need to realize that it’s ok (and quite necessary) that I come up for air.

Frames, Planes and Planning Pains

Today Atrain and I rearranged pictures in our home. It’s a project I’ve been itching to do ever since we had our family pictures taken a couple of months ago. Finally getting the frames on the wall feels fantastic. There is a sweet sense of liberation that comes with completing a job you’ve intended to do for months. Now all I need to do is print the pictures to fill the frames.

Atrain is quite the little decorator. He had all sorts of opinions about the collage placement. It was adorable, yet extremely tricky to navigate and negotiate around our opposing opinions. I felt like framing some of the thing he said, like, “MOM-Listen to me! They all have to touch like a long train on the wall,” and, “Where’s the golden temple one? It needs to be at the front of the line,” and, “Can Miss Green and Tiny and Shashe be in our family forever too?” I love Atrain’s words more than any sound in the world. Maybe I will frame them.

Jdog slept for three hours this afternoon--through all of the negotiating and hammering. It was rather impressive. “I want to go wake him up now,” Atrain would say. Maybe I made a mistake when I let him wake the little J man up this morning, but I just couldn't say no. My heart overflows every time he yearns for his brother’s company—especially when he’s having a dizzy morning. It happened again this morning, just like last Monday. I wish I understood why. My mind flipped through all of the possible triggers that could cause Monday morning vertigo: overstimulation from being at the Parent’s homes on Sunday; no nap the previous day; spending your time screaming and running around like banshees with the cousins; different food; Spork water; the elevation change—I hope he will do OK on an airplane to Houston this summer…if it’s elevation changes that cause dizzy spells I better bring a lot of barf bags just in case.

Little Atrain is so excited to go to Texas for our family “vacation” next month. He will be even more excited after not having his daddy around to tickle him and laugh at nonsensical things with him for three weeks. Oh how we will miss the husband while he’s on his away rotation. Atrain asked me to tickle him like dada tickles him today, but I could tell by his courtesy laugh that it just wasn’t the same.

I don’t know what we’re going to do without the husband—that is if he ends up going. He still hasn’t found a place to live yet. I hope that happens soon, or Atrain, Jdog and I are not going to have a place to stay once our plane lands in Houston. I wonder what it would be like to sleep in a Hostel with little ones. A lot of my time lately has been spent sorting through the scammers on Craigslist to help the husband find somewhere to rest his head while he is away. I'm not sure how he'll survive without me.

No foolin around; it's hard to be a mom.

In most professions you can put in a certain amount of effort and expect a certain outcome. But, as a mother, you never know what to expect. You can wake up hours before you need to be somewhere, but still have to manage a meltdown over a missing toy right when you’re supposed to be headed out the door. You can love a little person more than anything in the world and they may still scream at you, splash you and slap you in the face when they don't want to get out of the bathtub. No matter how many pairs of shoes you pick up during the day, there’s bound to be at least a few more pairs hanging out on the ground, waiting to trip you when you’re holding the basket of laundry you just folded. And, you can try your hardest to be your best and still somehow end up feeling like you’re failing at the end of the day. I ain’t foolin’ around; some days it’s just hard to be a mom.