Ghost of Easter's Past

Last Sunday was Easter and it was different. I have a feeling it's only a sign of things to come. A sign that the kids are getting bigger. Older. We no longer have the neighborhood Easter Egg Hunt that was held in the park, literally just a half block down the street. It was always a great way to get in the Easter mood. Grandma does an egg hunt at her house, but it's Easter morning, so while it's fun, it's no help in getting in the spirit.


Outside of the Egg Hunt, we did our Easter Egg Coloring. In the past this activity has been met with eagerness and excitment. Several days of "when are we coloring the eggs," were always met with "Soon." This year, there was the odd question, but not the badgering of years past. When we finally boiled eggs and brought out the colors, the kids were quiet. Gone this year was the chatter and banter of who would get the darkest color out of their egg, the most stickers, the clearest writing. Even the eggs themselves were missing the decorations they usually heapedon them. Oh, they still left their eggs in cups trying to get a really dark color, but there was something missing in it.


Easter Morning we were up at the crack BEFORE dawn so that we made it to 7:00 am Mass. In the past we went to a later Mass. There were no new Easter outfits for Kallene and I (not that I always got a new outfit, but Kallene did) and no new dress shirts for the boys. This is where some much needed Spring color is found -- in the new clothes.


We came home, after breakfast out, to hunt for eggs and baskets. While I know there were attempts at finding things before we left for church, there was no unrestrained, gotta-find-it attitudes. There was excitment, sort of. Some baskets were harder to find that others, as always. One or two eggs went unfound, as always. Even the baskets looked leaner this year. There were still the jelly beans, bubble gum eggs and chocolate bunnies, along with a non-edible goodie. Gone though were the baskets filled to overflowing because the non-edible items were little kid big. How is it that the older the kids get, the smaller their toys get? I didn't even get a lot of pictures -- the big kids hunted while I snapped some shots of Matthew with his basket. By the time I thought to tell them to wait, they were done.


I know that Easter shouldn't be about Mr. Bunny and the Eggs, but I can't help but feel that something has passed on in this regard. Maybe it's just me, I hope so, but I also know that it's the beginning of the end of the little-child excitment for holidays and the traditions that go with them.


Luckily we have Matthew and in a couple years we'll revisit all the excitment and childhood glee. All the innocence and magic will return to the house when he's old enough to "get it."


I never realized how much I was renewed during Easter by seeing it through my childrens' eyes. Now to figure out how to bring that back to them as they continue to get older, and hold on to it myself.

Jaded?

Am I too jaded? Am I getting old? (well, yes, but not in that way.) Am I just worn out? If I had my pick, I'd rather just be worn out.

As I was putting Matthew to sleep tonight, I got to thinking about true joy. When was the last time I had seen true joy -- not even experienced it myself, but simply seen it. (Dang, that sounds pretty jaded.) But as I tried to recall a time from my worn out brain, I realized I've seen it often, most every day lately. I see it when Matthew lights up at seeing his brother, Tom. When Matt hears Kallene calling him. When Jack crams his face in so close to Matt that it looks like he's being smothered. It was this morning, when he was sitting on our bed with Daddy and I peeked around the corner. He looked up, caught me looking at him and broke out in this huge, toothless smile. Those baby smiles that brighten their whole face and stretch those chubby little cheeks. His body came alive too -- his back stiffened and his arms shot down between his fat little legs and then he was reduced to "baby wiggles." Those I-see-something-I-want, gotta have it little wiggles they have.

I see it at Christmases when the kids open something they've truly wanted. When we put up the Christmas tree. Or when we start spying Christmas items making appearances on store shelves. I see that giddy anticipation for birthdays. I saw joy, along with awe, when we were in DisneyWorld a couple years ago and the kids just couldn't believe we were there and were seeing all the things they were seeing.

As I'm recalling all these time I see joy, I realize I experience it too -- through my kids, during these moments. I mean I'd like to say I felt true joy at the births of each of my kids, but let's face it, I was exhausted, overwhelmed and, quite frankly, in some degree of pain. Joy would just have to come later. And thank God, it has.

New Perspective

There are days when being a parent is utterly exhausting.

I haven't had more than a 2 1/2 hour block of sleep at a time in over six months. Matthew is all congested and clingy, he's not eating well (probably because he can't breathe well). Dealing with him alone when he's like this is tiring enough. But when he wakes up cranky and whines for an hour and half, unless I'm holding him -- well it's enough to go over to the dark side.

We're on Spring Break, so the kids have been a great distraction for him, but the activity is also probably throwing off what little schedule we've managed to achieve. I can look at the week and see the things I've gotten done, big stuff too, but it doesn't feel that way. I'm exhausted. I feel it down to my core. To top it off, I look like I feel -- worn down, far from attractive, just a shell wandering around doing what needs to get done.

I can function like this for quite a while if I feel like I get some sort of reprieve. A longer nap than expected or when Matthew is in a good mood all day (he can play by himself, he's a happy little guy all day, he eats well and sleeps without much fuss going down.) I had a day like that and not so long ago that I've forgotten how energizing it can be. But it's been too long.

So, in an effort to get another nap (hopefully more than an hour) out of Matthew, I go up to nurse him. As we rock and he nods off I feel his tiny hand smoothing the outside of my shirt and then settling to rest in my cleavage; something he often does when he's eating. Then I see his tiny new-baby hair - smooth on the sides, all spiky on top and downy soft. His long, to-die-for lashes lay on his chubby little cheek. The creases that run around his wrists and the dimples in his hands. I wonder how long I'll remember these things, these little details.

I remember trying to mark how small Jack's (who I thought was our last) pinkie finger was by comparing it to my own. At the time it was only as long as the tip of my pinkie finger (from my nail to the first joint.) I remember his hand wandering along under my shirt while he nursed. I remember tracing the outside of Tom's ears when he ate, in an effort to get him to slow down. With Kallene it was just having the leisure to nurse her -- no noises to distract her, just time to enjoy it.

As I put him down, with a prayer that he sleeps, and sleeps well, I feel better. I have a better outlook for the rest of the day. I'll get some great smiles out of him, at some point and I'll enjoy watching Kallene, Tom and Jack play out in the 12+ inches of snow that fell yesterday. They were intent on building a fort, but as I glance up, there's a lot of just laying in the snow. A snowball flies through the air and running and jumping into the drifts. Whatever, I have always loved watching them play in the snow.

For today, parenting will still be exhausting, but it does have it's perks. I just have to remember I need to look for them, no matter how small they may seem to be.

Nostalgia

This idea started as a post on my Yahoo group.

It wasn't a deja vu moment, it was a serious wave of nostalgia. I was almost transported. Almost. I hear a song, smell something, see something, share a story with someone and suddenly it takes me back.

This time, it was me sitting at my kitchen table, doing business tax stuff (I detest tax season). The sliding glass door was opened and there was a slight breeze coming in. The day was warm, 65, but the house was hot, so it felt really good. I had Sirius streaming through my computer, tuned to the 80's channel. I glanced up at the dusk sky to see that midnight blue color with ribbons of orange clouds. Suddenly it felt like 20-something years ago. No specific moment, it could have been any day at sundown. I could have been working at the concession stands, freezing in the building and counting down for the last game. Or getting ready to head out to After the Gold Rush, the place to be in my "clubing" years -- no coat, because that would cover up my outfit. Tragic. To hide my pencil thin, mid-calf length, acid washed denim skirt, crisp white lamb-leg sleeved white shirt, silver chunky cuff bracelet, oversized matching earrings, white woven leather flats and super wide belt? Perish the thought. Freezing in the cold night air, with the wind blowing up the slit in the back of my skirt was much more cool -- just don't blow the carefully hair-sprayed (to withstand the smoke and humid club air) hair.

I have moments like these every now and then. The music is all it takes. A lot of 80's music. Who knows why they happen -- because I'm 40 (fine, over 40). Is it a mid-life thing? Is it because I have four kids now? I had these moments when I had three kids, so I doubt it. Is it because it was too much of a grow-up day? Maybe. It was just easier then. There was a lack of responsibility. I had no mortgage, no bills (outside of my tan '80 Chevy Cavalier - woo) and nobody but myself to worry about. It was certainly carefree, though I probably didn't recognize that at the time. Childhood had good times. Times I can reminisce about with my siblings and laugh hysterically over. High School, too, had its moments, not many, but enough. But it's the after High School times I'm transported to more often than not.

I wonder, as I get older and my kids get older, will I revisit these times? These times that sure seem to be hectic and full of chaos, but will seem simple in comparison to whatever moment I'm in then? Maybe. Then I'll just plug into some 80's music and take another trip back.

Sleep...Where Can I Get Some?

I've heard from those who enjoy this activity that it can be wonderfully energizing. They tell me of its relaxation qualities, especially when experienced on pillow-top mattresses with thick mattress covers, flannel sheets and soft comforters. The most enjoyable time, my sources say, seems to be deep in the night when all is quiet and dark.


I must say it sounds heavenly -- and I wonder to myself, "Where can I get some?"


I have vague recollections of partaking in such activities myself. I can, even now, recall the "Ah" feeling of climbing into a soft bed and awaking hours later refreshed. Delicious. Lately, however, my sleep time is limited to about five hours and it's interupted and sometimes done upright -- or semi-upright, squashed into a glidder, that during daylight hours is quite comfortable.

There's a new man in the house who feels that sleep is overrated, at least for me, his main milk squeeze. After eating, rolling around under his gym and reaching for objects, he crashes like he's been awake for a week, enjoying his slumber both day and night. Meanwhile, I continue on in a thick haze, with my mom-life: laundry, housekeeping, errands, homework, sports practices and games, meals and running my own business. Hazy though I may be, to date, I haven't left a child behind, locked myself out of the house - with the baby inside (this would not be new), or left a carseat on the roof of my car. But I have felt my knees buckle as I stand, rocking my little one to sleep. I've zoned out and lost track of conversations and have arrived at school, even though I don't recall the drive -- this one in particular can't be good. I've sat down to regroup, only to wake a couple hours later not remembering nodding off. Yep, having little munchins takes its toll on getting some good sleep. Well, in getting any sleep.

It is temporary, though it sure doesn't fee like it in the midst of it, and thanks to the lack of sleep, you probably won't remember it or the things you forgot to do while living it.



That is one good thing about not having enough sleep, when you do get the chance, you drop off immediately, seldom remembering your last thoughts. None of that mess with actually trying to get to sleep. Nope -- lay your head down, make a mental list of things that need doing and boom, you're gone. Sometimes you don't even do that much -- you're just gone!

AIADD

I have AIADD, Age-Induced Attention Deficit Disorder. Whether that's a real diagnosis or not, I have it. It's better than thinking my scatter-brained-ness is related to getting older or, worse, child inflicted.


I used to have a great memory. I could keep a thought in my head for more than a minute -- sometimes even longer. I could focus on a project to completion. I even had a good vocabulary. It was fabulous.


And then I had kids.


Now, I'm not going to blame my kids, though it is their fault that my sleep deprivation has been going on for the past decade, and, thanks to the newest, I'm deep in the midst of a new cycle. Sleep deprivation is an awful thing, but my AIADD goes deeper than just simple sleep deprivation. I can no longer function on even a toddler's level. My vocabulary sucks. (see.) I can't concentrate for longer than a minute before my thoughts flit off in some other direction. My focus lasts as long as it takes to pour a cup of coffee. Memory? What? I can't say how many times I've headed off to some area of the house, filled with purpose, only to get halfway to my destination and come to a complete halt, look around like a lost soul and try to figure out not only where was I going, but what the heck was I going to do once I got there.


Case #1: The kids are all in basketball. Jackson is just starting and the impression I'm sure I'm making on the other parents isn't good. I walked in late to his first practice by about 10 minutes, dragging the car seat, with my hair all blown out -- not from frantically dashing across the parking lot, but simply because the wind was blowing 60 mph -- that doesn't matter, I looked like a woman on the edge. No, his first practice wasn't forgotten, thank goodness, I was just running late after dropping off Kallene at her practice which starts at the same time, only she's at school and Jack is at the Y. Second week of practice, I arrive pretty much on time. Hurray, but Matt's hungry so I drop Jack, pull into a parking space and feed him. 20 minutes later, out comes Jack. There's nobody there. Huh? Memory recall #1 -- Oh, yes, his coach had mentioned she'd be out of town, so I guess she couldn't find a substitute coach. I apologize that he won't have practice and finish feeding Matt. Like a snowball to the back of my head, memory recall #2 hits -- out of nowhere the light comes on and I realize, with complete dread that practices are not at the Y, they're at a school 10 minutes from the Y. I look at the clock 6:30. Great. What to do? Click-on the "don't let your child down" rule and head for practice. Get there. Get out, into the, yes, horrific wind and trudge around looking for an open door. By now it's 6:55 and I pull open a door and stare down the hall and a group of players and parents. This time I am the woman on the edge, I look it and feel it. And I get the looks of sympathy to prove it, "Poor woman has totally lost it."

Case #2: Brushing my teeth I had a great idea. I turn to check the weather on the TV, turn back not 10 second later with the great idea totally gone. Like it never exsisted. All that remains is the knowledge that I actually HAD a thought. What it was -- don't know. Haven't figured it out. Can't recall it no matter how hard I try. Gone forever.

I keep hoping it'll get better. That I'll be able to reboot and start over with good memory. It isn't looking good though. Maybe I should invest in 3M because those post-it notes are going to come in pretty handy.

Getting Back on Track

2008 was a tough year -- well, parts of it were. A year ago, in January 2008, I knew that when I took a pregnancy test in February it would come out positive. I braced myself for that, not so much having another child, as I'd always wanted four children, but the time table was all wrong. There was too much of an age gap, I was too old, yadda, yadda. That's a thought for another time, though. Anyway, I was sick. More sick than with any of the other kids. I was tired, too. I kept waiting for the second trimester because that was always the turning point, I always felt great once I got there. It didn't really ever come. I had moments of energy, of less aches and pains, but nothing that lasted long. As a result, my house fell into ruins. Just keeping up on basics was about all I could do. I'm the kind of person who feels good when I'm keeping up with my house. When I feel like it's running smoothly. Pregnancy has a way of throwing a wrench into your regular routines.

So now that recovery is over (I'm not sure which is worse the pregnancy or the recovery), the baby is getting a fairly predictable schedule. Most days. It was time to take the new year and get back on track. I got my calendar in order, downloaded my cleaning schedule. Yes, I have a cleaning schedule that I follow that helps me tackle little things every day, all year. I love being able to literally check things off. I'm even getting my weekly menu routine back.

Monday was the designated "Get Things Started" day. I managed to get 3 of the 4 bathrooms cleaned and did a little hand pump as I left the last one clean and sparkly. Check. Tuesday was a couple little things, like cleaning the light fixtures in the bathrooms. Check. Can I just say I get a little thrill in looking at those clean fixtures, the same thrill I get looking at the dusted fan blades. These little things are the ones I enjoy the most. I'm sure nobody else notices the cleaned middle shelf in the refridgerator, but everytime I open the door it makes me feel good to see it. Much like I enjoy the smell of the citus in the cleaner I used to clean the banisters.

So even though I'm only 7 days into the new year, I feel good. It feels good to think I'm getting back on track.

I'm a Scrapbooker

I know, I know. Saying you're a scrapbooker is like saying you play Bingo or drive a pick-up truck or study the history of bees. There's a stereotype that goes along with admitting that you scrapbook. For the record, I'm a scrapbooker. I don't have big hair. I don't own a shirt with the words "Got Photos" on it. I don't own decorative-edged scissors; well . . . not anymore.


I've been a crafter since I was a kid, long before I found scrapbooking. When I was introduced to scrapbooking there wasn't much of an industry. 12 years ago it was mostly Creative Memories paper, shape templates, a pen and stickers. (There were a lot of stickers.) I found scrapbooking before I had kids, so I scrapbooked photos from high school, dating my now-husband, our honeymoon and trips we took with family and friends. Scrapbooking back then was about having a good time, getting out with other scrapbookers and just having fun doing something new.


And then I had kids and scrapbooking became something else. It was a way to get out of the house. Nobody tells you how isolating being a stay-at-home-mom is. It was having a warm dinner, drive-thru fast food on the way to a crop though it was, it was hot. It was time spent with grown-ups, having grown-up conversations, using grown-up words. It was time for me. I was still having fun, but the creative process became more about getting something done. Something completed. Something completed without interruption within a few hours of starting it. I think many moms can appreciate the beauty and rarity in such a thing.

Scrapbooking before kids was a new path in what I had always done -- crafting. Back then I could take a look back at who I was; the paths that made me, well, me. After kids scrapbooking definitely was something that was energy-giving. As much as I love my kids, love being a mom, there are certainly days that it can suck the life right out of you. So, scrapbooking became a way of reconnecting with myself. It became a way of expressing myself in ways that are more difficult for me to do verbally. Now I wasn't just looking back at me, I was looking at the little people in my life, with fondness and good memories on those days when it was tough to see that. I was looking at who they were, what made them tick and gave me a glimpse of the paths they were and are taking.


It's only since I've had kids that I'm able to realize how lucky I am to have found scrapbooking. So, yes, I'm a scrapbooker and proud of it.

I once thought of being a writer

It's true. 'Course, I was once a lot of things. I was organized. I had time to do what I wanted, when I wanted. I could leave the house within 5 minutes of deciding I wanted to leave the house. I prided myself on being able to clean the house, top to bottom, in just four hours.

And then I had kids.

My writing now consists of signing permission slips and proofing english homework. My organization is only seen in my silverware drawer and that's only because I have one of those silverware holders. There is no "me" time, not in the shower, not in the bathroom and not even while I sleep -- my youngest, at 3 months, makes sure of that. Going where I want, when I want. Yeah, right! Between the time I actually have the thought of leaving and actually leaving is a span of at least 30 minutes. I have to plan for days to go shopping, only to be waylaid by the baby. Cleaning? Are you freakin' kidding me? It takes four hours to empty the dishwasher, sweep the floor and, if I'm lucky, get a load of laundry switched around. The house hasn't been clean, all at once, in more than 11 years. Now adays I leave behind a tidy room that is hit by one of three tornados shortly after I turn the corner. My pristine room is marred by an errant sock, that when washed will loose its mate, an overturned shoe, a candy wrapper, a milk glass. The last time the house stayed the way I left it was last November, during Thanksgiving, and that was because we were all in Orlando.

So, no, being a writer is no longer in the cards. But that's why I have this blog -- I can pretend. I'd forgotten how to pretend, and then I had kids.