One Secret, No More

I have a secret.  Doesn't everyone?
I have a new coping mechanism.  It's miraculous in many ways.  First of all, I get teased.  I get teased because my choice of music as of late consists of "new age relaxation."  Aka?  Enya.  Yanni.  Yiruma.  It's soul soothing.  Yes, I said it.
Soul.  Soothing.

Well, we don't live in a huge place.  So, not huge place mixed with two rambunctious, occasional unbearable fit throwing boys?  Then there's the baby.  (Surprisingly enough, he is my link to sanity as of late.)  And, sometimes a puppy.  Another side note?
Puppy is often calmer than said boys.

So let's take this morning as an example.  Cole had to work, and he already had his hours in.  Strike one.  Strike two, Jack got up at 6, and had a late night.  Strike three came when I opened the door to James's room and was assaulted by this smell.  After that, the strikes kept falling.  Baby wouldn't calm down.  "Hold me.  ALWAYS!" is his mantra today.  Jack and James are tired and overly bored.  And puppy wants attention.
Strike.  Strike.  Strike.  Strike.......

Enter headphones.

All of the sudden, I see the chaos, but I can't hear it.  All I hear is "River Runs Through You" and "Orinoco Flow."  If I close my eyes for 5 seconds, I am transported to whatever visual the music can make.  It's peaceful.
It's serene.
I want to be where my headphones take me.

Then I open my eyes again and the chaos is still there.
But it's now manageable.

I'm tired.  All the time, I'm tired.  If you aren't a mother and you want to be one?  Buckle up.
If you are a mother and you can relate.  High five.  Now let's hug it out.

I've been told I am remarkably patient with my sons.  The truth is, I'm not.  I'm imaginative.  When I can feel the crazy starting to set in, I just zone out of one sense.  Mothers have like 20 senses anyway, so zoning out one to be lifted to another place is completely acceptable.

In the meantime.  Don't judge me.
Love me.
Love everyone.
We are, all of us, having a hard time in different ways.

If God Could Tell You

I officially feel like I've hit being a mom.  I know I've been a mom for nearly 6 years now, but today I feel it.  When I think about my mom and how she would say "oh, I look so old" growing up, I can visualize her.  I can see her pointing out her flaws, I can see the scars, and the lines, and the tired eyes.
I see her in all her beautiful glory, and wonder.
I see her.
Now I look in the mirror, and I see her again.

I'm young.  I know that.  I'm still very, very young.  But today?  Today I feel...not old...but aged somehow.  Coen is 5 weeks old, and he's our last.  I had surgery this last week to make that "official" and now I look at him, and I think, "Wow.  You're it.  You're where my mommy stages end."  I will grow with them all, now.  My cycle of momminess won't start over with another little one, each stage will end as Coen grows.

I'm sure many mothers could read this and think, "Oh, honey, you have NO idea."  I'm sure I will look into the mirror many, many times and see another woman standing before me.  I know it will happen.  I do.  But today?  Today I looked in that mirror and I no longer saw a young woman.
For the first time in my life, I saw my lines.  I saw my scars.  I saw my sags, and stretch marks.
I saw my experiences printed like a map upon my body.
I saw myself through the eyes of a younger version of me.
I'm different.
I've changed.

I remember thinking as a child that I wished my mom could just see herself as I saw her.  She was so perfect in my eyes, regardless of what she'd been through, how much physical or mental weight she carried, or if she felt her body or her life was lopsided or out of sync.
My mind traveled to those memories today.

There's a certain amount of mourning that has to be done in life, I think.  As we grow, certain things happen, or don't happen.  Our bodies, like our lives, change in so many ways and sometimes so drastically, that we are forced to look in the mirror and face what we see.
Our eyes will travel along the scars, or the sags, or the areas we find wanting, and we will either accept what we see, or seek to change it to make it better.
The balance comes in knowing when to change, and when to let alone what is already beautiful.

Today, I do.  I feel aged.  I feel the experiences that have made me who I am.  I don't feel weighed down, or broken, but I do feel different somehow.  I feel as though a chapter on my life has closed, and the next chapter awaits my arrival.  It's difficult to explain, and the mixture of emotions is likewise confusing.  But it's there.
It's there.
I hope though, just as I hoped my mom could see, that I will see myself, and my life, as my children do.
"Mom, you're so beautiful."
In all our glory and wonder.
We are; we are beautiful.

    

Knock Softly

So.  Children.  They're crazy.
The last four days I have been in perpetual "labor" with no progression.  It's frustrating, it's disheartening and it's draining.  Then there's the kids.  The sick ones.
The ones that have been sick over and over and over again this season.
This week.  It's been crazy.

Well, true to form this morning, we either get what I like to call "the side of James we would rather hide in a closet" or "James."  This morning we got the former.  He was very very angry, and no matter what I did he wouldn't stop being angry.
It all started with a shirt.  I gave him two shirts to pick from.  He didn't want either, he wanted a shirt that was dirty.  Pick your battles right?  I chose this one.  I said, "No, it's dirty.  You can wear one of these."  Enter crazy child.  He screamed, and yelled, and threw the shirts at me.  So what did I do?  I left his room.
And I shut the door behind me.

For the next hour and a half James banged on the door, and cried "Mommy, get back here!" and cried, and yelled, and cried, and screamed.  What did I do?
I ate breakfast with Jack.
We had a wonderful conversation about dementors and the differences between the Star Wars theme song and the Harry Potter theme song.
It was relaxing, though the background noise of "get my shirt" wasn't all too appealing.

After about an hour of the charade with James, I decided perhaps it was time to try and help him calm down.  (No, he hadn't calmed down yet.)  I went to his door, and sat down outside of it.  I just sat there, and listened to his rantings and ravings.  I sat there and listened to him blame me for being mean, and alternating between screaming my name in anger, and pleading for me to listen.
A half hour I sat there, outside his unlocked door, and listened, gently saying his name over and over again.  Quietly repeating, "James, I'm right here.  Please calm down."
Then I softly knocked.

He stopped crying.  I softly knocked again.  I would like to say he knocked back, or opened the door, but no, he yelled at me for knocking and continued his fit.
As I sat there saying his name again and again, all while softly knocking, hoping he would open the door and talk to me, I suddenly saw the connection.

How often have I shut my own door and yelled and screamed at God because he wasn't giving me what I wanted?  How often have I thrown blessings he wanted to give me back in his face in spite, as if to say, "I don't want your clean clothes.  Give me my dirty ones!"
How often am I so upset that I don't hear him gently knocking, and softly saying my name?

Probably more than I'd like to admit.  I'd like to hope that time is teaching me to calm down quicker, and look for the light faster.  I'd like to hope that.
As we grow older we sometimes act as though we know everything.
My crazy kids are teaching me daily that I don't know a whole heck of a lot.
Or I'm very forgetful.
It takes time, it takes patience, and it takes an indescribable amount of faith to get a good grasp on life, then to move forward with that new understanding.

Eventually the noise fades.  Eventually the clarity comes.
It did with James; it just took about two hours.
He did figure it out though.

Children.  They're crazy.
But I wouldn't have them any other way.

That One Time I Lost It

So this is a dirty laundry post.  You know, the kind where you have one of those guilt ridden days because you did something you weren't so proud of?  Yeah.  Dirty laundry day.

Allow me to set the scene for you.  This morning, Cole's alarm went off (5:30 am).  It does this every morning, except on weekends, and it almost always pulls me out of a very deep, dreamy sleep.  Well, Jack gets up at 6, so there's not much me time in the morning.  I try to pull my bed-headed self together so I can function in the role of mother, but sometimes it just doesn't work.
Some mornings I feel like breaking things.

Flash forward to 8 am, time for Jack to go to school.  The morning went well, considering.  Breakfast was alright, I didn't look too homeless walking out the door (I actually brushed my hair) and James resembled something of a well taken care of child.  We get to the school, and Jack informs me that his water bottle is in the lunch room.  My response?  Go get it.
"But mom, class is starting, you go get it!"

No.

Some little button got pushed.  Something happened.  Something broke.  I may have heard the snap, I don't really know.  The next thing I knew, I had Jack thrown over my shoulder (in front of the entire school, Jack's teacher, and the principal), and I was marching his sassy little behind to the lunchroom to get the water bottle.  The entire time, Jack was screaming.  I felt like a she hulk; eight months pregnant, toting a 50 pound sack of solidness to the lunch room.

When I put Jack down, I said, "Go get your water bottle."  He cried, and yelled that he didn't want to, and pointed to where he had left it.  I just pointed in return, much like the ominous ghost from Christmas past.  No words, stoic face, finger pointing in water bottle direction.
Jack flopped on the ground, and continued to throw a fit.

(PS?  The #&%@ water bottle was like TEN feet away!!!)

Long story short, Jack may or may not have gotten pushed in the right direction, he may or may not have face planted in the process, and after many crocodile tears he may or may not have been late to class.  
I'll neither confirm nor deny what happened.

The point is, he is 5.  He is 5, and he threw a tantrum over a bottle of water.
The point is, I am 27.  I am 27 and I threw a fit over my 5 year old throwing a tantrum over a bottle of water.

The point is, there is no point.  Sometimes life just dazes you over, and you move forward like a hulk, with some kind of baggage thrown over your shoulder.  All the while the world is staring at you thinking, "What in the world?..." Some days it really is just about surviving.  Breathing, focusing on what you can focus on and hoping the rest of the day somehow works itself out.
Other days are clearer.
You can enjoy the clarity of those days.
That clarity helps you march your way through the blurry times.

You know, the ones where you throw a tantrum like a toddler then sleep it off.
We've all done it.
Well, at least I'll admit to it.
Here's to a clearer day tomorrow.
And maybe my kids will actually decide to sleep in.

An Open Letter to God

Dear God,

I've written to you before, both physically and "mentally" if you will.  I have a confession to make.  I'm just a little frustrated.  I'm not frustrated with life per se, and I'm not angry by any means, life is what it is, and I have come to understand in greater lengths what it means to "build your own destiny."  Forge your own path, align yourself with the universe, etc etc.

We talk a lot about free will down here.  I have these decisions I can make.  I make them, then there are consequences, whether good or bad, and that's that.  I've been taught, and I do indeed still believe, that you have a certain path you want me to follow.  An intrinsic one.  It's taken me quite a few years to understand the whole follow your heart phrase.  "Be who you are meant to be, climb that ladder and do what you are meant to do."  Or, so I hear you say sometimes.

Well, here's the deal.  My heart, this thing that beats inside my chest.  It is my life force, physically.  Sometimes my heart leads me one way, a way I feel you pulling me, a way I feel you pushing me even, and yet?  Well, there are other voices, voices that claim you are telling them something that is the opposite of what I feel.  So who's right?  We are, all of us, prone to weakness in almost every way possible.  We are, all of us, given an inner moral compass that leads us, and guides our paths, and helps us attain this invisible potential.

I look to you in everything, and in every way.  I often think to myself, how can I go wrong if I am always doing what this inner moral compass of mine is directing me to do?  How indeed.  You see, this world?  This world so full of different religions, and black and white areas, and that ever elusive "moderate" zone?  That grey area.  The one everyone tells me I can't, for the sake of humanity, stay in.  We cannot, period, be in the grey zone.  There is good, and there is bad.  Period.
We cannot hold the white, and the black.
But my heart.
The heart you gave me, the one I give to you in every way I know how.
Is there not good, and truth, and wonder in almost EVERYTHING in this life?
Why can't the grey zone exist?  Why can't there be good, and truth, and wonder in everything?

Why?
Was that your idea?

I don't feel like it was.  Or is.  At least, that's what my heart tells me.  And you're in there, aren't you?  You're in there just like you are in everything else in this life.  You're in the wind as it blows through the trees.  You're in the sand under my feet.  You are my life force.
You are in me.
You are everywhere.

So aren't you in that grey zone?
Does the God I understand hold true to the God other people feel, and hear, or see?
I'm just tired.  I'm tired of all those voices telling me what, or how, or why I should believe or not believe.  I understand that tools, and knowledge, are necessary.  We can't understand the whole unless we have all the parts.  I don't claim to have all the parts, nor do I claim to comprehend the end result.  All I know is what I know, what I've learned, and how I've learned it.  Others are given different paths to come to the same end as me.
Who am I to judge how they get there if they don't judge how I get there?
We are, all of us, in the grey zone in one way or another.

I don't know if there is a solution.  I guess I just needed to vent to you.  Maybe other people feel the same way I do, and maybe they don't.  I know many on both sides.  It's a difficult thing being labeled a "fence sitter."  Fence sitters belong nowhere, and everywhere, all at once.
I'm coming to grips with it.
And I'll keep following that inner compass of mine, wherever it may lead.
Just stay with me, okay?

As long as I know you are in my heart, I will know that what I am doing, and who I am becoming is exactly as it should be.
Regardless of what other people think.

Love, Jess

The Creepy Mom

So last night I sat in my sons room and watched them sleep.  I did, I just sat there and stared at them.  I watched their little chests rise and fall, and I listened to Jack snore.  I thought about this other little guy, the one waiting to come, and then I thought, "Oh man.  Three boys.  What has Cole gotten me into."
(I know it's not Cole's fault; I like to tease him about it anyway.)

Well, this morning my mom sent me a message asking me how I was doing.  I said I felt fat.  Between the physical limitations with this pregnancy, and the holidays, I do, I feel fat.  She responded, "You're not fat!  You're pregnant!  Enjoy it since this is your last time."  Oh.  I'm enjoying it.  Hence why I feel fat.  I didn't say I WAS fat, though the weight gain is clearly obvious (as is the belly).  I simply said I FELT that way.

Back to last night.  Last night while I was staring at my boys sleeping I thought, "This is endearing.  And creepy.  I'm kind of a creepy mom."  I'm not creepy in a hauntingly, terrifying, or spooky sense.  Although, I am sure had my sons woken up while I was watching them they may have argued otherwise.  I, for one, have a mild panic attack when I wake up to find a face staring at me in the middle of the night.
It's a harmless face, usually.
One that says something like, "Mom, I need a drink."
Or "Mom, James threw up in the bed."
No, I'm more of a "let me see how uncomfortable I can make you right now" creepy.

I make them clean their rooms.  Soooo creepy.  I make them help with chores.  They are 5 and 2.  It's rude; I'm a jerk.  I also make them clean up their pee when they miss the toilet.  I am in charge of their waste when it is in a diaper, not after.  Balance of power, you see.  They get agitated about it, but who's the boss?  Creepy mom.
Creepy mom makes them eat what's for dinner; eat it or go to bed.  Creepy mom gives them hardly any candy.  Don't go all progressive parent on me, they get goodies, I'm not the devil.
(C'mon, I'm the bakery queen.  They get treats, trust me.)
We play outside, we don't play video games all the time.  I play with them, but I also make them use their imagination.
Creepy mom needs to do her own creepy things sometimes.

Why do I do these things?  Well, back to the pregnancy deal.  I feel like it.  I am a big follower of how I feel.  I think about it, research it if I can, I "mull it over," then I let my heart lead.  And if I don't know how I feel about something?  That's when meditation or a lot of "oh $#!& that wasn't the best option" moments come into play.

With my kids?  I follow my heart, and my gut, and my head.  I follow this intrinsic path because no one knows my kids like I know them.  They hold half of me, and I know myself relatively well.  Therefore?  I know at least half of them.
God made it that way.
Google can't decide what's best for a child it doesn't know.
Momma knows best.  Period.
Sometimes I think we forget that.  Sometimes I think we forget how gifted we really are, especially when it comes to the life we've been given.  For me?  It's motherhood.  If I really take the time to actually TAKE the time and try what I think is best, it's usually what's right.
My heart doesn't lie to me.
I just need to stop being too afraid to follow it.

As for my kids?  Well, with their learning curves and tantrums, their growing pains, their aha moments, and any owie, sickness or heartache they might experience, I will be there.
I may not always know what's best, but I will always know what to do if I am quiet enough to listen.

I'm supposed to give them what they need to be the best they can be, but I can't make them into something they're not.  I myself am constantly growing, and so will they.
So I'm a creepy mom.
One day?
One day I hope my boys will be creepy dads.
But if they're not I know they will do exactly what they were meant to do.
And I wouldn't have it any other way.

Small Enough

Sometimes life makes me feel very small.  The feeling of being small doesn't necessarily have anything to do with my physical stature, but more my mental, emotional or spiritual state of being.  This last month there have been some experiences.  I won't go into detail, but I will say that these experiences have left me looking for deeper meaning.

They've left me with more understanding eyes, and a softer heart.

Sometimes life has a way of forcing you to realize that being small is really what matters.  Quotes concerning the "small things" are ever prevalent, particularly since the new year has commenced and everyone is setting new goals, and reaching for dreams again.  Reaching, stretching, and bringing ourselves to the brink of a greater good is always, well, good.  

But in our quest to stretch ourselves to greater lengths, we sometimes become blind to the small things.  

Tiny details make a difference when we step back and see the bigger picture.

In my life, those small things are, quite literally, little.  It's very easy to let life distract us from what's important, and life had been doing just that a couple months ago.  I was distracted, and I was distracted by a lot of things.
In truth, they didn't really matter.  

They mattered, yes, but compared to other things they didn't matter nearly as much.

We all want to inspire others; we all want to inspire ourselves.  We all want to become something greater, or better, than we are now.  We all usually have good intentions, and as we inspire ourselves, or others, we either become more focused on truth, or completely lost in what we think is truth.

Living requires balance.  We cannot stand focused if we are leaning too much towards the future, backwards in the past, or looking from side to side imagining what it could be like to travel the path of another.

Life is the master of distraction, and the teacher of truth.

It's up to us to focus; it's up to us to quiet our minds enough to really listen to what life is trying to teach.  

What we get from life depends wholly on how we choose to learn from it. 

My small things are front and center now.  It's not much to the eyes of many others, but when I get down on my knees and play with the hot wheels, or I sit for over an hour pretending to be the purple monster, my small moments become monumental.

Whatever the present provides, or however it happens to be presenting itself, is the only thing I can control.  This moment, this now, this is what I have complete control over.  I will continue to reach, and stretch, and dance, and sing with life.  I will still make goals, and desire dreams.  

I will still look forward to tomorrow.

But moderation matters.  

Today, and hopefully every day, I intend to be small enough.  

Small enough to truly hear.  

Small enough to better see, and small enough to understand the bigger picture.

Sometimes, life makes me feel very small.

And that isn't necessarily a bad thing.