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Santa Santa Santa

In my first year of blogging, I wrote that I still believe in Santa Claus.  I do.

Not believing that a guy in a red suit comes down the chimney and delivers gifts.  Rather, a magical, wondrous belief in kindness and generosity that people display around the holidays.

Like the story of anonymous people paying off Kmart layaway accounts on behalf of others?  That’s Santa Claus to me.

Or how one woman decided to give away the gently used toys her boys didn’t play with anymore?  That idea snowballed and became Play It Forward Pittsburgh.  She ended up blessing 383 families, 1436 children, by ultimately giving away over 5000 toys to those who might otherwise not have Christmas presents.  That’s Santa Claus to me.

With my children, I am still perpetuating the myth of the man in the red suit bringing presents.  As much as I love playing Santa and making things amazing for them, I’m already looking forward to sharing the adult version of Santa Claus with them some day.  Of looking for and seeing goodness in the world.  Of doing random acts of kindness for others.  Of helping people who need an extra hand.

I hope my children will have eyes to see that kind of Santa Claus as they mature.

No matter what holiday you celebrate, I wish you warmth and happiness, and hopes for a peaceful time together with your family.

Small successes.

I haven’t been feeling very good about my parenting recently.  My focus has been on all the failures I make as a mother and I’ve been wallowing in my shortcomings.

So to combat the spiraling vortex of motherhood doldrums, I am posting three small successes that make me feel like I am doing something–anything!–right.

My children recognize Elvis Presley songs–I guess I play them enough on my iPod!  I’m proud that they recognize and sing along to Elvis.  Furthermore, they are reverent of Elvis the King and always call him as such.  Never just Elvis, or even Elvis Presley.  Nope.  He is always referred to as Elvis the King.

I am not ever bothered in the middle of the night if my kids awaken.  They know to go to Daddy.  Even as a baby, Cupcake would shout, “Daaaaaaddy!” from her crib.  These days, the kids simply head to The Husband’s side of the bed if they need something.

I am teaching my kids which sports team to love, and which we don’t.  Bito intrinsically knows that the Yankees are a hated team and automatically roots against them.  And anytime the Redskins are mentioned or a Redskins logo is spotted, Cupcake and BabyMuffin automatically shout, “Go Redskins!”

Small successes indeed, but at this point, I’ll take them.

So I thought.

The last time my heart was broken was in June of 1993.  The guy was my college boyfriend, Terry.  We’d been together for most of our junior year.  He was beautiful, he made me laugh, and he was going to be my husband.

So I thought.

On that day in June of 1993, Terry took me to The Mall in Washington.  Lying on the green grass, the blue sky above and the Washington Monument towering over us, Terry gently told me.  He’d changed his mind, he didn’t want to have a girlfriend, he wasn’t ready to be in a committed relationship.  As he spoke, he stared out over the monuments, avoiding eye contact with me.

My heart shattered.  Simply fell apart into a billion pieces.  I never thought this would happen…we were so blissfully happy.

So I thought.

Over the next few weeks, I discovered my face could produce an obscene amount of liquid. I had no idea I could cry until there was nothing left, yet tears still ran out of my eyes.

I could not imagine my life without Terry.  Who would I meet for dinner?  Would I need to find a new study partner?  My life had changed for the worst.

So I thought.

Time and distance heals.  Thank goodness for time and distance.  I can now honestly say that it was better that Terry ended things with me when he did.

When Terry came out of the closet in 1996, I wasn’t too shocked.  Surprised, but a lot of things made sense after he told me.  I actually felt a lot of relief…that it truly hadn’t be me.

These days, Terry is on my speed dial.  We talk a few times per month, and he is still beautiful, and he still makes me laugh.  I do not have to imagine my life without Terry because he is a part of it.  But…I am glad I am not married to him after all.

~~~~~~~~~~

This post inspired by the book Lost Edens by Jamie Patterson.  This book was given to me for my online book club.  More posts inspired by the book can be found at From Left to Write.

Holiday Cards

Less than ten weeks until Christmas!

With that thought in mind, I have a question for you all:  What do you do with your holiday cards each year?

Continue Reading »

Yesterday I walked around the whole morning feeling blue.  Ready to burst into tears over anything and everything.  I kept wondering what my problem was.  I concluded it was because I was just so busy and all I wanted a moment to breathe…to sit…to relax and not run to and fro.

My smart phone battery has been giving me all sorts of trouble lately, and needs to be charged every 3-4 hours recently.  Of course I didn’t have the car charger with me, so it died during my morning of work, errands, and kid-carpools.  I didn’t get to check my email until mid-afternoon, after BabyMuffin and I had run to a few stores after I picked him up from preschool.  That’s when I saw the email.  The message that let me know that Jim had passed yesterday morning after a long battle with cancer.  He’s the father of Erin, the gal who was my mother’s helper for a few summers.

I immediately broke into tears upon reading that news.  I am glad Jim is at peace now, but my heart aches for his wife, Ann, and their three children.  It totally sucks for them.  Ann has lost the love of her life, and Erin and her brothers have lost their father, their Dad.

It put my morning blues into perspective.  I was sad and stressed because I wanted time…but thank God I have time.  Time to work, time to pick up kids, time to shop and run errands.  Time to live and be with those I love.

Yesterday afternoon and evening, I made an effort to hug my kids and The Husband a little tighter, plant more kisses than usual.  Last night, instead of getting irritated by The Husband wanting to cuddle up to me when I was already hot (and he would’ve made me sweaty!), I just thought of how Ann is no longer able to snuggle up to her Jim.  It changed my attitude.  I am grateful for my family, even as my heart breaks for Ann and her children.

 

Recently, my friend Emily was talking about her two sons.  They are similarly aged to my two boys:  her older is in 2nd grade, and the younger just turned four.

Her words about loving them so resonated with me that I asked if I could quote her here.


Noah’s my good natured, happy go lucky little guy, and my love for him is pretty constant. If I were to get all geeky, it’d be a straight horizontal line on a graph. But Daniel…. He’s my sine curve. Half the time he makes me so damn frustrated and so damn angry, and I swear, I’m going to sell him to the circus, and I don’t want to be anywhere near him. And then, he turns into this sweet little bundle of love, and I just adore him. Awfully hard to remember those times when he’s being a little shit though.

Oh, how I get it.  It is also true of my two sons to a tee, and I could have not said it any better.

~~~~~~~~~

Check out Emily Steele Photography if you’re in the DC Metro area!  Emily takes awesome pictures.  One of these days, I’m going to have to get her to shoot my kids.  With a camera, I mean.

It’s the final week before public school starts up here, and the first week where I have all three kids to myself.  No camps, no vacation, no daddy, no back-up.  Just me.  And my three darlings.  Together.  Alone.

In anticipation of this week, I’ve made it a point to line up playdates and activities to limit the amount of Mommy versus Three time.  Our playdate today wasn’t scheduled to start until after lunch, so I decided to take The Three on an excursion to a local park with their bicycles.

Let me just say that the bikes were indeed ridden.  But also?  Voices were raised in anger.  Tears were cried as well.  Tantrums were thrown in spectacular fashion.  It wasn’t the fun time I’d anticipated.  It’s sad when the good time I planned instead produces frustration and tears for all.

Fortunately, I was smart enough to realize the bike riding was not going to be a smashing success, so I we quickly moved to Plan B.

Unfortunately, Plan B entailed going to Costco, and I was not smart enough to realize this might be a big mistake, given BabyMuffin’s super-bad mood.  And my super-bad reaction to his super-bad mood.

Actually, the shopping portion of the trip went smoothly.  Lunch in the Costco café went pretty well, too.  It wasn’t until we were cleaning up to leave that things fell apart.

tantrumWhile I was getting a piece of foil to wrap up our leftovers, BabyMuffin threw out the remainder of his pizza.  He was just trying to be helpful, I guess.  When I told him I had been planning to take the pizza home, he burst into tears and began hollering.  He wanted to fish the pizza out of the trashcan.  I would not let him.  He wanted me to get the pizza out of the trashcan.  I would not.  He wanted me to purchase another slice of pizza for him.  I refused to do so.  And so I was That Mother who was walking out of the Costco with a bright red screaming child trailing behind her.  BabyMuffin continued to wail that he wanted his pizza.  Every single eye in the place was upon us (so I felt).  My blood pressure was rising, and I was on the verge of snapping at my son.

I managed to wait until we were at the car before I did so.

I called our playdate and explained that it had been a very tantrummy morning, and BabyMuffin just needed to go home and have a nap.

And I probably need one, too.

Ready or not

My daughter Cupcake will be starting Kindergarten in just a few short weeks.

She is ready.  Really ready.  Like, chomping at the bit, raring to go.

I am ready too.  I’ve already sent one child to Kindergarten, and I know the ropes.  I have complete confidence in the school and the kindergarten team there.  I know Cupcake will blossom in Kindergarten.

I am ready.

I kind of am not, too.

My little girl is my constant shadow and my mini-me.  The past two school years, we have had an especially sweet time every day when her big brother Bito was at school, and her little brother BabyMuffin was napping.  It was just Mommy and Cupcake time.

I’ve been threatening to homeschool Cupcake so that I can keep her close to me for another year.  Cupcake is adamantly opposed to the idea—she cannot wait to get to Kindergarten in a classroom setting, make new friends, and learn like her big brother does at school!  And to be honest, I have no intention of homeschooling any of my kids.  No, thanks.

Still, I will miss the dedicated time I have had with my girl.  I will miss my constant companion, and I will always cherish the years I’ve had her at home with me.  But I won’t keep her from going to on to new and better things.  It’s for the best for her…and for me.

kim chiAt the Asian grocery store today, I was attempting to buy kim chi to go with our dinner tonight.

I don’t normally buy kim chi on my own…for the infrequent times I do make the purchase, my mom is usually with me.  Alas, she is half a world away and we are not due to be in the same state for another four months.  So I was on my own, squinting at the jars of kim chi, as if that would magically reveal which was the one to get.

I was at a total loss.  I couldn’t be sure the one I was eyeing was the one my mom normally makes me get.  So, I did what any gal in her late 30s would do.

I called my mom.

The conversation was comical, at best.  Mom was in a very loud area and could barely hear me.  I was in a grocery store surrounded by tons of ambient noise.

I hollered my question at her, “WHAT KIND OF KIM CHI AM I SUPPOSED TO GET?”

She bellowed back, “You want to MAKE kim chi??!””

“NO NO!  I AM NOT MAKING KIM CHI.  I WANT TO BUY KIM CHI BUT I HAVE NO IDEA WHICH TO GET!”

“Okay!  Go to the Korean grocery store and…”

“I AM ALREADY AT THE KOREAN GROCERY STORE.  THERE ARE LOTS OF KIM CHI JARS AROUND ME AND I DON’T KNOW WHICH ONE TO GET!”

“Look at the jars and figure out which one you like.”

“MOM!  I AM LOOKING AT THE JARS AND I DON’T KNOW WHICH ONE…”

“It probably says Kim Chi on it.”

 

And so the conversation went.  Not real helpful.

While I was shouting on the phone for the entire store to hear, a very helpful clerk scurried over and showed me all sorts of different jars of kim chi, according to what I was screeching at the moment.  Finally, I just grabbed the nearest jar in order to get off the phone and spare everyone’s eardrums.

Later, though, I had to smile because I am glad I can call and have these conversations with her.

Field Trip!

What child doesn’t like going on a field trip for school?  No matter the destination, field trips are cause for excitement for the school children everywhere, and a day of high stress for the teachers!

Continue Reading »

My friend Elena of C.Mom is doing a wonderful series entitled Reclaiming Me.  As part of it, she issued a challenge, and I am not one to back away from a good challenge!

She writes, “…the more I realized that I do a pretty bang up job on thinking about the things I perceive as negatives about myself and a pretty poor job thinking about my positives.”

This is me, too.  I am my own worst critic, and I can be unnecessarily harsh on myself.  So to that end, I am trying to find some Things I Like About Me.

Here goes:

  1. I like my skin.  It is generally blemish-free, is a color that I like, and there are no wrinkles on my face yet.
  2. I remember the details of people’s lives.  Books and movies?  Forget about it.  But people are important to me, and I tend to hang on to the stuff they tell me about themselves.  More than once, I’ve surprised a person by asking for a follow-up to something they mentioned awhile ago in passing.
  3. I am a good friend, who loves fiercely and is loyal and generous. I can listen with a patient ear, and am happy to do what I can for my friends.
  4. I like the scars on my body because they all have stories.  The one on my knee because I decided to ride a bike down a hill backwards when I was a kid.  The one up high on my chest from when my first cat gouged me with her back claw because I thought I should pick her up and squeeze her.  The one on the top of my foot from surgery last summer.
  5. I will try anything once.  New foods?  Yes please.  Different experiences?  Sign me up.  I would rather try something one time before ruling it out as something not for me.
  6. I am punctual.  If I am asked to be somewhere at a certain time, I will try my darndest to be there at that time.
  7. I like my analytical mind.  I enjoy working through problems and thinking through things methodically.
  8. I like that I know how and when to keep my mouth shut.  As in keeping secrets, yes, but also when to step back and allow others to talk.

 

Whew, that was HARD!  I do not like to brag, so this was uncomfortable to write.  Why is it so much easier to point out the things we don’t like about ourselves?  Thank you, Elena, for this exercise!

Dreams

unexpected navigationTen years ago today, The Husband and I were three days away from tying the knot.  I remember not-so-fondly those final hours before The Big Day.  The busy-ness of confirming vendors, going over the schedule, putting out small fires, etc, stressed me out!  Every detail about how the day would go was checked and double checked .  As excited as I was about The Big Day, I was nervous about how everything would go.  I admit I just wanted it to be over so that I didn’t have to worry about it any longer!

What I was really looking forward to was our honeymoon!  I couldn’t wait to be sitting on a hot beach sipping a cold drink.  When we were planning our honeymoon, I had dreamily mentioned that I wanted to go to French Polynesia…but we weren’t willing to travel the long distance for our honeymoon.  We settled instead on an all-inclusive resort in Mexico, which was perfect for us.  The Husband said that perhaps we would be able to to go to Tahiti/Moorea/Bora Bora for our tenth anniversary.

Well.  We are celebrating ten years later this week, and needless to say, we are not going anywhere near the South Pacific!  With three kids, a mortgage, and the cost of living life, it simply isn’t in our budget to jet off to Tahiti right now!  I’m okay with that, though.  My dream vacation will still be there when we are at a point in our lives where we can go and enjoy it.  At least I hope it will be.

~~~~~~~~~~

This post inspired by the book The Unexpected Circumnavigation: Unusual Boat, Unusual People by Christi Grab. This book was given to me for my online book club.  More posts inspired by the book can be found at From Left to Write.

imageWhile out and about running errands today, I made a quick trip to the restroom.

The bathroom I ended up in was cushier than most.  The toilet flushed when I stood up.  At the sink, a gentle flow of water turned on when hands were waved under the faucet.  The soap dispenser doled out the correct amount of soap when it sensed my hand waiting beneath it.

Seems like this pit stop should’ve been easier with all the added amenities, right?  Except I forgot to mention that this bathroom break was taken with my recently potty-trained BabyMuffin.  Suddenly, all the automatic luxuries made things much more difficult.

BabyMuffin immediately recognized the automatic flush toilet and almost refused to void his bladder at all, until I’d covered up the sensor, which I did with a length of toilet paper (note:  the t.p. was not given out automatically).

Then, in order to get our hands washed, I had to hoist 35 pound BabyMuffin up to the sink and convince him that the water would turn on when he put his hands under the faucet.  Since recalcitrant boy refused to do it, I gently pinned BabyMuffin against the counter with my body for a moment.  Then I frantically waved my own hands under the faucet to get the water running—which it did for approximately 1.3 seconds—before grabbing BabyMuffin so he wouldn’t slip to the floor.  Repeat the process a zillion times to get his tiny little hands wet, and then figure out a way to get the automatically dispensing soap from my hand to his wet hands.  Let’s just say it wasn’t easy.

All these modern conveniences, but I would’ve just preferred a good old fashioned bathroom for me and my toddler.

About a year ago, I blogged about how my son Bito flat-out refused to get up on stage for his kindergarten class musical.  I lamented that his unwillingness to get up on stage disappointed me as I’d been looking forward to enjoying my child’s performances.

Well, I have an update on that situation:  last Friday evening, Bito sang four songs with his class to open up the school’s international festival!  There were no tears and no screaming (on either of our parts).  I did not have to threaten, cajole, nor bribe him into doing it.  He just got up there and did it on his own!

I could not have been prouder of him.  Of course I snapped a zillion pictures of him and video recorded the performance!

But really, I am also proud of myself for allowing him the time and space to just do it when he was ready and not forcing him (as I wanted to do a few times!).

The Guppy Gala at the National Zoo is coming up this Friday, May 13th, from 6 to 8:30 PM!

In case you don’t know what the Guppy Gala is, it’s a fun family bash with lots of activities for preschool and elementary aged kids! Continue Reading »

I have to crow about this because I am not a crafty person.
But with the help of Joann’s, I got these materials and helped my kids create these flowers for Teacher Appreciation Week!

Wooden cutout flowers, paint, stick on jewels, pipe cleaner, and a pencil
(plus I used my power drill to make a small hole in the center of the flowers).
Voila!

Crossposted from MyBlogalicious!



This past Saturday, the DC area bore the brunt of torrential rainstorms. Sheets of rain poured down, causing power outages, dangerous flash flooding, and felled tree limbs throughout the area. Lovely cascades flowed out of gutters, and yard became small ponds!

In my neighborhood of pitted roads and uneven sidewalks, puddles of epic proportions quickly formed. Our street, which is slightly sloped the entire length of it, became a gentle waterfall with beautiful ripples of rain crawling down the pavement. I was mesmerized watching the water move in so many different ways across and around our every day fixtures.

The Husband and I attempted to occupy our three children inside; nonetheless, they became squirrely. Who can blame them? They had spent most of the previous week playing outdoors on the sun-drenched playground, or riding their bicycles through the neighborhood. So on Saturday, they were forced to stare longingly out the windows at the Noah’s Ark rain. They reminded me of roly-poly puppies straining their noses to the fresh scent of outdoors.

Finally, the rain let up late in the afternoon. I ordered the kids to put on their boots and go jump in puddles. They cheered and scrambled to find their rain boots. The Husband sighed and shook his head in dismay. Bito, Cupcake, BabyMuffin and I headed out the front door before he could stop us.

It was sheer delight for my children stomp in every puddle they could find. And stomp they did! The mud, which had been kicked up by the hard storms, was swiftly spattered all over them. They ran up and down the sidewalk to inspect each puddle, and to trudge through the deepest water they could find. I followed along with my camera and snapped away. I loved capturing the joy my children were exhibiting!

The Husband, despite his eye-rolling and weak protests as we headed out the door, wisely lined towels along the foyer floor. When the kids finally returned to our home, exhausted and soaking wet, he directed them to undress and head straight to the bathtub.

I don’t own boots, but after gingerly stepping around the water to photograph the kids’ fun, I’ve decided I need to get my own boots. Next time, I want to play along with them!

 

29

Ten years ago, I was 29 years old.
(Oh horrors!  Now you know my age!)

Ten years ago, I was planning my wedding.
I was sure it would be the best day ever.
I busied myself with every detail of joining our lives together.
My thoughts were only on the two of us, our wedding day, our future.

Ten years ago, I did not know my three children.
I didn’t know if we’d even have kids (although I hoped to).
I didn’t know their names, their faces, their personalities.
I didn’t know a thing about motherhood.

In ten more years, The Husband and I will be celebrating 20 years of marriage.
I will have three teenage children.
I will, undoubtedly, sport more gray hairs and fine lines on my face.
And I will be more in love with my family than I am today.

~~~~~~~~~

This post inspired by the book 29.  This book, written by Adena Halpern, was given to me for my online book club.  More posts inspired by the book can be found at From Left to Write.

I love Figs.

The Husband knows that some day, soon after we have finally moved into our forever home, we will buy a fig tree and plant it in our back yard.  You see, I have a not-so-secret love affair with fresh figs.

It started rather innocently.  It was at my first job.  I sat down to lunch in the teachers’ lounge with a bunch of colleagues and noticed that one had a bagful of a strange fruit.  I asked her about them, and she handed me one.  From the very first bite, I knew I had found true love.

I managed to bum the rest of the bag from my colleague, who assured me she would be able to get more from her in-law’s tree.  I closed my eyes and reveled in new love.

Unfortunately, things came to a screeching halt soon thereafter.  I could not continue the relationship because I did not have a source.  The figs I found at the grocery store?  Blech. They didn’t have the sweet crisp flavor and the texture wasn’t the same. Fig Newtons?  No thank you.  And so, my passionate love affair was put on the backburner for a few years.

I pined away for fresh figs for a bit and then my obsession faded for a while…until I stumbled upon a Craigslist ad.  It placed by a woman who had a fig tree in her backyard!  I called, she had too much of the fruit, and voila!  My love affair was re-ignited.  My fig lady would have her children pluck the fresh fruit and bag them in brown lunch sacks for me to purchase for a song.  It was embarrassing how often I called to see if she had enough to fill another bag for me.   I devoured the figs, ate a ton, and always wanted more.

This beautiful relationship was on for a few years, until my fig lady and her family moved away.  I cried when I realized I lost my source of fresh figs.  I hope my beautiful memories will be rekindled into a continued love affair some time soon.  Very soon.

Maybe I’ll see if I can grow a fig tree in a container…

~~~~~~~~~~

This post inspired by the book Lunch in Paris: A Love Story, with Recipes.  This book, written by Elizabeth Bard, by was given to me for my online book club.  More posts inspired by the book can be found at From Left to Write.

The Husband and I spent a year living in a small town in Japan.  Our jobs attached to a local military installation, but our home was in the town.  Many of our memories are of our comedic struggles to adapt to the people and culture, as well as learning to be parents (BabyBito was born a mere three months after we arrived on Japanese soil).

One such memory occurred during my postpartum days, when I realized I was out of maxi pads.  The Husband had already left base, plus it was a Wednesday–the day the commissary was closed.  So I decided to brave the local grocery store to purchase my needed supplies.

It was a like a scavenger hunt as I roamed the store, trying to find the correct aisle.  I knew I had hit jackpot when I came to the products adorned in polka-dotted pale pink and green.  But then the real problem began:  I cannot read any of the Japanese letters.  This left me useless to figure out which package I needed.  I squinted at the boxes, as if magical X-ray vision would allow me to see the products inside.  I massaged the soft packages and figured out which were tampons and which were pads…but beyond that, I was lost.  I tried very hard to compare the writings on the packages to see if I could determine which were mini, maxi, and super maxi, but my efforts were in vain.

Frustrated, I finally grabbed the carton that I most approximated to be what I needed. When I got home, I tore it open and realized I’d guessed completely wrong.  Instead of a small box of maxi pads, which is what I’d hoped for, I had a jumbo box of mini pads.  Teeny tiny mini pads, which did me no good.

My life was much like this for the time we spent in Japan.  I was never quite sure what I was going to get when I shopped in the local markets.  I was a college educated illiterate, just doing the best I could.

~~~~~~

This post inspired by the bookMr. Rosenblum Dreams in English: A Novel.  This book by Natasha Solomons was given to me for my online book club.  More posts inspired by the book can be found at From Left to Write.

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