Speaking of ME...
---------
"The time has come," the Walrus said,
"To talk of many things:
Of shoes—and ships—and sealing-wax—
Of cabbages—and kings—
And why the sea is boiling hot—
And whether pigs have wings."
"To talk of many things:
Of shoes—and ships—and sealing-wax—
Of cabbages—and kings—
And why the sea is boiling hot—
And whether pigs have wings."
"But wait a bit," the Oysters cried,
"Before we have our chat;
For some of us are out of breath,
And all of us are fat!"
"No hurry!" said the Carpenter.
They thanked him much for that.
"Before we have our chat;
For some of us are out of breath,
And all of us are fat!"
"No hurry!" said the Carpenter.
They thanked him much for that.
---------
I have made a note that I have not written since late August. I don't like that much of a gap between my blogs. I equally love and cringe when I hear fans of my blog say, "I enjoy your blog...when is the next one?" (Oh, God, the Pressure.)
But, like I said before, I ain't one of those mama bloggers who blog daily. I'll be honest, I have no clue how they can pull that off. Yes, I read their blogs, and I love them, and they are written whole-heartedly, but how do they do that daily? Really?
So, I promised myself tonight was the night, no matter how awful my writing may be. Tonight, a new blog. It's 9:20pm Sunday night. Hubbie is at work. My three kids fed and bathed. We all had a great day, and like most days, critically dependent on carpools, pick-ups, drop-offs, soccer, b-day parties, all for the kids.
Remember, my topic is "Me Time."
--------
9:20pm. The littles went to sleep. My big 8-year old son was watching football highlights. Yes, he should be in bed now, but he had a great day, and he wants to stay up, and he deserves that. So I sat down to the computer and cranked up some "Yeah Yeah Yeahs" on my iTunes and started to type...
"MOM?"
"Yes, babe?"
"Can you sit with me?"
"Um...honey... I, uh, I want to write..."
My heart fractures...
8-year old boys don't ask for Mom much. This is their growth year of exploring their independence. Yet, we know they are still so young and innocent. And although it is rare, they will show you they still need Mom or Dad. So my Aidan has chosen tonight, of all nights, (my blog night- hello!), when no one else is around to witness, to express his needs and wants and vulnerabilities. He wants to snuggle with Mama. And I want to snuggle him...badly.
I do for too short of a time.
It's getting late on a Sunday night. I call this time "the end of Mother's Week." Face it, Mamas, we don't have weekends. We end the week on Sunday night, and start Monday morning. No weekends after the chord is cut. Just trust me on this one.
I wonder, where the frack is my "Me Time"? Those Post-Preschooler Mamas promised me my "Me Time"?!
Well, I had my Oprah "A-HA" a few days ago. I realized, while the blur of September sped by, I was waiting for "Me Time" to land in my lap, and then wondering how to make this coveted "Me Time," and then trying to define "Me Time," and then concocting how to blog about my new-found "Me Time," in which I obviously have no experience.
I tried out this mysterious "Me Time" the other day. I forced myself to watch some early morning channels on tv, forced myself to do the household chores at a slower pace, forced myself to run just a "few" errands on the big list. I was half way through the grocery store errand, trying to be "slo-o-o-w" at everything, when I realized I had forgotten to call in the school lunch order for my three kids. I panicked and checked out with a scramble of grocery goods, called in the order, picked up and delivered lunch barely in time, to each of my kids on their school campus. "Me Time" disintegrated by 12pm.
Sophia, age 5, said, "Mommy, how COULD you forget?!" (Ouch!) Tristan, age 7, didn't need words. The less-than-sweet Lunch Table Monitor (I'm sure she has a much more respectable occupation title than this, but from my point of view... ) has placed Tristan on some sort of "isolation" table, and he looked like he felt isolated 'cuz he was. The other table labelled "Nut-Free Zone." This table labeled "My Mom is a Nut and Forgot Me Zone." It was all my fault. And that was my Mama-Stabbed-in-Heart-Moment for the day. Aidan, age 8, thankfully had his lunch delivered perfectly on time. But this also followed his first speech for a Student Council position. He lost. Crap.
--------
Totally yanked out of my pathetic effort for Mama Me Time, it hit me:
There Is No "Me Time"... No "Holy Grail of Motherhood."
--------
I love this quote, and I recite it often to my kids, pretending that I am the Walrus, the Leader, the Mother, the Father, the Coach, the Wise One, Buddha. And I wait for my faithful little "grasshoppers" to respond, and they always retort:
But, like I said before, I ain't one of those mama bloggers who blog daily. I'll be honest, I have no clue how they can pull that off. Yes, I read their blogs, and I love them, and they are written whole-heartedly, but how do they do that daily? Really?
So, I promised myself tonight was the night, no matter how awful my writing may be. Tonight, a new blog. It's 9:20pm Sunday night. Hubbie is at work. My three kids fed and bathed. We all had a great day, and like most days, critically dependent on carpools, pick-ups, drop-offs, soccer, b-day parties, all for the kids.
Remember, my topic is "Me Time."
--------
9:20pm. The littles went to sleep. My big 8-year old son was watching football highlights. Yes, he should be in bed now, but he had a great day, and he wants to stay up, and he deserves that. So I sat down to the computer and cranked up some "Yeah Yeah Yeahs" on my iTunes and started to type...
"MOM?"
"Yes, babe?"
"Can you sit with me?"
"Um...honey... I, uh, I want to write..."
My heart fractures...
8-year old boys don't ask for Mom much. This is their growth year of exploring their independence. Yet, we know they are still so young and innocent. And although it is rare, they will show you they still need Mom or Dad. So my Aidan has chosen tonight, of all nights, (my blog night- hello!), when no one else is around to witness, to express his needs and wants and vulnerabilities. He wants to snuggle with Mama. And I want to snuggle him...badly.
I do for too short of a time.
It's getting late on a Sunday night. I call this time "the end of Mother's Week." Face it, Mamas, we don't have weekends. We end the week on Sunday night, and start Monday morning. No weekends after the chord is cut. Just trust me on this one.
I wonder, where the frack is my "Me Time"? Those Post-Preschooler Mamas promised me my "Me Time"?!
Well, I had my Oprah "A-HA" a few days ago. I realized, while the blur of September sped by, I was waiting for "Me Time" to land in my lap, and then wondering how to make this coveted "Me Time," and then trying to define "Me Time," and then concocting how to blog about my new-found "Me Time," in which I obviously have no experience.
I tried out this mysterious "Me Time" the other day. I forced myself to watch some early morning channels on tv, forced myself to do the household chores at a slower pace, forced myself to run just a "few" errands on the big list. I was half way through the grocery store errand, trying to be "slo-o-o-w" at everything, when I realized I had forgotten to call in the school lunch order for my three kids. I panicked and checked out with a scramble of grocery goods, called in the order, picked up and delivered lunch barely in time, to each of my kids on their school campus. "Me Time" disintegrated by 12pm.
Sophia, age 5, said, "Mommy, how COULD you forget?!" (Ouch!) Tristan, age 7, didn't need words. The less-than-sweet Lunch Table Monitor (I'm sure she has a much more respectable occupation title than this, but from my point of view... ) has placed Tristan on some sort of "isolation" table, and he looked like he felt isolated 'cuz he was. The other table labelled "Nut-Free Zone." This table labeled "My Mom is a Nut and Forgot Me Zone." It was all my fault. And that was my Mama-Stabbed-in-Heart-Moment for the day. Aidan, age 8, thankfully had his lunch delivered perfectly on time. But this also followed his first speech for a Student Council position. He lost. Crap.
--------
Totally yanked out of my pathetic effort for Mama Me Time, it hit me:
There Is No "Me Time"... No "Holy Grail of Motherhood."
--------
"The time has come," the Walrus said,
"To talk of many things:
Of shoes—and ships—and sealing-wax—
Of cabbages—and kings—
And why the sea is boiling hot—
And whether pigs have wings."
--------"To talk of many things:
Of shoes—and ships—and sealing-wax—
Of cabbages—and kings—
And why the sea is boiling hot—
And whether pigs have wings."
I love this quote, and I recite it often to my kids, pretending that I am the Walrus, the Leader, the Mother, the Father, the Coach, the Wise One, Buddha. And I wait for my faithful little "grasshoppers" to respond, and they always retort:
"Uh, that's just weird..."
"Yah, weird..."
"Pigs don't have wings, Mommy."
The satirical poem and their innocent retorts say it all: Twist it, turn it, view it backwards, even deny it, and you just may see the truth in a new perspective. Especially in Motherhood.
The satirical poem and their innocent retorts say it all: Twist it, turn it, view it backwards, even deny it, and you just may see the truth in a new perspective. Especially in Motherhood.
But wait a bit," the Oysters cried,
"Before we have our chat;
For some of us are out of breath,
And all of us are fat!"
XOXO Breeze
