When you're young, you don't really question much, you just accept it. You think the way your parents did things was just the way things were done, and weren't at all strange. Then you get older, and you see, yes, maybe they did some weird things. Then you have a kid of your own, and you think, they were nuts, but now I understand!
For instance, I now understand why:
~ My mom counted down the minutes to bedtime.
~ My dad didn't want to be bombarded the second he walked in the door from a 12 hour day.
~ Little white lies (i.e. Did you know Boise is the flashlight capital of the world?!) are necessary to keep children at bay.
~ Being able to pee by yourself is a luxury.
~ Why sometimes, you just want to SIT in the dark.
~ A simple threat (I'm going to send you to China if you don't behave)actually sounds reasonable when nothing else will work.
~ The "shock factor" of splashing a cup of cold water on some one's face will bring them back to reality really quick!
~ If your kid is crying and throwing a tantrum, and you do it right back, they become suddenly dumbfounded and knock it off once they realize how you are acting.
~ Sometimes, you just need a drink.
~ You just have to laugh when you find a Cheerio stuck to your butt.
~ You must have a bedtime routine, no matter how crazy. Ours was the "train" down the stairs and the stops were our bedrooms. It was always a fight over who got to be the caboose!
~ You are excited for any amount of time to yourself, even if it is just sitting in your car outside.
~ Deep breath breaks are totally necessary.
~ Leaving your kid in the cart in the middle of the aisle and walking away during a fit seems like an appropriate action to take at the time.
~ Giving a kid a duster and a rag is not only fun for them, it's useful to you!
~ If you don't feel like doing an asinine chore, you pass it off to the kid and make it sound like SO MUCH fun and that you're actually jealous they are doing it instead of you.
~ You really do look forward to laundry day, and especially clean sheets.
~ There is always a need for a "plastic" drawer in the kitchen.
~ Toys with small or multiple parts are the bane of your existence.
~ Going out to dinner (no matter where) is such a nice treat because YOU don't have to clean up (although, coincidentally, you feel guilty for the mess your child has left behind).
I know there are so many more, but for now, I will end the list here.
Think about what nuts your parents were (and still are most likely) and think about how you are turning into them. SCARY thought, right?
Friday, January 28, 2011
Thursday, January 27, 2011
You can't go home again
Miranda Lambert -- The House That Built Me. Listen to it.
This song has a lot of significance for me. It's more than a country song to me, it's words with meaning that touch me very deeply. It's about a woman that goes to her childhood home to reconnect, and relive her memories. Those that know me, know that I don't let things go easily, and I don't really care for change. I was raised in the same house until I moved out to go to college at 17. That's a lot of memories to sort through!
Even more significant, is that my parents have finally put the old homestead on the market. Needless to say, I didn't take that news well. It felt like a dagger had been shoved into my heart. That's MY house! I don't want some other family living there, eating in my kitchen, playing in my room, or running around in my forest. Bastards! That was my initial reaction. I was so upset and angry about their choice. I want this house to be ours forever. It's OURS! Everyone knows the Shannon family resides in the huge house on top of the steep hill, on top of another steep hill. It's ours!
After my initial reaction, I started thinking. I tried to understand their reasons. While the house was such a huge part in their lives, they have to move onto the next phase of their lives (AKA Mexico and retirement!) and they certainly aren't as young as they used to be. The Shannon Manor requires a LOT of upkeep, inside and out. It's a constant project. And when it snows, it SNOWS! I remember getting a snow day, and my brother and I would be SO happy...then pops shows up with shovels. Dammit. So ok, it's hard to keep up with. I understand that. And while our house was deemed a great party house, and the holiday decor was exquisite, it was also very expensive.
I'm starting to realize more and more that a house is a house. It's the people inside it that make it a home. I am fortunate enough the house has been around long enough for me to take my own daughter to visit! She slept in my old room, played with some of my old toys, played in my fort, ran around my woods. That's what it's all about. Making memories! The house doesn't have memories of us, but we sure have memories of it. I will always have the memories, the smells, the noises, the good times and bad in that house. Good old 19415 Old Fort Lane (or for those that knew my dad...renamed it Old Fart Lane.). I have pictures of it. It will always be MY house and no one can sell my memories of it, or the images I have in my heart and mind. And while it's still very hard for me to let go, I realize more and more, as I raise my own child, that our house needs a new family in it to make their own memories. It's a great house! It was an epic house to play hide and seek in, to make forts in, slide down the stairs on a sleeping bag in, and just LIVE. And let's not forget the breathtaking views of the Rocky Mountains...especially Pike's Peak. I was fortunate enough to see that view everyday. To witness nature's majesty from my own deck is pretty amazing.
You can go home, but you can't go home again. You can visit, but it will never be the same home you grew up in. Things change, people change, life changes...
I will always love the house that built me.
This song has a lot of significance for me. It's more than a country song to me, it's words with meaning that touch me very deeply. It's about a woman that goes to her childhood home to reconnect, and relive her memories. Those that know me, know that I don't let things go easily, and I don't really care for change. I was raised in the same house until I moved out to go to college at 17. That's a lot of memories to sort through!
Even more significant, is that my parents have finally put the old homestead on the market. Needless to say, I didn't take that news well. It felt like a dagger had been shoved into my heart. That's MY house! I don't want some other family living there, eating in my kitchen, playing in my room, or running around in my forest. Bastards! That was my initial reaction. I was so upset and angry about their choice. I want this house to be ours forever. It's OURS! Everyone knows the Shannon family resides in the huge house on top of the steep hill, on top of another steep hill. It's ours!
After my initial reaction, I started thinking. I tried to understand their reasons. While the house was such a huge part in their lives, they have to move onto the next phase of their lives (AKA Mexico and retirement!) and they certainly aren't as young as they used to be. The Shannon Manor requires a LOT of upkeep, inside and out. It's a constant project. And when it snows, it SNOWS! I remember getting a snow day, and my brother and I would be SO happy...then pops shows up with shovels. Dammit. So ok, it's hard to keep up with. I understand that. And while our house was deemed a great party house, and the holiday decor was exquisite, it was also very expensive.
I'm starting to realize more and more that a house is a house. It's the people inside it that make it a home. I am fortunate enough the house has been around long enough for me to take my own daughter to visit! She slept in my old room, played with some of my old toys, played in my fort, ran around my woods. That's what it's all about. Making memories! The house doesn't have memories of us, but we sure have memories of it. I will always have the memories, the smells, the noises, the good times and bad in that house. Good old 19415 Old Fort Lane (or for those that knew my dad...renamed it Old Fart Lane.). I have pictures of it. It will always be MY house and no one can sell my memories of it, or the images I have in my heart and mind. And while it's still very hard for me to let go, I realize more and more, as I raise my own child, that our house needs a new family in it to make their own memories. It's a great house! It was an epic house to play hide and seek in, to make forts in, slide down the stairs on a sleeping bag in, and just LIVE. And let's not forget the breathtaking views of the Rocky Mountains...especially Pike's Peak. I was fortunate enough to see that view everyday. To witness nature's majesty from my own deck is pretty amazing.
You can go home, but you can't go home again. You can visit, but it will never be the same home you grew up in. Things change, people change, life changes...
I will always love the house that built me.
Wednesday, January 26, 2011
The day of a working single mom
As I'm writing this, I am laughing. I honestly just sat down, or at least for any amount of significant time. I'm used to it. That's the sad part. I know all of my single moms can relate. Just thinking about my day exhausts me, but I just do it because I have no option.
Here is a typical weekday for me:
Wake up with a smile and pop out of bed! It's time for the day to start, sleepyhead! NOPE! Not remotely close! It's more like alarm goes off and my hand reaches out and slams the snooze button. Shit. Is it really 6:30 already? I swear I JUST went to bed. Roll over, and try to sleep for a whole 9 minutes, but not really because I know the damn thing will be going off again, so really, I'm just laying there awake with my eyes closed. Damn thing goes off again. Another slap to the snooze button. I'm surrounded by 3 cats and it's still dark out. Grumble, grumble, swear words, turn off the alarm, turn on the light. Loud sigh. Glasses on, stumble to the bathroom. Morning pee, splash face with water, put contacts in, brush teeth. Listen to baby monitor to see if "she" is awake yet. Nope. Good. Moving on to wardrobe. Stand in closet for 3-5 minutes in a daze, looking at all of my clothes over and over. Swear words. Pull whatever outfit isn't atrocious and won't make me look too fat out. Put on underwear. Pull clothes on. Moving onto beauty ritual. Depending if I have my hair straight or not...dunk head under tub faucet, or touch up curls with straightening iron. Sit on counter. Apply facial lotion, deodorant, and start to apply makeup. STOP. Listen to baby monitor to see if "she" is up. Nope. Good! Onward with an uninterrupted routine. Applying makeup. Apply necessary hair condiments. Almost done! Start operation jewelry. Put in matching earrings (always), and sometimes a necklace, bracelet, or rings. STOP. What was that? Listen to the monitor again. Oh no---it's waking up!
Onward to the meal routine. Now, this can happen at any point during my morning ritual, but I'm assuming she's slept through all that. Sometimes I have her breakfast ready before I am done, sometimes, she's up and demanding it. Haul ass to the kitchen. Grab sippy cup, vitamins, cereal bar, and half of a banana. Try to feed the damn fish and cats before she's up. Go into her room, where I'm usually greeted with a chipper "mornin' mommy!!!!" Adorable, yes. A little too much first thing in the morning, sometimes. Get her out of bed, send her to the potty. Put on her "undies" and then her clothes for the day. Socks and shoes. If I forget anything, she will certainly let me know. Feed her breakfast. Pack my lunch. I rarely eat breakfast this early, so I will either grab something to go, or just have some juice. Get her daycare bag ready. Make sure we have everything and head out the door and load into the car.
Drive to daycare. Kisses goodbye, and off to work! Flip off and swear at other drivers as I get over 4 lanes of traffic in less than a mile to get onto my exit. Blare the tunes and zone out for a bit. Suddenly, I'm at work. Go in, sit down, work. 8 hours later, pack it up, go to daycare, round up the kid. Then either go straight home, or try and run errands, usually the grocery store. Get home between 5:30-6:00 pm.
Start the dinner/bedtime routine. Get dinner started, dishes unloaded, a load of laundry in the washer, clean the cat boxes, pick up toys, and do whatever random chore that might need to be done. If I don't get it done before dinner, it's usually after the kiddo goes down. Feed the kid dinner, get the bath ready, bathe her, get her ready for bed and in her jammies. Phew! My dinner is either still in the oven, or not even ready yet. Now we play or watch TV. I haven't seen her all day, and I don't see her much between getting home and bedtime, but I'm exhausted by this point. Finally, 8:00 rolls around! Yippee! The end is in sight. But, someone else has other plans. 8:05, 8:09, 8:17...finally, ok, say goodnight to the kitties, and go to sleep!
Mommy time! This is when my personal chef and masseuse come over. HA! Nope time to eat, sit down, watch TV, make my lunch, do whatever didn't get done before baby bedtime, then make sure the house is semi-clean. Shit. How the hell is it 10:00 already? Time to shower and get ready for bed. Can't sleep, toss and turn, can't shut my brain off. And then....it starts all over again!
Does that make you tired? I'm tired even reliving it. And of course, this is a typical day. There's always those days where even 5 minutes of my routine is messed up, and my whole day is off.
Cheers to all the single moms out there. I feel your pain!
Here is a typical weekday for me:
Wake up with a smile and pop out of bed! It's time for the day to start, sleepyhead! NOPE! Not remotely close! It's more like alarm goes off and my hand reaches out and slams the snooze button. Shit. Is it really 6:30 already? I swear I JUST went to bed. Roll over, and try to sleep for a whole 9 minutes, but not really because I know the damn thing will be going off again, so really, I'm just laying there awake with my eyes closed. Damn thing goes off again. Another slap to the snooze button. I'm surrounded by 3 cats and it's still dark out. Grumble, grumble, swear words, turn off the alarm, turn on the light. Loud sigh. Glasses on, stumble to the bathroom. Morning pee, splash face with water, put contacts in, brush teeth. Listen to baby monitor to see if "she" is awake yet. Nope. Good. Moving on to wardrobe. Stand in closet for 3-5 minutes in a daze, looking at all of my clothes over and over. Swear words. Pull whatever outfit isn't atrocious and won't make me look too fat out. Put on underwear. Pull clothes on. Moving onto beauty ritual. Depending if I have my hair straight or not...dunk head under tub faucet, or touch up curls with straightening iron. Sit on counter. Apply facial lotion, deodorant, and start to apply makeup. STOP. Listen to baby monitor to see if "she" is up. Nope. Good! Onward with an uninterrupted routine. Applying makeup. Apply necessary hair condiments. Almost done! Start operation jewelry. Put in matching earrings (always), and sometimes a necklace, bracelet, or rings. STOP. What was that? Listen to the monitor again. Oh no---it's waking up!
Onward to the meal routine. Now, this can happen at any point during my morning ritual, but I'm assuming she's slept through all that. Sometimes I have her breakfast ready before I am done, sometimes, she's up and demanding it. Haul ass to the kitchen. Grab sippy cup, vitamins, cereal bar, and half of a banana. Try to feed the damn fish and cats before she's up. Go into her room, where I'm usually greeted with a chipper "mornin' mommy!!!!" Adorable, yes. A little too much first thing in the morning, sometimes. Get her out of bed, send her to the potty. Put on her "undies" and then her clothes for the day. Socks and shoes. If I forget anything, she will certainly let me know. Feed her breakfast. Pack my lunch. I rarely eat breakfast this early, so I will either grab something to go, or just have some juice. Get her daycare bag ready. Make sure we have everything and head out the door and load into the car.
Drive to daycare. Kisses goodbye, and off to work! Flip off and swear at other drivers as I get over 4 lanes of traffic in less than a mile to get onto my exit. Blare the tunes and zone out for a bit. Suddenly, I'm at work. Go in, sit down, work. 8 hours later, pack it up, go to daycare, round up the kid. Then either go straight home, or try and run errands, usually the grocery store. Get home between 5:30-6:00 pm.
Start the dinner/bedtime routine. Get dinner started, dishes unloaded, a load of laundry in the washer, clean the cat boxes, pick up toys, and do whatever random chore that might need to be done. If I don't get it done before dinner, it's usually after the kiddo goes down. Feed the kid dinner, get the bath ready, bathe her, get her ready for bed and in her jammies. Phew! My dinner is either still in the oven, or not even ready yet. Now we play or watch TV. I haven't seen her all day, and I don't see her much between getting home and bedtime, but I'm exhausted by this point. Finally, 8:00 rolls around! Yippee! The end is in sight. But, someone else has other plans. 8:05, 8:09, 8:17...finally, ok, say goodnight to the kitties, and go to sleep!
Mommy time! This is when my personal chef and masseuse come over. HA! Nope time to eat, sit down, watch TV, make my lunch, do whatever didn't get done before baby bedtime, then make sure the house is semi-clean. Shit. How the hell is it 10:00 already? Time to shower and get ready for bed. Can't sleep, toss and turn, can't shut my brain off. And then....it starts all over again!
Does that make you tired? I'm tired even reliving it. And of course, this is a typical day. There's always those days where even 5 minutes of my routine is messed up, and my whole day is off.
Cheers to all the single moms out there. I feel your pain!
Julie's Life Capades?
I always like to name my blogs something that means something to me, and something original. I also feel compelled to explain why I chose the title that I did.
What does this title mean?
The goal of this blog is for me to have an outlet to write and get my thoughts out. I think of it as a mix of a therapeutic tool and a source of entertainment for my readers (please say I have readers!). I can't promise as to how often I will update it (my goal is at least weekly), but I hope you read when I post a new note.
You've heard of the ice capades, right? You know, a big dramatic show on ice with embellished costumes and characters, and lots of ups and downs? Yep, that would be my life...sans the ice, men in tights (well, I was in some plays in my life, so maybe that's not entirely true), custom made gowns, whimsical soundtrack, and ice skates. So, really, it's really nothing like an ice capade, but I thought the play on words was clever. Life Capade = ice capade. See where I'm going with this?
And now for the disclaimer:
1. I really have no set plan/organization for the timeline of this blog; it could be chronological, by experience, or simply my randomness of the day. I don't like molds and tend not to fit into them. So, what I'm saying is...don't expect consistency!
2. It is possible you might be mentioned in this blog -- whether you have made a positive, negative, influential, or dumb impression on me. I may change names to protect the guilty, but you know who you are! This blog is straight from my head, so I have no reservations and no confidentiality clauses. But, I will not insult anybody. Perhaps I may throw you under the bus, but I won't be that mean. Hehe! If you are reading this right now, you agree.
I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I hope I enjoy writing it.
That said...let the life capades begin!
(P.S. I tend to swear a lot. Sorry in advance)
What does this title mean?
The goal of this blog is for me to have an outlet to write and get my thoughts out. I think of it as a mix of a therapeutic tool and a source of entertainment for my readers (please say I have readers!). I can't promise as to how often I will update it (my goal is at least weekly), but I hope you read when I post a new note.
You've heard of the ice capades, right? You know, a big dramatic show on ice with embellished costumes and characters, and lots of ups and downs? Yep, that would be my life...sans the ice, men in tights (well, I was in some plays in my life, so maybe that's not entirely true), custom made gowns, whimsical soundtrack, and ice skates. So, really, it's really nothing like an ice capade, but I thought the play on words was clever. Life Capade = ice capade. See where I'm going with this?
And now for the disclaimer:
1. I really have no set plan/organization for the timeline of this blog; it could be chronological, by experience, or simply my randomness of the day. I don't like molds and tend not to fit into them. So, what I'm saying is...don't expect consistency!
2. It is possible you might be mentioned in this blog -- whether you have made a positive, negative, influential, or dumb impression on me. I may change names to protect the guilty, but you know who you are! This blog is straight from my head, so I have no reservations and no confidentiality clauses. But, I will not insult anybody. Perhaps I may throw you under the bus, but I won't be that mean. Hehe! If you are reading this right now, you agree.
I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I hope I enjoy writing it.
That said...let the life capades begin!
(P.S. I tend to swear a lot. Sorry in advance)
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