Getting back to normal. . . .

What is normal? And why do we always say "When things get back to normal. . . "?

This past week I had a D&C for the second miscarriage I've had in 6 months. It is beyond heartbreaking to find out you are pregnant, feel pregnant and then lose the pregnancy. As soon as I found out I was pregnant both times I smiled inside, thinking about holding a new baby, smelling it's babyness and opening my heart again to a new life that was growing inside me. I thought about what the babies hair would look like, if he or she  would resemble Abigayle, Amelia or Annabella. Both times those dreams were crushed. And now the waiting to "get back to normal".

Normal this time is going to take longer, the past 2 years normal has been breastfeeding AnnaBella to sleep, and now because of the medicine I was given for the D&C- even that piece of normal has stopped. Poor AnnaBella asks "naynay mama?" and I tell her "it's broke, it has medicine in it" and she says "let me see. . ".and pulls my shirt out and touches my bra and smiles at me.

I really don't think normal ever comes back, we just adjust to the new and it becomes normal until something comes along to change that. I remember when normal was just me- me and my selfish self up until 28 years old when God gave me Abigayle. That was a huge adjustment from normal, but it was the best adjustment ever. I know that in this life, if nothing else, I was meant to be a mom. I thank God everyday for it. If I could bottle up the emotions of being a mom and sell it, the whole world would be a much better place- because being a mom is a selfless job, you give and give until you think you can't give anymore and the more you give- the more you love. A love that is so deep and so strong it encompasses your whole soul.

Even though I never got to hold my two babies I lost this year I loved them and I know that my Grandma Miel is in Heaven rocking them and snuggling them until I get to be with them someday.

This helps me smile in light of the loss. And I know soon, my little family- Derek, Abigayle, Amelia, AnnaBella and I -will be back to normal.

You had me at Meow. . . .

In life, the opportunities to love unconditionally are few and far between- in my experience this is a love reserved for your own children and a few others.

I have been lucky enough to have shared a deep, soul reaching love that was completely unconditional and always reciprocated with one of the softest, kindest souls for the past 19 years.

He came into my life when he was just 3 and it was instant love- He had me at Meow. He was the most beautiful creature I had ever seen, with long grey fur and green eyes as big as saucers. How could I be so lucky to be getting my very own persian cat? And with a name of Sheldon Cornelius- I was and still am love struck.

Through the years he has been by my side. He has moved 7 times with me, been through 2 marriages, seen 3 children brought home from the hospital, watched me age - and here I am watching his frail body that has grown so old. His once beautiful soft long fur has now forgone grooming because it would be too strenuous on his little heart, his once wide inquisitive eyes are now glassed over and usually closed and I am so very sad because the decision has been made that tomorrow we will say good bye to this precious, precious little man. My heart hurts.

I look forward to the day when I can hold my little Sheldon again- I know when I get to Heaven he will be waiting right there for me  with my Grandma and Whitten.

I hope he knows, in his little heart and soul that he meant more to me and brought more love into my life than I could ever thank him for- I love you buddy, until we hug again. . ..

My amazing Amelia

There are days when something truly amazing  happens and I realize that I am not completely failing at this thing called PARENTING.

I believe my feelings of failure sprout from some evenings at home  when I feel like a broken record "Abigayle, Amelia, Annabella, please stop. . . .don't touch each other. . . no you can't call your sister a penis,  . . . . .blah,blah,blah. . . ."

Annabella can cry non-stop and no matter what I do I can't console her , Amelia can tear through a room leaving a tasmania devil like aftermath and refuse to help clean, Abigayle can rival the greatest debater alive without backing down and so I wonder. . . .am I being the mother I am suppose to be?

Well,this past Sunday we were out to eat and as we were finishing up Amelia, my little hoarder, asked if she could take the kids menu home- A food smudged piece of laminated paper with all the food choices available- corn dog, $1.99, macaroni and cheese, $2.99, chicken nuggets, $3.99. .. . .- I told her she could take it but she would have to stick it in the activity page they gave her so they wouldn't see her take it-

And then it happened, my little Amelia grabbed my arm and pulled me closer and whispered in my ear "Isn't that stealing mommy?"- My heart stopped- I could not believe what had just happened! I was telling my child to steal, and not just steal, but to HIDE it!!! What kind of mother am I???? In my mind I was letting her take something that I perceived as a cheap piece of paper that she could take home and play restaurant with- one of her favorite things to do.

I almost burst into tears, I looked right in her eyes and said "You are so right Amelia, Mommy is very sorry for saying that, Thank you for being so honest. . .let's put it back on the table" and she did with a very big SMILE.

I know that I have taught the girls all ten commandments, we talk about what is right and what is wrong, and consequences. . .I now know that they listen and as a parent I have to make sure I am not saying one thing and telling them to do another. .. . so thank you, my little Ameila Bedelia, I love you to the moon and back!

Sisterhood of the Yoga pants. . . .

For the longest time now Abigayle and Amelia have been begging, pleading, and at some points downright demanding that I buy them yoga pants. Why, I ask, must you HAVE yoga pants???

Abigayle then shares-"Everybody at school wears them!"

"I doubt it Abigayle, yoga pants aren't dress code"

"NOOOOObody knows they're yoga pants, MOM!" - (Can you hear it? The tone of her voice?)

And so I was off to the store- Younkers to be exact, to find some yoga pants for the begging chitlins.

I  found, that no yoga pant comes with a plain waistband. The choices pretty much range from neon green leopard print to purple and white skull and crossbones. . . what a fantastic selection! I opted for the least obvious grey and black animal print waistband.

At the check out I sighed, as a pleasant, nearing retirement, lady began to ring up my purchases-

"Oh, yoga pants, I LOVE these!!!" she remarked

"Really? My daughters think they are going to get away with wearing these to school as uniforms."

"Well why not?? For the most part they look like black slacks- all you have to do is pull the waistband up-"

And then it happened, this complete stranger, who I thought was wearing black dress pants, stepped to the side so I could see her full length, lifted up her sweater to reveal not 1 inch, not 2 inches, not 3 inches. . . but a good 8 inches of waistband that covered the length of her torso- right up to her bra- in the hottest pink, yellow and green polka dotted material  I had ever seen. And then she whispered "THEY never know. . . " as her eyes shifted to the ceiling with a head nod and a wink. And then briskly yanked her sweater back down.

I am to assume the "THEY" she was referring to was some sort of big brother in the sky, management, who enforced dress code rules and this defiant employee was getting away with YOGA PANTS! Imagine!!!!

So, feeling a little awkward I took my purchases said "thank you for that" and quickly excited Younkers, not to return anytime soon.

Abigayle and Amelia were absolutely thrilled with their new pants- they've wore them twice this past week and there were only 3 days of school- Amelia was a little more proud of her decorative waistband and did not try to conceal it's existence- Abigayle on the other hand tucked it down in.

The miracle of the morning. . .

I, for one, am eternally grateful for electricity which gives power to my blow dryer, my flat iron and my curling iron.

I am eternally grateful to all the little bunnies, monkeys, and gerbils that endure hours, days, even weeks of lab tests just so that I can safely apply chemicals to my face everyday and products to my skin that highlight, brighten, reduce the appearance of fine lines and wrinkles.

Every morning as I embark on Transformation Marsha - which, without the help of above mentioned items, would be entirely impossible, IMPOSSIBLE I TELL YOU! I say a little thank you for to all of them.

Just to prove my point I decided to snap a few photos this morning to document this transformation. I cringe when I think of sharing, but alas- do I really care?

I will say, after looking over these photos I would never, and I repeat, NEVER apply to be on Survivor nor any other reality show that has participants forgoing showers, grooming, blow dryers, flat irons, SOAP, make-up, tweezers or other hair removal friendly items because these things are my friends, mon amis, mis amigos!!

So, once I have showered all effort is put into blow-drying my naturally curly hair- this is a tedious process that requires a good 15 minutes and the result-- wait for it, wait for it. . . . .

BABAM!! Really people, it's quite frightening! If I were to go wake the kids up looking like this I am  absolutely, ab-so-freaking-lutley for  sure we would have an ambulance flying down our road, prepared to resuscitate 3 little chitlins- and quite possibly a husband!

A week ago at work we had spirit week- I was tempted to just blow and go on crazy hair day- but I wanted to maintain some sort of respect in my position so I decided it best to tame 'er down.

After the blow dryer is tucked away and the hot iron and curling iron are heated to a mere 425 searing  degrees and I've guzzled a full 8 ounces of coffee I can begin the real work- straightening this Afro!

I have, for the past 10 years used a pampered chef chip clip to section off my hair as I feverishly work away at bringing some sort of orderly conduct to what is taking place on top of my head. I love these chip clips! I would highly recommend them to anyone!


10 minutes later and some bit of resemblance to my daily look is forming:

Sometimes another cup of coffee is in order, or occasionally some burn relief gel as I quite frequently burn my neck,my hands, and  my forehead!

The next photo is my attempt at a morning smile- say cheese, your Afro is almost buh-bye (for today at least!)

When it's all said and done- a good hour has gone by, an hour that I will never get back- multiply that by 7 days a week that's 7 hours a week! Sheesh! However, the alternative being photo op 1- I guess that is 7 hours well spent, well spent in deed!

My filtered mouth

I'm not sure quite when it happened, but along the way I affixed a permanent filter to my mouth. It comes in handy most of the time, but on those rare occasions when I'm seething with irritation I just want to tear it off and let 'em have it-- the "em" is usually a boss, co-worker, relative or most recently ANYONE!

I am sure, had this filter not been affixed to my mouth, I would have most definitely severed many a relationship through the years leaving  the adversary crying in a heap on the floor, in a corner- Just ask my husband, for him- my dear sweet love, there is no filter. Poor boy, I mean man, man-boy.. . .

To my delight, I have found through the years that my fingers have no filter, and no I am not talking about flipping the bird- even that is reserved for my husband- what I am talking about is writing! I can grab a pen,pencil,crayon or in this matter a computer and let it out. It is most satisfying to tell someone your feelings with written communication and for this my friends, the filter is off!

Most recently I have found my mouth filter to really be a bother. My oldest daughter, Abigayle, has followed in the genetic code of me, my mother, my grandmother and so on, with regards to her height- she is  becoming quite the statuesque girl at 5'2" in her 10 years of age, and I have found that as physical features go, height is one that seems to be open for comment by anyone, unlike many and most other physical features.

We will be out and about and run into people we haven't seen for a while and they will say "Holey cow is she ever TALL!!!" And this is where I wish I could tear my mouth filter off.

First, I will point out that being tall is nothing to be ashamed of, it is- as my beautiful grandma always said, something that all the queens and princesses are " tall and smart!" However, when someone points it out, in a tone reserved for comments like HUGE, FAT, UGLY it doesn't come across as a compliment or a mere observation. When I hear this comment, my filtered mouth quivers, about to unleash a turrets like gush of physical attributes that are obvious in the commenter or the commenter's child- but my filtered mouth says "Just like her mom and dad! - after all I am 5'9" and her dad is 6'2."

 But. . . . .if that filter were off, a different rebuttal would emerge:

 "Really?? I hadn't noticed! Good gosh, thanks for pointing that out- hey, you think we should take her to a growth specialist maybe she has elephantiasis of the limbs and they are growing our of control or maybe she is a real-life GIANT??? Unlike your child of course who, by the way has  HUGE man-boobs! And look at the size of those ears- Dumbo himself would be jealous! What a PORTLY little things he/she has turned into!!!!"

But alas, I would never say that. I keep comments like that reserved for myself, in my mind where only I can enjoy them- Thank you to my well fitted filter-

Linguistic heirlooms

So, I was enjoying my weekly dose of nerd radio when I  heard the most exciting commentary - a lengthy discussion of " linguistic heirlooms". You know, words and phrases from a time not so long ago- words and phrases that are rarely used any more and when they are leave the receptor scratching their noodle.

The discussion brought up words like "dope" which was said instead of  a coca-cola, and "poke", instead of a bag or tote bag.

Listening to this radio show made me think of words that my Grandma used frequently and I decided to see if I could confuse the masses, and by masses I mean Abigayle and Amelia.

Me: "Abigayle and Amelia! Go to the front room and get your stuff off the davenport!"

And just as I suspected the girls looked baffled.

"Uhhh. . . What do you mean Front Room, mom??? And, what the heck is a davenport??"

It worked! I had in my vocabulary Linguistic Heirlooms! I felt so powerful! What fun these little morsels of history are going to bring. . . If only I could remember them all!

Next I might send them on a wild goose chase to listen to some 8 tracks or clean out the basin so they can take a bath!

 I also  remember my Grandma and Grandpa never ate dinner- it was supper. In all my parenting years I've never made the kids "supper" , so I asked Amelia "what's for supper?" and she pondered for a moment "hmmm, tacos?"

SHE KNEW!!

"How do you know what that means?"

"Uhhh, in the olden days ,mom, everyone ate SUPPER!!!, duh!!!!"



Click here to see for yourself- a fascinating listen!