The Mess Potential is Exponential

Life Happens

noreply@blogger.com (colleen) — Tue, 07 Feb 2012 14:20:00 +0000

So it's been a while. A long while but that's ok. I must still have a lot to say though, because certainly despite Hubs thinking I fall asleep easily (which I guess I do), I don't sleep well. And that's partly because my brain doesn't turn off and I think through everything over and over again, and partly because I'm pregnant again. Baby Man #3 (how am I going to feed 3 teenage boys?) is on his way later this year!

In other news Bug, who really isn't a Bug anymore, more like a Chatterbox, is in Kindergarten, loving it, rocking it and owning it. But he. does. not. stop. talking. It's my karmic payback. My first report card ever has the comment "talks too much" on it. Thankfully his did not. It said he was a sweet child who is eager and enjoyable. Well no kidding. He's obsessed with Metroid (Thanks Hubs) even requesting Metroid cupcakes for his 6th birthday in December, and would happily play the xBox all day if we let him. Luckily he loves playing sports too, and watching football, so we find balance somehow. Recently he has discovered how cool Legos are. That might be due to our recent trip to Legoland, FL or the slew of cool legos he received for his birthday. Ninjago Masters of Spinjitzu books and TV shows also help. I don't need to read the instructions to games or homework to him anymore, and he can color in the lines now too, something he could have cared less about at the start of Kindergarten. He has an overactive imagination which he is sort of afraid of, but he's prone to randomly running up to me to kiss my belly and talk to his baby brother.

My little Bear is not so little anymore either. He turned 4 last November and we had a fun Angry Birds birthday party for him. He is turning out to be an epic storyteller, not in the lying to get out of trouble way, just that he's really good at details and thinking through what "should" happen next. It started a while ago with us looking a the globe pointing out where we've been, where we live, etc. Suddenly it was "I've been there, to Canada. It's cold there and I go to work there in my little blue car. You can call me at work but I won't miss you Mommy because I'll be busy and I might not have a telephone that day when you decide to call." And it's progressed in to "Today I flew my helicopter to work. I park it at my home at night before I come to your house. Sometimes I work in China and that's a long way to fly. I have to stop for gas sometimes so I can make it. I don't want to fall in the water." This drives Bug CRAZY. Just last night he was all like "Mom, he's using his IMAGINATION AGAIN! WHEN will he learn?!" Meanwhile Bear says "No, it's real. You just don't see it" in a "too bad so sad" tone of voice. Bear is still insistent on being first in line or winning races but now that he's started basketball he is beginning to understand team work better. He is absolutely my snuggle bum and still loves to drink "Warm Milk a bunch a bunch" when he wakes up in the morning. I don't know when that will stop but it's not in a bottle or anything so I really don't mind. He's also only a half inch shorter than Bug was on Bug's 5th birthday. I predict him to be taller than Bug in just a couple years at this rate.

Hubs and I are celebrating our 9th wedding anniversary today too. Nine years, holy cow it's flown by. We had a sonogram this morning and it was great to see Baby Man moving all around making it extra difficult for the tech to measure the heart stuff. This does not bode well for our not-too-distant future as I foresee this child being the most stubborn. Regardless it was a special anniversary gift to see our baby. We were planning to go out to dinner tonight with the kids to celebrate until Bug started throwing up EVERYWHERE a little while ago. So in true married fashion we're going to order pizza and snuggle our kids, laugh it off and just be incredibly happy looking around at the kick ass life we've made for ourselves. I kind of think it's perfect actually.

I want a 100%

noreply@blogger.com (colleen) — Thu, 27 Oct 2011 00:25:00 +0000

Have you aligned with a percent? Are you a 99% leaner? A 53% leaner? Neither? BOTH? (You can be both you know, it's POSSIBLE.) Are you excited that people are remembering their roots and fighting for the very truths this country once held to be self evident?

Or are you one of those people with your head so far up your own ass that you think you *made it* all by your own self, with no help, support, nor love from others? Do you think you're special? Do you think you are the only person working hard, trying hard, and living life? Are you a better human because you've kept your head above water? Clearly you have grown a huge pair of balls. How about your grow a warm, beating heart now?

*I* am in the 53%. I work hard. I pay my taxes. I do not carry bad debt.

*I* am in the 99%. I work hard. I pay my taxes. I do not carry bad debt.

I am doing ok right now. Now. Probably tomorrow too. I think I am lucky, fortunate, blessed.

BUT, I believe that others are struggling. I believe some people make the best choices they can but still hurt sometimes. I DON'T believe that those people are lazy, terrible, sacks of shit that don't deserve to live or breathe the same air as me. I believe in being as fair as possible - but when things aren't going to be fair, I believe in supporting the underdog, the weak, the down trodden and the poor. Yes, some people will abuse the system. It will happen. But do you want to talk about the people working the system of welfare when there are people working the tax system too?

What if *I* was in the 47%? What if *I* needed help? Would you, my friends, cast me off because another person maybe could have, kind have tried a little harder? I believe there is a better life for everyone if we stand together, united with a common purpose of decency, respect and kindness.

Do you ever ask yourself these questions? Do you consider that some day *you* might need help, patience, support or respect for no other reason than because you are alive, human, and maybe a little lost?

*I* am human. I have hopes. I have dreams. I work. I care. I love. I try to remember every day that I am no better than anyone else. I make mistakes. I am a work in progress, and I didn't get here by myself.

I want there to be a 100%. 100% decency. 100% happy. 100% successful. 100% compassionate. 100% human; the good kind of human though.

We can all be united or untied. It only matters where you put your *I.*

I didn't think we needed these lessons

noreply@blogger.com (colleen) — Thu, 22 Sep 2011 00:30:00 +0000

Dear Other Parents Raising Boys,

A couple months ago I sent the boys out to the garage to get in the car, like every morning, and about 2 seconds later I walked out and hit the garage door button to open it. What I didn't expect to happen next was to see my Bear holding on to the garage door, riding it up to the top. Had I turned back to grab anything on the counter I truly believe he would have fallen from the top because I had to reach over my head to lift him down.

Lesson #1 - Tell your boys not to ride garage doors when they are opening.

Today when I picked Bear up from school his teacher had this smile on her face and said she had something to tell me. She prefaced the story by saying Bear was not in trouble and she was only telling me in case it came up in conversation tonight. (It didn't.) And then she smiled again and stopped making eye contact with me.

Right after lunch today he told her he needed to go poop. So he rushed down the hallway with her a few strides behind him. By the time she rounded the corner Bear already had pooped. SITTING ON THE URINAL. The URINAL. So this teacher had to explain to him that poop goes on the other potty and the urinal was only a pee-pee potty. My poor sweet almost 4 year old Bear just looked at her and said "Why?" In his mind it was the right height, had a little lip to perch on, and was the closet thing available to sit on and shit in. Of course, this wonderful teacher was blown away by the awesomeness of his single word question and could only laugh and say "well, because that's how it's supposed to be." The poor woman had to scoop out my son's poop from the urinal today friends. Thankfully she told me that my Bear was NOT the first 3 year old boy to have done this, but he was the first who did it to her.

I might have died a little from a combination of laughter and mortification.

Lesson #2 - Teach your boys that pee-pee, poop and vomit goes on the sitting potty but only pee-pee goes in the stand-up potty.

You're welcome.

Landscape

noreply@blogger.com (colleen) — Thu, 07 Jul 2011 14:30:00 +0000

This morning as I drove home from dropping my boys off for their summer day camp I stopped for a red light and did what I normally do at red lights, I scanned the sky. Most days it looks the same, some beautiful shade of blue, a few clouds, mostly sunny; you know the sky. I mean everyone sees is (except blind people and I'm sorry about that) so no big deal right? Not today.

Today the sky was massive. More massive than I honestly can remember. The sheer magnitude was emphasized by the building clouds around my entire 360 degree skyline. It was layer upon layer, depth upon even deeper depths as the clouds billowed and curled towards the top of the bright, brilliant blue dome.

I felt a bit of vertigo as the light changed to green and I traveled further down the road that leads to my home. The moment was gone and the sky was back to just being the sky. But as I exhaled and drew breath again I was reminded of how small we all are, how we are all individually just specs of dried paint on a canvas. Sometimes our colors clash but that doesn't matter. What matters is when you step back and see with perspective, we are all part of a significantly beautiful landscape.

So today, at least while I remember this fleeting moment at a traffic light, I'm going to worry less about how I might (and do) clash with others, and focus more on how I can paint a better picture.

Today is going to be a great day.

Life as a Musical

noreply@blogger.com (colleen) — Tue, 29 Mar 2011 01:28:00 +0000

As long as I can remember I have loved to sing. I was in my first play when I was 5. I sung in every school choir I could. I sing in the car. I sing in the shower. I sing while cooking dinner and cleaning, and I sing to my children when they are tired or sad or scared. Sometimes I sing when I am alone and I stand still, feet balanced and grounded, eyes closed, and I let the song take over.

I'm especially fond of belting out Broadway show tunes.

Nerves keep me from singing well in front of others though.

When Bug was about 8 months old I bought a Laurie Berkner CD for us to listen to in the car. Eventually we bought them all, followed by the They Might Be Giants CDs, then Barenaked Ladies, and Disney movie music, etc. He, and now Bear, loved them all. I can't tell you how proud I was the day when Bug, and then Bear, started singing along with me to one of these albums.

Recently I have become more than a little tired of "their music" (even though the music is awesome and fun). So I started playing my music in the car each day. I change up the albums and at first the boys complained "This isn't OUR music." But a funny thing happened last week; while singing one of my songs on our drive home from school I heard them singing along with me. And they were singing the BACK UP PARTS. Bug was all "Ba Ba Ba Ba Baaaaaa" while Bear was "Oooooooh yeah, ahhhhhhh," both joining in on the refrain of the song. They were singing it correctly, harmonizing, and, well, it is practically amazing I didn't start bawling right there while driving on the highway.

Do you have any idea how I have dreamed of singing Christmas carols with them in a 3-part harmony? I might have to unearth some sheet music and start actually talking to them about music as a language. Hubs? Honey? I'm going to teach them to sing show tunes with me too. :)

Perspective

noreply@blogger.com (colleen) — Fri, 04 Mar 2011 02:35:00 +0000

Let's see if I can remember how this here blogging thing works...

I'm running the Gate River Run again next weekend, March 12th. It'll be my 4th time running the race. I thought this was going to be a good year for me. I was hoping to drop my time from last year but still realistically knew I wouldn't get close to my PR from back in 1999 when I ran it the first time. But in December I started running faster, like 4-6 miles in a 9:50ish per mile pace. And considering that I was running 11+/mile two years ago and 10:30's last year I was hopeful to drop my pace again. It was a goal that I got swept up in and focused on.

And then I got injured. Again. My shin splints flared up, probably from pushing too hard and running with bad form. Then my right IT Band tightened up so much it hurt to walk for over a week. So I had to give up running a half marathon early in February to make sure I could run the River Run. I like the River Run and I had priorities.

I was disappointed though. Badly disappointed in myself. And I looked around to others I knew who are running faster, who are stronger, who are setting goals and slaying them. And it hurt. Jealously does nothing for self-esteem. Let me tell you that.

But then I got real. The rational side of my brain kicked in (thankfully) and I fixed my perspective. It's not like I am running this race to WIN it. So there are always going to be people who are faster than me. And I'm still running in the middle of the pack so there's always going to be people who are slower than me. So whatever. It's not about winning. It's not about perfection. It's about improvement. I tell my students this all the time. Seek improvement, not perfection.

This here perfectionist sometimes has a hard time turning the tables on herself. :)

Really all I had improved though was my attitude since my running times are still not where I want them. So I had to get real about that to in order to pull myself up out of my running funk (ahem, bitter disappointment).

So I thought about my kids. Bug and Bear have noticed how often I go out to run lately. Bug asks me how long I'll be gone and if I had a good run when I get back. (Bear tells me I'm stinky!) He tells me when he's older that he'll run with me or ride his bike like I used to do with my Dad when I was a little girl. He sees me trying.

So I am not giving up because I'm disappointed in myself. I'm going to go out there and do the very best I can with the cards I've been dealt, and I'm going to look my little men in the eyes when I get home and tell them I ran 9.3 miles; that I battled a Green Monster and I destroyed it with my feet and my heart. I'm going to teach them not to give up and to get out there and do the best they can at something they love even if they aren't at peak performance, even if there are other people who are better. I am going to be proud of myself so they can be proud of themselves.

And then we'll go out and eat cheeseburgers. And maybe some ice cream.

Baby It's Cold Outside

noreply@blogger.com (colleen) — Wed, 08 Dec 2010 03:01:00 +0000

It's cold here in North Florida right now. It's 41 degrees and tonight it's going to drop in to the upper 20s. For this uprooted Buffalo chick turned Florida girl let's just say that 20's cold is just too cold for me. But instead of whining or complaining about it I'm going to be happy for some things instead.

Cold weather helps me get in to the holiday spirit. We're starting our store shopping this week (we've already shopped online) and it's much more fun when it's cold outside. Unfortunately this means Christmas Day will probably be 80 degrees. And that's just wrong. But instead of complaining about that I'll be happy that I have a 6 mile run scheduled for Christmas Day and I will not be worrying about freezing my tookus off for the first mile or two like I did on Monday when it was in the 30s and I ran 4 miles. So WIN-WIN!!
Cold weather means the boys get super rosy cheeks when they play outside and seriously cold noses and rosy cheeks on little kids is just adorable.
Hot chocolate.
Slippers and FUZZY socks.
Extra snuggles.
Needing my fleece blankets on the sofa because it's really cold and not just "air conditioning cold."
Frost on the roof tops and grass in the morning that makes the whole neighborhood glow a little.
The smell of fires burning in the hearth. (Not that we have a hearth anymore, nor that we ever used it to begin with.)
Having an excuse to wear my favorite sweatshirt of all time that Hubs absolutely hates because it's sort of ugly. I got it my Freshman year of high school when I still lived in New York. It still fits. It's worn and soft and awesome. And who isn't proud of the sport they played thier freshman year of High School? (You're not? Really?!) I mean, I got rid of my Varsity letter jacket and all but I saved this. This sweatshirt reminds me of my roots. It makes me happy. And everyone should have comfort clothing. Seriously.

So yeah. It's cold outside. It's all good.

We Share a Brain

noreply@blogger.com (colleen) — Fri, 12 Nov 2010 12:00:00 +0000

In 1995 I left home to go to school at the University of Florida. Within weeks of being there I pretty much found a new circle of friends and only held on to a few friendships from High School. For the most part, the friendships I formed, or held on to, that first year of college are the friends I still call on today too.

One of the friends I kept from High School was Andrew. We were both in most of the same business classes and before pagers, cell phones and Facebook, we managed to keep in touch. It was during one of our study sessions at the library (the one by the French Fries fellow Gators!) when he first mentioned Meredith. They hadn't been dating very long, he was worried about it being long distance, and he REALLY liked this girl. I heard a lot about Meredith over the next year and when we graduated he moved back to Jacksonville, home, where she was too.

I still kept up with Andrew over the course of the next seven years. I knew he married Meredith. I knew they had a baby boy. Our families exchanged Christmas cards every year and that was pretty much it except for the big "global" emails announcing births and big news to our closest friends and family.

But then we moved to Jacksonville too. And I connected with both Andrew and Meredith, who I had yet to officially meet, on Facebook. It was three years later though when Andrew gets the idea to invite my family and another friend and her family over for dinner. I finally got to meet Meredith and the kids.

Something clicked with us that night. As Andrew will later tell you he knew we'd either love each other or hate each other. I can't even begin to tell you how glad I am that it turned out to be the former. A few weeks, maybe a month (?), later we started running together because I conned her in to running the River Run with me. (Yay me!)

And so began a friendship that was (is) dirty, sweaty, gritty, painful and raw. While we ran we talked about a lot of shit. She could finish my sentences, and I often knew what she would say before she said it. It was like we shared a brain. And that soon became our mantra. We share a brain. Sometimes it's creepy.

I can't tell you though how much I needed her to appear in my life when she did. Sure, I'd "known" her for years, over a decade in fact. I wrote out Christmas cards to her. But the timing of our face-to-face introduction and the need I think we both had in our lives for the type of friend we could truly relate to and depend on was pretty much perfect. Yes, we share a brain, but to me, well, it's more than that. Starting a friendship with her helped towards healing a lot of hurt and pain I have had. I felt... likable again, worthy of a new person meeting the me I am today and wanting to be my friend. And I think that even with the greatest of friends (and mine are wonderful) who stick by you through the thick and thin, who get that you aren't the sum total of a few encounters, that still... everyone needs to know that you can make friends as a new you. And I needed that.

At some point many of our running conversations centered around blogging, what I use it for, and how I thought she should start one too. Eventually she came up with a name, bought a domain, came up with a theme, and opened up shop. I know most of you know how scary and crazy that can be. But I think that if you read her, if you know her, you'll love her as much as I do. So go check her out.

Bedtime

noreply@blogger.com (colleen) — Thu, 11 Nov 2010 13:00:00 +0000

Every night I tuck my boys in to bed with numerous snuggles and kisses. And I say the same thing to them, a little ritual of words that started with just a few lines and was appended and adjusted as I felt I needed to throw in a life lesson or confidence booster... like "I love you every day, all the time, no matter what," or "You make me so happy and I'm so proud of you."

When I was done the other night my little Bug hugged me extra hard and said he was now ok to go to sleep because I had said it all and it helps him relax. Given that most nights he interrupts me to tell me about a random part of a game he played, or a thought he had, or an item he'd like to ask Santa for, I was beyond thrilled that perhaps my words are reaching and sticking to the deep recesses of his crazy amazing brain.

I know Bear loves what I say. If I sit for too long enjoying a quiet snuggle with him he will grab my hand and say "Say Daddy loves me. You love me..." and wait for me to start. And he nods at the right times. And when it's over I usually get the world's greatest hug and "I YUV YOU TOO!"

It's... my favorite time of day. And not because the kids are in bed and I might have a moment or two to myself. But because in those moments of quiet snuggles and daily reflections on all that we have to be thankful for, I feel like I'm (we're) doing an ok job and they're growing up loved, and safe, healthy, and happy.

Last night though I had a little meltdown while rocking Bear. I allowed myself to drift down the dark roads of "What if something happened to you (me, Bug, Hubs, etc), a road made quite real when you read blogs or know family and friends with real life heart aching losses) and I cried and cried. So I'm going to ask you, please, today, to go over to Friends of Maddie and make a donation for what would have been Maddie's 3rd birthday. Despite our grief, and fears, and losses, we have so many reasons to be thankful and hopeful. And I believe we should share that love with others who need it too.

Gas Station

noreply@blogger.com (colleen) — Tue, 09 Nov 2010 18:06:00 +0000

Dear Idiot Woman driving the huge white Cadillac SUV at the gas station just now,

You're really not smart. I know you were shocked when I asked you to turn your car off while you pumped gas, and you were in complete disbelief that pumping gas while your car was running was a fire hazard. I know you think the gigantic sign above the gas pump that says "Turn your car engine OFF while pumping gas" does not apply to you. It obviously applies to other people. You think you're very important.

But let me tell you this dear Idiot Woman. My children are more important than you. And they were at that gas station in the car I was putting gas in to. And if you were to blow yourself up with your stupidity, you could have blown them up too. So that means I get to say something to you about the lack of connections between your brain cells. I'm sorry, but that's just the truth. And I was really nice about it. Honestly. I know when I'm being bitchy. And this time? Totally wasn't!

I also know you thought you were being super cute when you told me "I guess it wasn't my day" as you drove away. But that also showed your lack of brain power honey. You do know the day's not over yet, right?

Love,
Me

The Space Between

noreply@blogger.com (colleen) — Wed, 03 Nov 2010 22:17:00 +0000

It starts as a tiny blur in my vision. And I blink, rub my eyes, hold my breath and look again.

Then there is dread, panic, nausea. It is fear, and loathing. I am powerless to stop it completely.

I rush to ingest the meds. The cocktail of drugs, prescription and over the counter pain relievers, that eventually bring relief.

And I wait. I wait with my eyes closed for the aura to pass and the world to focus.

I wait for the rolling waves of nausea to stop as I will the dry heaves to remain dry heaves because I hate to vomit.

Then the pain starts, throbbing inside head, crashing in to my skull as I try counter-pressure techniques to hold my head in place.

I am lost somewhere in the space between consciousness and sleep, in a time warp of deep meditative breathing and controlled visualizations. I float on the surface of water, above, and somehow outside, the weighted pain that threatens to pull me under and consume me.

Eventually I am functional. Just functional though, until the migraine hangover releases its grip and I am back in control again.

Master of None.

noreply@blogger.com (colleen) — Tue, 12 Oct 2010 02:22:00 +0000

I'm struggling.

And I'm thriving.

I work best under pressure. My best papers, highest quality projects, best retention on studying have always been done at the last minute.

When I have more to do I am at the top of my game.

But my lack of confidence threatens the careful balance of keeping so many balls harmoniously juggled in the air.

It doesn't help that I'm battling injury (again) and off my work-out routine.

I just don't feel like I'm good at anything. Or rather, I'm good at a lot of things. But I don't excel at anything.

I try so hard to talk myself out of every negative emotion I have towards myself. I wish I could let go and allow myself to just feel whatever it is I want to feel. I get caught up in the "you shouldn't feel this way because..." rationalizations in my mind. I can step through "well this happened today that was different and then that caused *this* to happen" ... and why the hell should I freaking care? Action. Reaction. LEARN. MOVE ON. LIVE. You should listen in on the conversations I have in my head where I'm always trying to figure out what should be the high road and take it.

I've got to get out of my head.

Master of None.

noreply@blogger.com (colleen) — Tue, 12 Oct 2010 02:22:00 +0000

I'm struggling.

And I'm thriving.

I work best under pressure. My best papers, highest quality projects, best retention on studying have always been done at the last minute.

When I have more to do I am at the top of my game.

But my lack of confidence threatens the careful balance of keeping so many balls harmoniously juggled in the air.

It doesn't help that I'm battling injury (again) and off my work-out routine.

I just don't feel like I'm good at anything. Or rather, I'm good at a lot of things. But I don't excel at anything.

I try so hard to talk myself out of every negative emotions I have towards myself. I wish I could let go and allow myself to just feel whatever it is I want to feel. I get caught up in the "you shouldn't feel this way because..." rationalizations in my mind. I can step through "well this happened today that was different and then that caused *this* to happen" ... and why the hell should I freaking care? Action. Reaction. LEARN. MOVE ON. LIVE. You should listen in on the conversations I have in my head where I'm always trying to figure out what should be the high road and take it.

I've got to get out of my head.

Memories

noreply@blogger.com (colleen) — Fri, 01 Oct 2010 02:12:00 +0000

Sometimes I wonder what my kids will remember about the things we do together now.

Lately I've had a lot of flashbacks to when I was a kid. I remember things like my Dad going in to work on Saturdays because the office was quiet and he could concentrate. And he'd take me with him and let me sit in someone else's office to do my homework and pretend to work. Back then calculators with the paper rolls were the rage. (Were there rages about office equipment?) And he made sure I got to sit in an office that had one. I remember the long, long, narrow hallway of office doors and around the corner a single water fountain near the boss's office. I remember the rooms of drafting tables, of blue printed engineering designs - some rolled up in stacks, others spread out to be examined. I wondered what work I would do when I grew up.

I remember my mom teaching me to sew, first with just a needle and thread, making little pillows and change purses and accessories for dress up with scrap fabric from her bins. Later she let me use her sewing machine. She made so many dresses for us.

I remember how my mom drove my sister and I home after a long day spent at a family friend's house. We drove home in a complete white out, one of the worst snow storms I can ever remember. The normal 90 minute drive turned in to several hours. We drove in a tiny Honda Civic and I was terrified. My sister and I sat silently, barely breathing for fear of distracting our mother. But she made it home. She says the only way she did it was because she knew every inch of the back roads we were driving. She knew where every curve was supposed to be, where every dip was. She knew her car, she was present. I am still in awe of how she held it together, how calm she was, how she reassured us we'd be fine. She always kept it together. She made me feel safe.

I remember scaring my father once, hiding behind a wall and jumping out at him when he came through the doorway. I learned then how much my father hated being startled. And I never did it again. Only now, after recently learning about why he has chronic ringing in his ears, do I wonder if the two things are related.

And my mother used to play her records loudly when she cleaned. Our home didn't have central air so we always had the windows opened. Well if I got off the school bus and heard Linda Ronstadt blasting from the windows, I walked very slowly up the driveway to prolong the inevitable "I saved cleaning the ... just for you!"

I remember Dad grilling hamburgers and all of us eating outside on the patio with lemonade and fresh corn on the cob, and my mom taking us shopping for new school clothes every August. I can also still hear her voice calling me in from playing outside as the last of the sun's rays faded from the sky.

I close my eyes and am transported back in time to a wonderful childhood. It is a movie in my mind that I can pause, skip around, and replay often. So many memories are random and I can't help but wonder what little things Hubs and I are doing now that our children will remember years later? Will it be the daily little things or just the big special things?

Will they remember how I lost my cool at the end of the day, after they didn't nap and it was dinner time and their whining crescendoed in the kitchen as I prepared their meal? Or will they remember that I counted to 10 and then as they ate I played rhyming games with them and we made silly faces and laughed? Will they remember playing train tracks or cars or building marble machines or water tube contraptions? Or will it be the constant prodding to "hurry up" and "get moving" in the morning as we balance a non-morning-person mommy with two slow poke children and a clock to beat to get to school on time?

My memories are of warmth and love, and are very special. I want theirs to be too.

Fear

noreply@blogger.com (colleen) — Wed, 15 Sep 2010 02:23:00 +0000

I live with fear.

I say "with fear" as opposed to "in fear" so as not to convey that I am crippled by it, that is consumes me. But it haunts me at times. It sits there on my shoulder as the fabled Devil in a battle between good and evil. Fear is definitely evil.

Fear is what sits like a weight in my stomach when my karate students tell me about the gangs in their schools or the bullies at their bus stops. It's knowing that my boys still have to grow up and go through school. It's the worry that they will know only the angst of a broken heart from a first love, and not from the anticipation of a punch from looking at the wrong someone the wrong way. Fear is hoping I raise my children well enough that they will run with the right crowd, that they will care about making it home by curfew, that they will think to call home to say hi to their mother.

Fear is the chill of uncertainty down my spine as I say the words "I will always be there for you" when I know that someday I won't. And when I'm gone, by some freak accident, illness or old age, will they all know how much I loved them? Will I have done enough so their memories will carry them through lives with joy and hope, confident in who they are as wonderful, smart, funny, beautiful people? Will they know how happy they made me?

I am so happy.

Fear is the little voice inside that says to lock the car doors, lock the garage door, set the alarm and hawk my children in the parking lots and stores. Fear is a freak accident and no time to say goodbye. Fear is losing everything and everyone I love dearly. Fear is being forgotten.

And I am temporary.

We are all temporary.

So I live with fear.

Because I live with love.

Options for None

noreply@blogger.com (colleen) — Mon, 16 Aug 2010 21:52:00 +0000

"Step out left, 90 degrees, to left forward stance left lower block. HUT! Step through to right forward stance, right lunge punch. HUT! 180 degree turn behind, front foot moves clockwise, stepping out with right forward stance right lower block. HUT! Step through left forward stance, left lunge punch. HUT!"

Don't forget to bend your front knee. Can you see your big toe?

Back leg straight.

Hips forward.

Both hands load up strong for the block.

Turn your front foot in.

Step strong! You're in a fight!

Snap your head! Look where you're going. Eyes up!

*****

I didn't have to think through any of that. It's as automatic for me to teach kata to karate students as it is for me to wash my hair first in the shower. I can zone out while I watch a group of students performing techniques but really that is when I'm in my prime. That's when I can figure out their body mechanics and hone in on what is causing them to do moves incorrectly and fix them.

Like tonight a girl was punching more like an arm swing rather than a straight shot. And it wasn't because she didn't now how to move her fist. It was because her elbow moved first, drifted off her body and, you know how that kids' song goes, the elbow bone's connected to the wrist bone. So by correcting the right piece of the system, the whole system works effectively.

What the hell does this all even mean?

I have no idea.

It's a big, fat metaphor for life right? Step back, find out what's not working and why. Fix the why, step back, look again, let it ride, tweak some more. Small changes in the right places can mean huge improvements. But you have to know how to find the right places.

Tonight another student asked us if we were ever going to be Masters. While I have learned to never say never, the likelihood of that ever happening is not something I'd bet my house on. I did manage not to laugh out loud though.

So if I'm not on track for that (or on track for really anything), what's the point of still going, still showing up, still putting in the time to teach and promote the martial arts?

Later elbow girl told us she was practicing her self-defense with her father and she started the "what if?" game with us. "What if he grabs my other hand? What do I do? What if he kicks me? What do I do?" I love those types of questions. That's when you know you've got a student who is excited. Or maybe scared. Or both. Oh man, yeah, teaching self-defense is probably the #1 reason I am still teaching karate. Not only do I feel like I am helping people, but I freaking LOVE doing it. The "what if?" questions from students fuel my brain and keep me trying to learn more.

We had to tell elbow girl that you have to crawl before you can run. And that the things we teach have to be practiced (a lot), that sometimes things don't work the first time and you have to try something else, but we'll teach her (or anyone) more than one way to get out something. And giving up is not an option.

Giving up is not an option.

How's that for another big, fat life metaphor?

What Would You Do?

noreply@blogger.com (colleen) — Mon, 16 Aug 2010 01:39:00 +0000

Yesterday we stopped for gas on the way to visit family for lunch. While I pumped gas and spaced out in the Florida heat, Hubs called out to me to look over at the pickup truck at another pump across the lot. At first glance all I saw was a man and a young, maybe 10 year old boy. Then I saw the baby. She was maybe 9 months old and she was sitting on the boy's lap. I looked at Hubs and said "maybe her car seat is in the back?" His response? "In that pickup truck?" To my dismay I realized that it was not an extended cab truck. Hubs commented that there were three of them and no child safety seat for the infant. Then I realized there was a very large woman who was hidden by the gas pump. So that made 2 very large adults, 1 young boy and a baby to fit in a two-seater (i.e. only 2 seat belts) truck. And we watched in horror as the man got in the driver's seat, forcing the boy with the baby in his lap to straddle the middle area, then the woman got in the passenger seat. As they started to drive away I told Hubs to get their license plate while I searched for a pen in the mess of my car.

We ended up calling the Florida Highway Patrol to report them. They took the information and then transfered me to the Jacksonville Sheriff's Office, who also took the info. I have no idea if they took me seriously or not.

That truck happened to be headed in the same direction as us and we followed them for a good 15 miles before they pulled off in to a shopping plaza and we continued on. I was hoping, so hoping, to see a cop car zoom up and bust them. I wanted to know that my phone call made a difference and that baby would be safe.

I realize that the family may not have been able to afford a bigger car or a car seat. I realize that nothing will probably come of my phone call. And I know that everyone has problems and issues and most of the time we do the best we can with what we've got. But I draw the line at driving with a 9 month old child sitting across your lap as you drive down a very busy, fast highway.

Would you say anything to this family? Would you call to report them also? Would you turn your back and ignore them?

I am so afraid I am going to read about this in the local paper.

"Baby Not Secured In A Safety Seat Ejected From Truck In Minor Traffic Accident Dies At Scene."

This makes me sick to my stomach.

Not Fiction

noreply@blogger.com (colleen) — Fri, 13 Aug 2010 00:28:00 +0000

I've been home for several days. Back to the daily grind. Back to work. Back to the kids. Back to teaching karate twice a week. Back to exercising and staying up too late in an attempt to find "me time," all the while forgetting that sometimes the best "me time" is to sleep. Yeah, I don't get enough sleep. And I never seem to have enough time to write.

NYC and BlogHer was a really great experience for me even though I did not buy a knock off hand bag. Years of heartbroken disappointment after annual meet-ups with another organization taught me to know my limits, to set realistic expectations, and to accept myself for who I am, not who I think I want to be.

The people I expected to be awesome were awesome. So awesome in fact I commented to them, at the end of the weekend, in a quiet moment when some of us were in the same space but surfing Twitter or the Interwebz from our phones, that I was so happy it was so comfortable with them. That it was like walking away from my computer screen and an awesome Twitter conversation, and in to real life and an equally awesome conversation face to face. It flowed naturally and being around them was just easy. And I love them. They inspire me in different, simple and wonderful ways.

There was a little drama, but I expected drama. I was a little dismayed that at one party many women looked down their noses towards me because I was not already a part of their crowd. My attempts at conversation were thwarted early. But that's ok. After listening quietly for a short while I knew the loss was theirs, not mine. And I left happy to have spent an evening one-on-one with the friend who I attended the party with.

I sang karaoke at a real karaoke place. And for someone who sings a lot and sings fairly well, someone who has acted on stage and sang solos, I was terrified. But it was very late, I was tired, and I am glad the music was loud to sort of drown out my voice, the flashing glittery globe masking my jitters. I am grateful for friends who cared more that I was there than what my voice sounded like.

I met a lot of amazing new people. Several made me laugh, laugh, laugh out loud. Hard. I enjoyed honest conversation with others. I found the nerve to tweet Linda and ask her if I could find her and say hello. (And whoa I was a total dork) I did not find the nerve to introduce myself to others. I hugged Heather twice. And it was all ok. I am happy.

I am also incredibly grateful for a friend back home who held my hand virtually on Friday when I was so overwhelmed with the size of the conference and the constant "go-go-go" of an over scheduled day.

My fondest memories of the conference are not of the parties nor the 3 boxes of loot en route somewhere between NYC and here. They are not of the panels or the elevator hell. They are of the people. The smiles. The hugs, however brief the moments we caught them. Knowing that those I think are so awesome on Twitter and their blogs are really amazingly real, and not just fiction. I needed to know they were not just fiction.

Pictures to prove it!

I capped the weekend visiting with friend I have known since I was eight. The last time I saw her was her wedding seven years ago. She brought her young daughters to the city to spend only a couple hours together with me. And despite the seven years with scarce (if any?) phone calls (but annual birthday emails), we picked up right where we left off, caught up, moved forward, reconnected, and created new memories. Seeing her was like a piece of my heart finding its way back home again. There is something special, very, very special, knowing the comfort of that kind of friendship.

I will go again to this conference. It might not be next year but I will go again. There are many more of you who couldn't go, didn't want to go, or chose not to go. I want to meet you too. I want to know that you are real and not fiction.

Take Me Back to Manhattan, Take Me Back to New York

noreply@blogger.com (colleen) — Tue, 03 Aug 2010 01:35:00 +0000

Anyone know what musical my post title comes from?

So in two days, TWO, I will be headed to NYC for BlogHer. I only know one person there in real life. But I've met some great people through this blog and Twitter and many of them will be there too. I'm not going to kid you, I'm excited. This is a big deal for me.

I love NYC. It scares the pants off me (you know, crime) but I LOVE the energy there. I love the crazy skyline, I love the water. I spent summer vacations as a little girl, on Long Island, driving through the city on the way there from Buffalo and back, spending time with my family there. I went with my high school music group, and saw my first Broadway play (Cats) there. I've been up the Empire State Building, to the Statue of Liberty, Madison Square Garden, and several museums. I have stood at Ground Zero a year after 9/11 and cried. I love New York City.

Yes, part of this trip is about business for me. Marketing is my thing. I'm attending sessions about things I can bring back and use for what I do. But this trip is about more than that to me. This is my attempt to put myself out there again. To make friends who don't have any preconceived ideas about what I may have been like when I was 18 and young and naive, or when I ran a karate school and didn't mind sticking my neck out against higher ranks if I truly believed the cause I was standing up for. To meet people as who I am now, with my strong personality, my integrity, and my heart-on-my-sleeve-completely-non-poker-face face. I'm excited to meet you all too.

I am going to feel insecure. I won't lie. My heart is going to feel like it will pound of out my chest at times. But I am going to be smiling. I am going to laugh. I'm going to have eyeballs the size of saucers as I take it all in and enjoy it. I am going to appreciate the opportunity I have to go and remember to thank everyone I come in to contact with who helped put it together. I am probably going to be a huge dork.

But that's ok.

I give really good hugs.

And I want to give a lot of them while I'm there.

My Own HGTV Day (without the actual HGTV)

noreply@blogger.com (colleen) — Sat, 31 Jul 2010 23:30:00 +0000

We bought the home we live in almost four years ago. When we toured it I knew immediately I wanted to buy it but I humored Hubs and viewed a few more just so we were sure this was the one. (I was sure, he wasn't.) There were a few things we didn't like about the house and knew we needed to fix up.

The major thing on our list was removing the fireplace.

I am happy to say the fireplace is gone.

It's not like we need a fireplace in Florida. They look nice (when they are installed/maintained/updated correctly) and those nights, one, maybe two a year when it's cold, well they are nice to have. But totally not necessary and certainly not needed as a giant room divider.

Watching the workers remove the fireplace in less than 30 minutes was crazy fun. But then it took another day and a half to put the room back together again nicely. We had to re-tile some of the floor in the kitchen area, fix the wall & ceiling, paint and lots of little things. Then a few days later we had new carpet installed.

It's awesome now. The room is so much bigger and brighter.

Here are all the pics!

I also truly believed that before we had it removed we would make at least one trip to the ER for stitches from one of our kids falling in to it. By some sort of graceful miracle, we did not!

A Mommy Vacation

noreply@blogger.com (colleen) — Tue, 20 Jul 2010 15:09:00 +0000

A couple weeks ago I boarded a plane and headed to Denver, CO to visit some of my dearest friends. Alone. By myself. No Hubs. No kids.

Whoa.

I had so much fun! Vivien picked me up and took me to Red Rocks. We walked (I nearly died) to the top and sat down to watch the sunset while eating homemade mango, pineapple salsa with chips. It was delicious and the view was spectacular! It was so different than what I am used to living 10 miles from the Atlantic coast!

The next day we drove out to an area called Loveland Pass and we stood at the Continental Divide for some photos. I'm such a tourist! Originally that morning I had on shorts and a tank top. But after thinking it was a little cool (dry, not humid, not used to that at all type of weather) I changed to jeans, but still kept on my flip flops. I'm really glad I brought a jacket. It was windy and cold up there. But it was also refreshing and wonderful.

Then Vivien took me to Mt Evans. Holy cow Mt Evans is 14,258ft above sea level (you know, where I live). The drive up (and down) was probably one of the scariest things EVER to me. I have terrible vertigo and am terrified of heights, like looking straight down heights. And as we drove up the winding road, the only thing between me and a sheer drop off the side of the mountain was a truck door and about 2 inches of dirt. DIRT. No guard rail, nothing. I even asked Vivien why they didn't put up guard rails. Since she works for the Dept. of Transportation I figured my request could go straight to the top. Her response was "there isn't enough room for guard rails." Hello?! I know!! A little wiggle one way or the other with her truck and it would have been a long, bumpy tumble over the cliff. But the view from the top was well worth the sore hands I had from gripping the door of Viv's truck. I did make a vow though that the next time I drive to the top of Mt. Evans I will be driving in a Smart Car or some other such tiny vehicle that will leave me more than 2 inches of dirt before the drop off.

Later that day we drove up to Boulder and had tea at this amazing tea house. It was all hand done wood work and tiles and completely gorgeous. Then we drove up to Ft. Collins to stay with our friends Matt & Lisa. We went to this great local restaurant and ended up scoring free ice cream sundaes because our server said we were his best (perhaps least annoying? perhaps funniest?) table of the night.

Saturday the four of us drove to the Rocky Mountain National Park and took a gorgeous walk (also known as a Beginner's Hike) around Bear Lake and then up to a water fall. I scaled a few boulder-ish rocks so I could be authentic. I took about a bazillion photos of the mountains and decided that I could live there.

I was also pretty stoked that I had two people say "Go Gators!" to me on the trail! Ahh! The Gator Nation really is everywhere!

This trip meant so much to me. It was my first time away from the boys, all of them, alone. I got to see one of my BFFs and some very dear and wonderful friends. I got fresh air, non-humid air. I got to pack a suitcase without diapers or any baby gear. It was crazy.

So THANK YOU Hubs, Kiddos, Family Who Helped Make This Happen...Vivien - for not laughing (too hard) at me on Mt. Evans, for hosting me, for planning everything and showing me how awesome Denver is... Matt & Lisa for being awesome and wonderful (it was so good to see you both only a few months after your wedding!)... and the airline pilots for not crashing, the weird people I sat next to who made interesting conversation about what Jesus would do, and for my sanity over randomly running in to people I never really cared to see ever again.

Such a great trip!

My House IS NOT Filthy Despite What This Post May Imply

noreply@blogger.com (colleen) — Wed, 07 Jul 2010 01:34:00 +0000

There is a mouse in my house.

I say mouse like I know it's only one. But saying mice? That just gives me the creeps. I have barely gotten over the snake being in my closet last summer and now there is a mouse in my house. One mouse.

I hate getting up in the middle of the night to pee, which happens once or twice and I'm not even pregnant. But these critters have ruined me. I have to jump over the floor by my closet door to avoid the potential snake ghost, and now I have to listen for the mouse nomming away on the food in my pantry.

Yeah. One second there little bugger. That's Hubs' food. That's the boys' food. Dude that's MY FOOD.

We threw away three large yard trash bags of food, plus two boxes yesterday. Food we found teeth marks on, food we weren't so sure about since it was open and might have been breathed on by the mouse, and food that well, had expired. (Expired food in my pantry? It's genetic. My mom tried to poison Hubs when we'd only been dating a few months. Like she offered him honey mustard for his ham sandwich and it was green. GREEN. And it was 10 years old. That was 10 years ago. We still check the dates on anything coming out of her fridge and shelves now.) It was a lot of food.

I spent about five hours going through the food in our pantry, throwing it away, cleaning and reorganizing. How'd you spend your holiday? The entire time I had two thoughts.

Why did we re-home our cats last fall?

There are no cats in America and the streets are filled with cheeeeeeese.

Later I had a couple more thoughts.

Oh my cake mixes! Oh my brownies!

Damn it this mouse is forcing me to purge all the things I shouldn't have in my pantry anyways because I eat too much, when I'm stressed and anxious and it's totally not healthy, and I need to get over the emotional roller coaster I'm on right now and kick this habit to the curb along with the crappy-ass memories of people who attended my wedding but shouldn't have because they were shitty (former) friends who continuously bring me down by the sheer fact that they exist on this planet.

breathe in, breathe out, breath in, breath out

This morning I drove to my friendly neighborhood Target to buy storage containers for my cereal and the boys' snacks which I have to restock up on tomorrow since we threw most of them away.

I really hate this mouse. Last night I had giggly thoughts of it scampering over to my pantry and staring up at the shelves in utter despair, its heart breaking in to a million tinier pieces as it realized it'd have to find another place to live. That it's cozy nest under the cupboard that also houses my pots and pans wouldn't be the best place on the earth to hunker down and breed in. Shudder.

Consequently I don't mind the pots and pans banging about when I put them away now. I delight in waking that mouse from it's peaceful, food-induced slumber with ear crushing clanging. Because it ate my food. It lives in MY house. And I didn't marry it nor did I birth it. It doesn't pay rent either. I have limits. I say this like I cook and bake every day and need to be using my pots and pans often. This is definitely not true but should be reconsidered as a viable rodent deterrent solution.

We did glean some useful knowledge about this mouse though while cleaning up its mess. It likes cereal bars and teddy grahams the best. So we use some of the nibbled on leftovers in the traps we have out. LIVE traps people. I haven't reached the point of really wanting to kill it. I'm not cold. Yet. But the funny (not-so-much) thing? It managed to get some of the food on the ramp of the trap last night. Without actually getting caught in the trap.

If that mouse turns out to be smarter than me? I'm going to write a letter to my alma mater to ask for a refund.

A Strong Personality

noreply@blogger.com (colleen) — Tue, 29 Jun 2010 01:42:00 +0000

There has been a lot on my mind lately.

Things I want to talk about but don't want to talk about, to admit here because here makes it real in ways that it's not when I talk to Hubs and my amazing friends who live mere miles from me.

But Linda over at All & Sundry posted something recently and it made me cry. Straight up cry.

Then a few days later a friend told me I apologize too much and I didn't need to. That sent me on another crying jag while I stood in the shower and let the hot water wash away the chlorine my skin drank in during that morning's swim workout.

So I have been thinking about all this.

For as long as I can remember I've been labeled as "someone with a strong personality." And when it's brought up, it's always in a sort of negative way, explaining away why I am upset about a falling out with a friend, or why people react to me the way they do, why that bothers me, etc, etc. I'm tired of that being the only thing people see or talk about. There is more to me that a strong personality. And having a strong personality isn't always bad. That's what I keep telling myself anyways.

My friend telling me I apologize too much was... well, rough. But it forced me to think about it more, and I realized that I am always apologizing to people because saying I'm sorry often times disarms people. If I admit fault first, well, maybe then the person with whom I have an issue will, well, not hate me. Or dislike me. Or feel any sort of negative feelings towards me. I realize that a lot of people don't like me. And most of the time I'm ok with that. But when it's someone that *I* like and want to have a friendship with, well, that hurts. And I feel somehow responsible for the relationship not working out. You know, because of MY strong personality.

Never mind about the fact that other people have their own issues and personalities and I can't control that. That's the rational side of my brain trying to explain away everything because I'm supposed to be all mature and adult now that I have children and everything.

So when Linda posted again (Yes, I love her blog. No I am not stalking her, she just deserves some credit here for being awesome.) with a link to a Meyers-Briggs-type personality test, I clicked on over. Heck I know who I am but I needed to see if the INTERNET agreed with me. Because all things are validated on the internet, right?

And what did I come out as? ESFJ.I'm an slightly leaning extrovert with a borderline sensing, super strong feeling, evenly judging personality. How's that for strong?

ESFJs at their best are warm, sympathetic, helpful, cooperative, tactful, down-to-earth, practical, thorough, consistent, organized, enthusiastic, and energetic. They enjoy tradition and security, and will seek stable lives that are rich in contact with friends and family.

I'm so tired of being labeled negatively as having a strong personality. What about how much I love people? How much I truly want others to succeed at what they are doing? How I want them to be happy? How I genuinely seek to find the good in everyone, to the point where I rationalize away shortcomings? I am the biggest advocate for my loved ones.

I'm so tired of being sad when people I love and respect fail to see me for me. For all of me. For the bad parts AND the good parts. This is not my fault if their minds and hearts are not open. I'm tired of feeling empty when I am so richly blessed. I feel like such an ungrateful fool. I am tired of the people who don't matter still holding on to pieces of my heart, pulling me back down, making me question all the things I believed I was good at, making me doubt the person that I am.

I am a good person. I have integrity. I have a big heart. I am a good friend. I believe there is good in everyone.

And I have a strong personality.

I wish that didn't sound so negative.

A Tiny Tank Cannon. And A Nose.

noreply@blogger.com (colleen) — Wed, 02 Jun 2010 01:30:00 +0000

I was having a lovely afternoon sitting on my sofa, sipping fresh iced tea I let steep in the sun this weekend, working and chatting on IM with Jenn when she sends me a note saying she had to put her daughter down for a nap. No worries here, I heard screaming from the back bedrooms and thought my Bear, who had stayed home from school with a fever, was up from his "nap" and needed some milk and a snuggle. But then I realized it was actually Bug who was screaming from his room where he was also supposed to be napping.

I opened the door to find him sitting up in bed with his hands to his face. His expression was contorted and he kept screaming "I have a bad itch in my nose." I tried to shush him lest he wake Bear but he wasn't having any of it. I scooped him up and carried him across the house to our bathroom, sat him down and said "Now what is going on?!" He repeats he has a bad itch in his nose. I get a tissue. He tries to blow his nose and he screams.

That's not right.

After a few deep breaths together to calm us both down he wails "There is a gun in my nose!"

WHAT?!

"MygreentankgunisinmynoseandItriedtowipeitoutbutit'sstuckupthere."

I rush to his room and find the green matchbox size army tank on his floor and think maybe the huge cannon arm on the front just scratched his nose. (But why the hell was it up your nose kid?!) The thing looked intact.

As he and I discussed the problem I realized that hey, there is tiny looking cannon behind the big cannon and "what is that tiny hole right next to the tiny cannon?"

Yeah. There's supposed to be two tiny cannons behind the big cannon.

Not really sure what to believe, I fetch a flashlight and see nothing up his nose.

After a quick call to the doctor to ask "what the heck do I do because I don't see anything but he insists it's up there?," they suggest I bring him in. So Hubs came home from work to stay with the still sleeping (thank you!) Bear.

After a 30 minute ride to the pediatrician and an hour wait in the lobby, we see our favorite doctor ever. Bug is all cheerful again because the gun thing must have settled in to place and isn't really bothering him except for the stream of clear snot running down his lip that he tells me I can only wipe gingerly and "NO MOMMY I WILL NOT BLOW MY NOSE AGAIN."

She asks him what's wrong and immediately he says in a sweet sing-song voice. "Oh I have a gun up my nose from my green tank and it's just a little bit stuck up in there."

I showed her the tank and she grimaces, then checks him out. The look she gave me as she said "Oh I can see it" was a mixture of horror, nausea and laughter. She got some scary looking tools and a nurse and explained to Bug that she had to get it out because it would make bad boogers, he couldn't move when she did it or it'd hurt, and she didn't want it to hurt him. I love her. Bug totally was like "yeah ok, that would be bad." And despite the nurse holding his arms and me holding his legs, my kid didn't flinch any muscle except his eyebrows as it took her two minutes and a lot of determination to dislodge the tiny cannon.

Bug's reaction to this?

"Oh I feel so much better without a gun up my nose!"

And

"Now I can have GOOD BOOGERS!!!!!!! I can shoot good boogers from my nose. HAHAHAHAHAHAAAAAA!"

She told me I made her day bringing him in.

Later Hubs asked Bug how he got the gun up his nose. He replied "Oh I just put it between my finger and my thumb and it swirled around and got stuck up there."

Yeah. I am raising boys.

Random Things

noreply@blogger.com (colleen) — Mon, 31 May 2010 19:08:00 +0000

I think of all these random things a lot. Then I think "Oh I should write a post about those things." Yeah, there's a meme for that. Do you think I remember what day it's supposed to be or where it started? No.

Then this awesome thing happened when I sat down to write said post about random things my brain mulls. Nothing. Well, there is one thing but I can't write about that HERE because I'm pretty certain that the person it's about would decide TODAY was a good day to read my blog. It figures. And yes, I'm paranoid about that. My mom always said if you don't have anything nice to say, don't say anything at all.

Oh the guilt that courses through my veins at the mere thought of offending someone.

Gah.

I'm terrified to go in my garage most of the time. I have this fear that there will be someone out there. I imagine someone hiding behind the side of our house and as I hit the garage door button to close and step instead then that person jumps in to the garage to wait for an opportunity to invade. I usually deadbolt the door behind me. And when I have to go out there again? Well I either A.) Make sure I'm ready to punch someone or B.) Send my kids first. I'm awesome, right?

There is also a mouse in our garage.

Where's the snake that was on my driveway last week when I need him? Oh wait... I hate snakes.

I'm screwed.

Bug earned all of his responsibility magnets this week which resulted in a trip to the toy store with Daddy for a new Transformer yesterday. It's already broken. It's partially a design flaw but also partly that he hasn't figured out that not all the parts move the same way as other Transformers that he has. "What? This one's wheel doesn't turn in to a hand?" SNAP. Sigh.

We are on week 3 of the Mommy Boycott. It's getting old. It's still sort of funny. But it's still really old.

I have not had a laundry pile last more than 24 hours in the past month. I made a goal to just put it away when it came out of the dryer (novel concept). The only times I've not stuck to this is when the laundry came out of the dryer late at night and it was Bug's and he was, you know, sleeping.

I'm going to Denver in a month to see my girl V! Just me. By myself. I can't decide which might be more exciting (besides seeing my friend!): sleeping without a 4 year old waking me up in the middle of the night, sleeping in, or going somewhere without a diaper in my bag. Of course it will be my luck that her neighbors keep my up all night.

Hubs and I can not talk to each other in the car. One of us will start to talk to the other and immediately Bug starts with the "Mommy? Mommy? Mommy? Mommy? MOMMY?! EXCUSE ME MOMMY?!" business. "Yes Bug?" "uh, Mommy... uh... Mommy... you see that *insert some street sign or flower or car type thing* over there?" (repeat with "Daddy" ad nauseum too.) Oh my GOD this drives me batty. First of all stop interrupting, I'm talking about YOU already or your brother (mostly). Second - you don't need to be the center of attention all the time. And last? SPIT. IT. OUT. My little man's brain is racing way faster than his little mouth can process the words. It's cute and funny though too.

The worst thing about this? This makes me feel OLD. I don't know why but it does.

I am struggling with a site design for someone. It has to be perfect. But it's not perfect yet and sweet Mother Mary, this is difficult.

So... my brain hurts.