Sunday Ramblings

Right now, the other four of this family of five are out conquering the snow mountain with fast blue plastic sleds.

I should be out there with them, but I'm not.

I don't know why I feel I should have bundled up too, other than the fact because they have.
And I don't really know why I'm not, other than the fact that I really don't want to.

I am, however, doing my best to muffle the voice of guilt that's creeping into my thoughts right now, telling me I'm lazy and lame for willingly missing out on such simple moments with the kids.

I'm not even doing anything inside… In fact, I'm laying in bed, shielding my eyes from that end of day glare, listening to their distant giggles through the closed window, and typing on my computer.

As soon as I hear those boots come stomping and the energy fused voices start filling the quiet retained within these walls, I'll be rapid fire making dinner, barking bathing orders, and doing the best the counter the absence of my winter weather bundled self the last hour.

I know once I was out there, I'd be glad I did, but even that self rally isn't enough for me to pull those ski pants from their hook. So hooked those pants shall stay.

I'm not sure why I grapple with such guilt on such a simple thing like opting out of sliding, but I do…. Do I honestly believe me not being out there with them, will build feeling of abandonment in my child's psyche? No.

But have I carried the useless worry like it will, around with me the last hour? Yes, yes I have.

Meh. Moving on.

I've been writing a lot lately, leaving all unpublished, and I think it's directly associated with the fact that I've been reading so much too.

It's like a yin and yang bit for me.
Reading creates the escape, while writing provides grounding.

As short of a month as February is, the next three weeks are going to leave me trying to catch my breath by the end of them. Not in a bad way, just a busy way.

So I guess it's kind of nice to have this little break, as short as it may have been.

I can hear the muffled voices of excited kids draw nearer to the door…

The door I'm thinking about locking before they can reach it…

Hey! where is that mom guilt now, for entertaining a thought like that?!

2014's Jerk Brake Start

I sometimes wish my days as an adult, were mimicked in the routine of my days when I was in school… not in that waking up with minutes to spare before the bell, but not caring if I was really late, pretending I had hiccups in Math and needed a drink, so I could walk the halls avoiding breaking down word problems and waving through the classroom door windows to my friends, or writing just good enough in English class so I would get basketball approved grades, but not good enough so that I had to read in front of the class itself,  kind of way, but in that, there was an assigned start time, designated end time for all things appointed important, kind of way.

The day broken down in segments, 20 minutes for morning coffee, followed by 40 minutes for house cleaning, 10 minutes to load the washer, 15 for a snack break, and each day represented by 'specials' such as grocery store runs, play dates, floor scrubbing, hikes, product making, and Target trips.

I know, if I were to implement it into my days now, I would hate it, fight against it, probably write a poem about running up steps made of clouds, that I would later burn, and end up rebelling against myself …

More than likely jig doing the laundry and sneak myself through a window that was too high from the ground for it to be smart to go through, but low enough to the ground that the reality of serious harm would be little….

Aaaaaah the good ol' day of overly emotionally driven justified acts of rebellion…

Anyways, as I was saying, lately I've been envy of the idea of such consistent structure to a schedule …. to a point…

I know everyone struggles with the battle of "finding time for it all" and I know the only reason I'm even craving it so badly right now is because I feel like the jerk brake drivers. You know the ones, when they hit the gas too hard to go and the brake just as hard to stop.

One day, I'm balls to the wall, I want it all, the world is mine, yet under stimulated.
The next, I want to eat endless pasta, watch mindless TV, take on little responsibly, remain under driven.

I don't like it.
It's not me.
People tell me to relax.
In my head I yell back, "you relax!"
Which makes me laugh to myself.
I feel better.

I don't even feel like I've started this year yet…just a bunch of false starts… finally got myself a 2014 calendar, just today, I started filling in the dates with obligations and forming the outline of how this year will hopefully be spent.

It's a start.

It will help get my butt up and head grounded, which falls right in line with my self reminder of 'the worse I avoid doing something, the more that something really needs to be done'…

Plus, it turns out faking hiccups doesn't seem to get me out of much these days.

Dear 2013,

**some not so nice words used below**
**I could have used worse**

I've been sitting here for the last 15 minutes, typing, erasing, re-typing, only to erase again.

Awhile back, I read a quote that said, "what you write, before you edit, is what you really mean to say". I've thought about that a lot… like a lot, a lot… I've worked it around my brain quite a bit… from a lot of different angles of interpretation, to how many places this could be implied, and to in how many situations utilized… I wondered if when other people read the same words as I did, would they give it as much thought as I have...

But I've digressed from what I'm really trying to say, what I'm trying to get around to, all the 'type, erasing, re-typing' I've been doing, it didn't play to your favor for me not to edit… and I edit after I write, because I don't like to offend, I don't like to make people feel less than, I don't point weaknesses out, and more importantly I want to be nice….

But I see no other way, to move from where I am, to where I need to be without frankly saying….

2013, you were a piss wagon bitch hat…. one I wouldn't feel the least bit guilty about punching in the boob.

You challenged me, you made me grin, you made me bare, you made me questions if I was even the same person I thought I was when we first met… {answer: I'm not}…. you gave me guilt over things I couldn't control, and you gave me no control over all that I was feeling guilty about.

It was offensive, you made me feel less than, more than exposed my weaknesses, you weren't nice.

But with all this, I worked so hard to take in stride and you knew I would..…  you knew I would put those big girl pants on, you knew I would take it for what it was, head strong, carry on.

You knew I would find the silver lining, you knew I would suck it up a lot, complain about it a little. You knew my defiant nature would not allow many tears to be shed on your watch.

Right here feels about where I should turn this into a 'what doesn't kill you makes you strong' post or a 'look who's got the last laugh now' rallied write, but I'm not going to do that, I can't do that. I'd only be saying it for others if I did. I need to start healing from you and on the first day of 2014 is where I plan to start.

We both know I am not stronger at the end of your reign, 2013, than I was at the beginning of it…. in fact, I am very much weaker…. mentally, physically, emotionally and energetically.

You have however, focused me to get back to what my personal best can be.

Mentally, I often compare myself to a broken pencil that's been put back together with tape… Whole in form, but not in fibers.

I'm at my weakest weak… I am under no illusion that I will even be back to my strongest strong… but I'll be strong again, nonetheless.

My core has premaritally softened in some ways, hardened in others, but that's ok…. I'm here and working back to healthy.

I haven't found my resolve with you yet, but I'm sure I will…in time… I'm not a grudge holder and besides, I have a really horrid memory for the finer details in the depth of bad…

I'd like to think 2014 will be the edit to what you had to write in 2013, but I don't think that quote would really apply to this situation now would it… because if that were the case, that would mean you were a down right rotten whore… and that's just not nice, now is it.


Sincerely,
Sam

Tuesday: From Good To Bad and Back Again?

The last two weeks, have had that 'back to school' vibe for me. I know it's because there has been a welcomed lull in the appointment juggling, kid tending line up, and being able to actually stay home, for more than a few days in a row.

It feels so good…. it feels nice… it feels so normal.

This morning, I breathed deep the dark, comfy feeling, the house offered. I could have easily throw the words, "perfect start" out there without haste, I did flirt with them a bit subconsciously in my head.

I should know by now, how such complete acceptance of a momentary content feelings often just foreshadows a smug downward spiral.

It was so nice to have a moment to myself, things were quiet, things were calm, things changed, quick like...

Because then, the kids needed to be woken… then re-woken, woken up again, only to have had their rooms marched with threats flying, to be woken finally for this Tuesday.

Calvin's first fit of the day came from me saying, "hash brown and apple" for breakfast to him hearing, "muffins and bacon"…. expectations like that, are hard to come back from… commence freak out.

The boys fought over the shared space between the two sinks in the bathroom, resulting in elder son, smearing his used tooth brush on youngest son's face…. Calvin's second freak out, fits nicely right here… rightfully.

Keeping your own hands, in your own personal space, is apparently harder than you would think.

I was informed about a 'letter M & S show and tell" themed day, a heart beat moment after I stood in the kitchen with hands above my head yelling, "are the expectations of our morning routine so different from day to day, that I have to remind you to even put.your.shoes.on!!"

I can yell loud.
Wesley rolled his eyes.
I woke the sleeping Beanie.
She was pissed.

I scurried to find not too big, not too small, kindergarten appropriate letter themed objects.
I realized I stuffed two 'M's into Calvin's book bag, not an 'M & S'
I'm not above letting the teacher assume this was the 5 year old's error.

The van's back buckle was locked and my aggressive throwing open of the driver's side door, not only didn't help the buckle unlatch, but caused a swing back force, quick enough to punch my knee.

I swore.
The boys exchanged looks.
Found common ground with each other.
They stifled giggles.

The air in the van, on the ride to school, was filled with my silent agitation.
Wesley scream "WATCH OUT! ….. That crow is up ahead in the road…."
In a jerked response to the panicked urgency of the first two words, I spilled my coffee on my lap and bit my tongue back, so I wouldn't bit his head off.

A sleepy, cranky, woken up, Josephine wouldn't move her feet, for Calvin to get out of the van.
She cried when the boys didn't kiss her good-bye.
She typically cries, because they do kiss her good-bye.

They didn't shut their doors after getting out.
I had no shoes on.
The ground has frost.

Right now, I'm on my last cup of coffee, only because the pot has poured the last of it's first brew.

I'm thinking about making another. 

Josephine, much like her Mumma, has had her crankiness taken care of with two helpings of Pumpkin Spiced English muffins {thank you Liz for turning us on to these}.

At least until lunch.

I have intentions of working out the kinks of the drastic turn of this day, but funneling it into productivity.

The back to school vibes has depleted.

We are very much into the throws. 

We are very much back into our normal. 

I have hopes that the yin of a good morning turned bad, has to be yanged by a rough start turned to smooth ending.

I'm an optimist like that.

Houston: We Have A Grounding.

I wouldn't consider myself 'the fun mom' but I'm fully confident when I say that the kids certainly got stuck with a set of parents who could easily be tossed into the 'kids at heart' category.

Nate's the first to initiate any food fights, I can't resist a good game of tag, and I don't know if there has been a slip and slide, we haven't used the authority of being an adult, to take the first runs down.

I may have a secret stash of glow sticks for bon fire nights and there is always a can of silly string for emergencies.

With that said, I think the kids could easily plead a strong case of having been stuck with a set of parents who could easily be tossed into the 'strict and stern' category.

Simply, we have rules and expectations of behavior for our kids, that involve respect, kindness, fair play, and manners.

I understand finding who you want to be is within the layers of the boundaries you push and I would be disappointed if the kids didn't feel it was important to challenge them. But I also understand my roll as a parents is being consistent with my follow through when these limits are inevitably crossed.

Which brings me to the point of this whole post: Wesley's current grounding.
This isn't his first rodeo with being grounded as punishment, but it is the exact same behavior that has gotten him thrown in this arena, every time.

Sneaking screen time.
Though this time around, I'm a bit conflicted, because he was sneaking …… reading.
That's right, he was hiding under his blankets, reading a book, "he just can't stop {himself} from reading, because it's so good."

If I said I was unhappy I had a kid who snuck book time, that would be a lie. The fact that he loves to read, thrills me.

BUT, I saw him grab the kindle from my night stand, knew the weekend had already been full of late nights and told him it was too late for reading, sleep was the name of the game. I knew he was going to read, the minute he descended the stairs to his room… 10 year olds are predictable like that… and he did…

This is his 4th offense of hiding under his covers in his room, sneaking whatever screen he is able to get away with lighting up… he's a tech addict… I get it… I support it… I allow plenty of it to be indulged in throughout the day time hours… but the guidelines were set… I told him no… he chose to do it anyways… my hands were tied… my follow through was necessary.

And for the next 5 days, this is what I'm left with ….

A 10 year old, sprawling himself across any area, I'm occupying, heavily sighing, dramatically declaring his unhappiness and boredom for life in general.

You would think, giving him this gift of time, would be more appreciated than it is... seeing as he has all the time in the world to burry himself in that 'must read' of his…

Apparently, reading isn't as appealing to him unless it's taboo, so he's got another day worth of wallow, then I'll have to address this as well with chore delegations, which he'll hate even more…

but being grounded isn't suppose to be fun and what I feel is good parenting, not always fun.

Friday's Last{!!} Chemo Weak

Friday afternoon, I lay in bed, looking at the remote just half a stretch across the bed from me. I really didn't want to watch TV, but it just seemed liked it should be on for some reason.

Maybe I thought the house was too quiet, maybe I thought its distraction would perk my spirit, maybe it's because I felt like I needed to do something and this was all I felt I could muster.

Though I don't know what my motivation was for turning on the TV, I do know, I was offended by the effort that stupid remote, was asking me to make, simply to get to it.

I had a flash of thought about crying…. over a remote… that I didn't even want….

I'd like to say I recognized the craziness in this situation, snapped out of my melodramatic state of mind, hopped right up, popped that TV screen on, and indulged freely into the mindlessness of all that day time TV has to offer, while laughing at my previous self, through mouthfuls of extra salted popcorn.

I'd like to say this… but I can't… unfortunately, I continued to lay there… glaring at the remote, making no attempt to stop the negative thoughts from snowballing into more…

And let me tell you, those thoughts snowballed… avalanche style.

I beat myself up for committing to so much in life…
I laughed at the ignorance of everyone who thought I was strong enough to handle this life's challenge…
I wallowed in my inability to mind over matter 'it', this time around…
I brought to the surface, every disappointment I've felt in others...
I brought to the surface, every disappointment I've felt in myself...
I resented the thought of others taking advantage of Friday's beautiful, sunny offering
I resented the thought of others not taking advantage of Friday's beautiful, sunny offering
I told myself I was pathetic and lame
I had displaced anger
I feel asleep

I didn't wake up feeling better, but I woke up feeling less bad.
And like every chemo weekend before, the more hours that went by, the more myself I felt.

This Sunday morning, I'm back to me.
Though I can't say my present self is impressed I allowed my Chemo myself to be consumed as I did, I think it was almost necessary, for me to have been.

I know I'm not as weak as the person I was Friday.
But I also I know it's important for me to recognize, I'm not as strong as the person I was a year ago Friday either.

As much as I want to ignore the idea that I've been weakened through out this past year, last Friday's unexpected remote rage, proves I have.

But, I'm also certain that from this resolved weak, will also come an unexpected sort of strength.

Saturday Morning Stream of Consciousness

Right now, I'm sitting in a still house, drinking coffee, with Pumpkin Spice creamer…. it's delicious.

It's going to be a beautiful day. One that we will be able to spend as a family, all five of us.

Having a day, with all 5 of us together, is rare… sure we spend plenty of time together, but that's typically in the trenches of daily routine, the hustle of the day.

I so badly want to write a post that has nothing to do with cancer. I can feel this hollow pit in my chest, that wants to write, it's a feeling that keep growing in it's intensity, much like… well... cancer… {har har har}… whether it be about the boring, mundane, details of the day… or something more emotional.. I just want to write, creatively.

But, if there is one thing I know about the release of writing is that it can't come forced.
The fact that I haven't written for so long doesn't help either.
The topic has bottle nosed itself, now hasn't it.
Though our day-to-days no longer revolve around the mayhem of the diagnosis, a lot of the unprocessed feelings do.

So I'm working my way, back into hopefully an increase of frequency of writing.
Starting with exposing the pinball like pattern of my random thought….

Like, how Wesley has decided to play the trumpet, which I'm really excited about. It makes me feel like such a mom, signing off on the school's band paper.

About how I only have one chemo left …. and although the hair loss has never been an insecurity of my own or anything to do with the driving force of the decision of why I buzzed my hair so early in the game, I wouldn't mind, if the bits of fuzz, I do have remaining on this head, held on for 3 more week.

Only flicker on the thought that people's actions have proven yet again, to speak louder than their words.

Indulge in the projected thought of all the football food I'm going to plow into my face hole, come tomorrow afternoon.

Acknowledge the fact that I really should use this day, to get the outside, 'winter ready' as the streaks of snow start to appear in the Mountain's crevasse…

… and now that my family has started to flock from their rooms, with crusted eyes and still half a sleep staggered walks. Their demands of juice are high and requests for cartoons are being made.

I need more coffee.

How I had been craving corn beef hash, until I actually bought some and haven't had a thought about it since…. until now.

But most importantly, it's going to be a beautiful day.

Happy Saturday.

Chemo's Half Way Mark: Now, Just That Far Again

Last night, I woke up around 2:00 am and couldn't fall back to sleep. In the time between unknowingly slipping into the world of dream, I had written a blog post in my head. I write often in my head, but can never remember any of it after it's mental publication.

I'm satisfied just the same, but the therapeutic process, but wouldn't mind having such an effortless flow, with blogger opened and the "new post' page pulled up, because there were good things streaming. And in time, they will be addressed again, it would just be much more convenient for me, if they would resurface at this very moment.

I'm in a weird state right now… I'm at my half way mark of chemo and the doctor has adjusted one of my med, in hopes to not make me feel so poorly… let me just stop right here and draw attention to the fact that I just put together the words, "in hopes to not make me feel so poorly" … apparently this adjustment of medication has also turned me into sounding like an 1800's century proper bitty….

What I'm really trying to say is, I'm feeling good about only feeling this bad. Don't get me wrong, this bad, isn't that much fun either, but it seems to be lacking that underlining tone of panic that would creep into my chest when I would think about having to do it again … and again…. and again… and then again.

Right now, I'm still laid up in bed, missing my babies, surrounded by empty milkshake containers, Advil on standby for a head that is aware of any increase of it's ache, and have every inch of my body covered with multiple layers, to ward off this unshakable coldness that some how still produces an impressive amount of sweat. But unlike the times before, the "ride the wave" mentality is followed by a tide of confidence that maybe I just might not break, after all.

Everyone has been focused on this last treatment, marking the half way point, a small victory in a hard battle. I have been focusing on finishing this round's treatment, before even allowing myself to feel that satisfaction of only having to go this far, that far again, {with radiation's path still looming} but even now, I'm just feeling good, about feel better, when I've been prepared to feel so much worse.

I'm not foolish enough to think that tomorrow my tune may change and when my moment of weak hits, I very well may shake my first at the false promise of today, because there is a lot I hate about all of this and those are areas that will need their therapeutic addressing as well.

Let's just hope for reflective purpose's sake, it's one that avoids the wee-hours of being mentally published.

Now, I nap.

Dear Josephine, {3 years old}

You've been three now for almost 2 month, this letter is a little late coming. I know, by the time you're old enough to read this, it wont matter how much time has passed between your birthday and now, but what will matter the most, is that it has been written.

If there is one thing I'm learning, it is that it doesn't matter when things get done, just that they do, because regret will only be found, in the un-did, when it comes to something like this.

Things this year have been unstructured and despite you being so young, I'm continuously driven by your spirit, within it all.

You're a combination of beautifully bossy and a charismatic spit fire. Daddy is quick to remind me how you get your stubbornness from me.. and you do… but I love it.

Stubbornness isn't a flaw, it's a force…and between you and me, that's what makes your father so nervous, he already knows at three year's old, you hold the world in the palm of your hands…. and as your parents, its the most brilliant kind of scary.

As for me, there is an unexpected parenting pressure, having a girl.
Out of all the three, you challenge me the most, on levels I'm thankful for you provoking growth.
I sometimes worry if I'm leading you best, but at the same time know, I'm doing good, in raising you right.

At three, you love your princesses and the color pink. Bossing your brothers and loving them more. You're independent and certain, reserved and kind. How you got to be so girly, so young, with your love of walking in heels, playing dress-up and applying make-up, I will never know and never take the time to further question.

You make our family, better.
You make our family, whole.

I love you,

Mumma

Chemo Eve's Weak

The fact that my conscious efforts of quality controlling the chemicals, preservatives, and GMO's that I let my body process, soak in, or come in contact with, is now being countered by the direct injections of the mac-daddy of all chemically generated poisons, has not gone unnoticed in the humor department, Irony… it has not gone unnoticed, in.the.least.

Tomorrow, I go in for my second sitting of chemo treatments.

As soon as any hesitation start to creep up, when thinking about it, my natural glass half full reflex coaches me to think how great it will be to have another treatment under belt…. how one more down, means one less to do… charging into the fire, is waaaaaay more satisfying than fearing it's flames.

I've always prided myself on my ability to mind over matter things. I can grin and bare with the best of them and I'm stubborn enough to pressing forward the hardest, when I feel like giving up the most.

Weak isn't something I show easily and rarely admitted to being.

Chemo is pointing out my weaknesses, ten fold.

Bottom line.
I just don't want to do it again.

I've never in my life experienced a flight response to a situation before, but the idea of running like hell from tomorrow, seems like a pretty great idea at this moment in time.

I've been overwhelmed and continually humbled by the amount of support my family and I have received.

People are caring, people are loving, people are good.

This pothole of weakness isn't something I hope to stumble upon frequently, but know it will be unavoidable at times along this journey. And like tonight, it's within the words of encouragement, kindness, and support that I find myself jumping in, to catch me during this moment of vaulnrability, hopefully rally any strength, during the times I find my knees quivering amongst this burdened weight. 

I know, when the alarm sounds in the morning, like a corner bell, I'll emerge from the pocket, in a fighter's stance, but tonight, tomorrow can take its sweet ass time coming.

"The" Goodnyou? Blog Post

For someone who is very 'out there' in the forms of social media, I also hold certain aspects of my life close to my chest. I not only like to control the information that gets thrown out into the world outside of this house's four walls, but that what I do release, isn't carelessly released in a haste of negative energy… This case, is not exempt.

After the whirl wind weeks we've had, the emotional ups and down within the unknown of the day to days, countless conversation, with the ones we love, laced with tears, anger, laughter, and drive, we're now at the point in our family's process to trump the mill of rumors and rest at ease the small town hear-say.

Though I played the "it's just a broken collar bone" roll, appeasing the curiosity of those who need not waste in the worry, this week, after many hoops jumped, I was officially diagnosed with Hodgkin's Lymphoma.

Lets stop right here for a minute and let me just say…  I don't want this information, displayed in this little space of mine, to flock the drama seekers… I don't want my door kicked down by a bunch cancer fighting rallied warriors… I don't want a flood of meat and cheese platters, despite my love of all sodium packed deli products...

What I do want... is for this place to be an area of escape from the schedules and appointment, chemo and needles… I want Goodnyou? to provide the kind of therapy, writing has always given me…I want to be able to love the day fiercely ...  I want to be able to not like life at all… I want to stomping my feet and screaming "it's not fair" … I want to show my fears and embrace my struggles….

It feels like we've already been walking for miles, though we know we've just barely settled our footing on this newly foraged path. I'm ready for the triumphs and prepared for the challenges that will push me to the limits, only grow me in the areas I unknowingly need it the most, along the way.

Dear Calvin, {5 year's old}

You turned 5 years old, less than a month ago. Right now, you're sleeping in your bed after the second night of my "you're old enough to go to bed awake, rather than having Daddy, hauling you from the couch after you've fallen asleep watching Sponge Bob" approach.

Life's been crazy lately. I'm sorry if it feels like the memories of your birthday, have been shoved to the back burner, but the haven't.

I'm in one of those weird places were the reality is…. it's only been 20 days since you turned 5 years old, but it somehow feels like 20 weeks… sitting here on the couch, by myself, I feel confident enough to tell you that sometimes life is stupid… that's it… just stupid.

Fortunately, for all of life's stupidity, you counter with brilliance. That light that pours from your deep brown eyes, that smile that's just crooked enough to disarm to most guarded of hearts… it's good stuff, good good stuff… and I'm humble enough to realize how lucky I am to be exposed to it, daily.

Since May 20th, I've had running through my head, the exact things that I wanted to construct for your Dear Calvin: you're 5 years old post… How I watch you play, at random times through the day and envying your innocent… How my chest sometimes gets this tightness when I think about how, after this summer, you're going to be gone to school for more day than you'll be home… I think about how selfish I am, for not wanting to share you with this world, but at the same time proud, when I watch others helpless drawn to your gentleness…  How you're mischievous in the most genuinely curious way….

Over the last few weeks, these thought have effortless streamed in my thoughts, with a beautiful flow, but now I can't help but feel like I'm grasping at straws to string words together, in a coherent way…

Simply… You're a third of my world and we all know how lucky we are to get the chance to love you,

Food Fight {and not the fun kind}

Last night, I lost my cool with Wesley. Over the same thing, I always lose my temper on with him… food.

I don't mind he is particular with his food…. Through out the week, I typically ask him if he would like to try the red pepper I'm cutting, the kiwi I'm slicing, or the sauce I'm stirring.

Every time the answer it no… and that's ok.

I plan ahead, every meal, and make sure there is at least one item Wesley can satisfyingly eat.

Some nights, I serve him well with a full plate of the same meal, different presentation…. When making a {rest of the} family favorite, stir fry, I pull from the pan, salted {no peppered} pieces of cooked chicken, before adding other spices…I save a hand full of raw carrots, before sautéing them with the other veggies… and I put aside a bowl of rice, before topping it with the rest… Did I mention, none of this food can touch… preferable on different plates…. and need their own utensils to be eaten with?

I will not cook a completely different meal, but do encourage any leftovers to be heated up and always have the makings for peanut butter & jelly or non-sugared cereal, as a standby.

I also make sure to remind Wesley, that if he chooses to be limited in his food intake then he is also limited to food choices, outside this house, and he can not {and will not} expect others to cater to him.

He will not make a fuss about other's offerings, instead he will adapt and settle for the extra effort I go for him, by keeping a zip lock bag, in his locker, full of peanut butter crackers, incase of a last minute school lunch menu change or by throwing granola bars into his book bag, when he goes to a friends house, just incase.

And though at times it's annoying, when I forget and throw garlic in with the chicken and have to scrap it off every individual piece, before he notices or roast the broccoli too much that every piece has at least one crispy part of in… but I do it, none the less, with little more than just a heavy sign and the occasional eye roll.

Sometimes, like last night, when I'm just too tired to stay on top of my food game and can't put out more effort for his food fright… I bring the menu down to Wesley's preference… a basic, mundane, meal… and on these occasions, when I am meet with resistance, sulking, pouting, gagging, and a full on "woe is Wesley" mode, all because the chicken is cut differently than the way he prefers it, my trigger is tripped… quick… and it aint pretty.

Last night, I couldn't stop myself from yelling my frustrations. Cognitively, I knew I should step away and calm down, address it later, because I wasn't being beneficial to any part of the situation, but emotionally, I.could.not.stop. the frustration infused words from running out of my mouth.

It resulted as it always does… Wesley, running off to his room, slamming doors along the way. Me dramatically dumping the remaining food on his plate into the trash, unrealistically declaring to never prepare a meal in this house again, and exasperatingly throwing myself back down at the table in festering frustrations, mixed with a "you're the grown up here" guilt.  The other two, acted accordingly by dropping any inclinations of jumping on the "I don't want to eat" band wagon and licking their plates clean, with fear based verbal support at how delicious this meal really was.

Like every time before, when the dust settled, I apologized for my fired fuse and explained my frustrations at an age appropriate level…. I wish this could be summed up with a "next time I'll do better… from this I have learned" but I can't… well, I can, but it wouldn't be true… This pattern will cycle back, as it always does... with hopefully a lengthy durations of time in between.

It's Been A While…

I haven't written on the blog in a while… I wouldn't necessarily say it has been intentional, but I wouldn't way it been unintentional either.

We've just been busy in that "not sure how much longer we can keep this up, without having to sleep for 3.2 months straight" kinda way. It's been on the back of my mind, to jump on here, throw some pictures up and pin down some words.

The fact, that this is a place I like to escape, reflect, and gain perspective on all the things I'm too "in the moment" to do at the time, hasn't been easy to find the time to nestle myself into here.

I've realized, that if I force my time, into just writing to write, it defeats the whole purpose of my intention of starting this blog to being with…... With that said, the whole purpose of starting this blog, was to have a written recording of my family growing… so finding time is necessary.

I'm in the vicious cycle of struggles in finding time for all the stuff I've got to do and creating time for all the stuff I want to.

I'm relying heavy on the theory of, an object being in motion and staying in motion, when it comes to tending all the irons I've found myself casting into the fire…. and I'm looking forward, more than ever, to getting back and purging a bit of pent up life, soon.

Happy Monday!