Good Mother, Bad Mother

In case you didn’t know, motherhood is terrifying. To me, at least.

Due to the broken road Hub and I had traveled while trying to start a family, I was scared to death my entire pregnancy. Scared we’d lose this baby too – scared of when he’d arrive. I’d completely reconditioned myself to a life of childlessness. It almost felt as if I were being submitted to maliciously cruel stress tests. But in retrospect, it paled to what was to come.

Initially, I was completely terrified of Incrediboy, and bore crushing silent embarrassment for that. I was exhausted just by the thought of the tasks ahead, and nerve wracked beyond collection. When he cried, I’d fall apart. Hub had to handle much in the beginning – I couldn’t seem to get myself together. It was awful.

In short time the overpowering love and devotion came upon me. Of course you love your child, but it’s not uncommon to feel very detached at first. Sometimes it takes a while to absorb and adjust to the shell shock of parenting an infant, and truly emanate that from your heart and soul. Not too many sources warn you of that, and the self induced guilt if you are one who experiences this can be squelching.

Perhaps for some, it is - but for me, parenting was not instinctual. I had to learn things that everyone else just seemed to innately know. And ignorance is not bliss.

I have often been told that I’m a good mother. That I am so cool and relaxed, seemingly taking it all in stride, and that Incrediboy’s pleasant nature is an obvious reflection of this. But truthfully, I don’t feel like I have it together at all. I still worry and second-guess nearly every move I make. While other mothers exude confidence, I cower inside, questioning my choices even when I know they are sound. Am I doing right by my son? I crumble inside from the ocean of the love I feel for this little boy. I implode from wondering if I’m not doing enough, not being enough. I constantly battle the mindset that I am simply not worthy – that he deserves more than what I am. More than I could ever be. That maybe God made a mistake. Why has He placed such trust in me?

I know God doesn’t make mistakes. But it’s just the way I feel. I feel so shamefully underqualified.

Is this normal? Is this … right?

Please, please, please. Lord of the Universe, please replace my doubts with confidence and wisdom. And please please, please. Above all, please help me be the mother he deserves.

My Next Job

I saw a bumper sticker the other day that said, “Remember who you wanted to be”. Since then I’ve been amusing myself with that very activity.

When I was a kid I wanted to be the typical fare. Album cover artist. Astronomer. Rock star. Punk hairstylist. Jackhammer operator. Okay, maybe not all those are typical. But none are too exciting to think about for very long anymore. In short time I switched my thoughts to what would I do NOW, if I could do anything. Here are the top 3 dream jobs of mine, in no particular order.

Stormchaser. Yet another “Clew is a Nerd” fact: I’m obsessed with the weather. I consult my Weatherbug radar several times a day and even bought a clock radio with a NOAA band feature so I could keep tabs on exciting developments. Here's a secret, I once read a 600+ page casebook about unusual weather phenomena, just for fun. Shhh, don't tell anyone. Anyway - plain old rain is a drag, but I LOVE storms. Growling winds, dazzling lightning, chest rattling thunder, deep bruise colored clouds. Awesome forces of nature, just awesome. I can’t think of many scenarios more exciting than chasing thunderheads and funnels across the plains. If it weren’t for all that dang waiting around in between.

Medical Examiner. Remember that show “Quincy”? I loved that show. I was only 9 when that series started and my mom had serious doubts about her little girl’s normalcy, watching such a show. But I loved it. I still love forensics – not just CSI shows, but the real docudrama ones too. I love the whole piecing together what happened thing. I’d only want the neat and tidy cases, though. Nobody who’s already blackened and juicy with rot, please.

Movie critic. Honestly – doesn’t the world need a REAL PEOPLE’s movie critic? Someone with real world tastes, who will tell you like it is? Seriously, I’ll tell you when something’s really good or really stinks. Or if it stinks but is worth seeing for the great action or effects. When to save your money and when to really get excited. What’s truly funny and what truly just insults your intelligence. I think I’m the woman for that job. And no foppy Frenchy French foreign film reviews from me. Who sees subtitled movies in real life? Anyone? If I want to read, I’ll stay home with a book.

Are any of these too much to ask? I don’t think so. I'm preparing my resume now ... I'm sure I'm a shoe-in for any of these.

In My Head, I'm Already Gone

Lately, I haven't been myself. Not only have I been physically ill, but I've also had my feelings hurt a few times, am all-around pressed in my schedule and have been distracted in general. Hence, I'm found wanting for anything decent to post about this week.

It's times like these my little pea brain takes a mental vacation - usually into my own personal travel memories. Today is such a day.

In case you need ideas for your next big getaway, here are some suggestions of a few places I've been fortunate enough to experience. All are recipients of Clew's 5-Star Heaven on Earth Award. If you go, send me a postcard.



ARCHES NATIONAL PARK - Utah

You'll be hard pressed to find a more bizarrely breathtaking landscape. Surreal and saturating.




GLACIER NATIONAL PARK - Montana

Landscape so beautiful it will bring you to your knees. Absolutely stunning.





ST. LUCIA

The Polynesia of the Carribbean. Delicious.





ST. THOMAS, USVI

Yes, the colors really are this vibrant. Practically life sustaining.






VALLEY OF FIRE - Nevada

Blindingly beautiful red rocks on deep azure desert sky. Soul quenching.






YELLOWSTONE - Wyoming

So well known it's practically a cliche. But after three days there I could have stayed another month and not had enough.



Thank You God for this beautiful world I get to live in! Just knowing these places remain comforts me, as if reassuring me that I can and will one day return. At each I left a little piece of me, and my heart searches for these missing fragments as I revisit once more.

Having a great time - wish you were here!

I Been Illin'

Rule #1: If you make it through winter without being sick, don’t ever mention it aloud. Because the flu bug WILL find you if you do.

After a remarkably long-standing streak of good health (save a touch of a cold now and then, which doesn’t really count), I came down with the flu this weekend. And it was ugly. I can’t even remember the last time I threw up – I didn’t even throw up when I was pregnant. But I had a heck of a refresher course on Sunday!

I could barely even concentrate in church I felt so weird. I mean I was on the verge of passing out. On the drive home I started to feel really oogy, and then early afternoon it hit. You know those barf sessions where you’re in heaving convulsions, like a bronco in a rodeo, long after your guts are empty – the ones that make tears stream down your face and have you shaking like a leaf for 10 minutes after? That’s what I’m talking about.

Oy vey.

Yesterday I was able to keep food down but felt as if I’d been thrown down a rocky embankment. I was so achy, especially my back, that it was a chore to move.

Today I’m much better, thank you for asking. But now I’m buried. But since I haven’t posted in a while and may not be able to for another few days, I just wanted to say hi.

Hi!

Until next time … ~

In The Moment

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Inchworm, Inchworm,
Measuring the marigolds
Doing your arithmetic
You’ll probably go far …
Inchworm, Inchworm,
Measuring the marigolds
Seems to me you’d stop and see
How beautiful they are.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~


In his usual pattern, Incrediboy wanted to go out and play after dinner last night. I had a hundred chores and was not in the mood. But I sat the dishes and laundry aside for later and went out in the back yard with him.

I was distracted last night, with many things on my mind. I have a trip to my parents’ house to get to this weekend, which I really don’t have time for. I need to wrap up the books before the trip there too. My sister-in-law, soon to be sister-OUT-law, is having a birthday next week and I really should get a card to send her since she still remembers all of us and sends gifts at holiday time. I’m overdue for my annual exam and I still need to find a new doctor since my old one retired. MBDog loves to drink out of the nasty stagnant rainwater puddle by the woodpile despite the fact that he has ample fresh water in his bowl, and now has a case of diarrhea to show for it that doesn't seem to be going away on its own. I thought about when we can get him into the vet. I milled over items for the weekly grocery run. I constructed a list of tasks I needed to address at the office in the morning.

Things of that nature. Things that make just enough noise in your head that you get in an absorbed thought zone and miss the details of the moment.

I turned these thoughts around in my brain as I absentmindedly pushed Incrediboy on the swing and we ran around and threw hoops on the basketball court and checked out all the usual stops in our yard.

Then, as Incrediboy scaled the rungs of the slide, he stopped and said, “Oh, LOOK! A WEURM!” I snapped out of my mental agenda and looked at where his little finger indicated. He was pointing to a tiny inchworm – make that half-inch worm :) – making its way up the side of the ladder. It was no bigger around than a pine needle, and its smooth, bright green body stood out vibrantly against the weathered gray timber of the swing set. Upon closer examination, I could see a butter colored line down its back, flanked in inky black pinstripes so thin they were was barely visible. He was a cute little guy.

Incrediboy informed me that his name was Slimy.

We watched Slimy for a while. He’d scooch a few times, raise his front end and wave it about madly and then settle it down again before repeating the move. Incrediboy was delighted. I placed my finger in front of Slimy. He climbed on and traversed his way along the side of my hand. He was so light that I couldn’t even feel him. Incrediboy squealed and insisted we go show Daddy.

We took Slimy to the barn, where Daddy was busy building shelves. Daddy stopped to see and was duly impressed. Incrediboy beamed, lapis eyes shining with excitement. We all decided to put Slimy back where he was, so he could go home to his family.

The evening’s activities commenced as they had before, but thanks to our little inchworm friend, I had switched gears.

The spring breeze, almost sickening-sweet with honeysuckle, danced across our skin and through our hair. I breathed the delicious smell in deep, until I could feel it in my blood. I became aware of the feeling of the grass as I sat at the base of the slide for Incrediboy to leap upon me when he reached the bottom. Cool. Scratchy. Dotted with remnants of the morning’s gentle rain. The faint smell of damp earth beneath. I heard the lush leaves whisper overhead in the wind’s path. Leaves which hadn’t yet burst out only a week or so before. As I lay back in our backyard meadow in between slides, I watched the thin film of clouds over our heads. They swirled gently and delicately, as if God were idly stirring cream in His coffee cup. Birds danced and shrieked in the air overhead. I felt heat roll off of MBDog as he did a fly-by, chuffing like a steam engine.

Incrediboy grabbed my thumb and drug me off to his next point of interest. His little hands were both warm and cool at the same time. I hadn’t noticed that before. His laughter released a swarm of butterflies in my heart.

My concerns of earlier were far, far away. I was only in the moment. And it was a pretty amazing place to be.

Just call me 'Lefty Ruggiero'

I've decided to take my Moussaoui post down because it's been giving me a stroke just knowing it was here. I'll still say I hope he gets shanked in the yard. I'll also leave previous comments up just for posterity. :)

In attempt to avert my own death-by-aneurysm over gross injustice, I’ll share another thrilling anecdote from my life and times. Plus, in case I wind up dead, I want the following posted as a testimony.

Incrediboy is a very affectionate son and insists on giving me a kiss before bedtime. But I do not get just any kiss, mind you. He has taken to putting his hands on each side of my head, and then kissing one cheek, and then the other. Sometimes he’ll even plant one on my forehead, but always he’ll hit the right and left cheek.

We call this the Godfather's kiss. We have no idea where he got this from, as we don’t watch the namesake movies or Goodfellas or Donnie Brasco or the Sopranos or anything like that – at least not when he’s up. Which leads me to wonder, am I slated for a rub out? Am I about to be whacked?

If I suddenly stop posting, you’ll know what happened.

All So Simple

Bear with me, I do have a point.

For those still following along, I’m almost done with my grandma scrapbooks. I have 2 more layouts to do and then they’re done. DONE! And even a week ahead of the Mother’s Day deadline. Woohoo!

I’ve been a little distraught the past few days, though. There are three layouts in particular on my mind. One turned out great. I’m really pleased with it. Another I am equally thrilled with. Then there’s the one in between. I don’t like that one. Not at all, really. I’ve thought of redoing it, but I have no good ideas on how to do so. So it’s bugging the crap out of me. And the fact that it’s book-ended with (IMO) the two best layouts in the whole book makes it look even cruddier to me.

The cruddy layout consists of Halloween photos, which is a big part of the problem. Something about holiday layouts makes me have a right-brain hemorrhage. I despise doing them because I am not easily inspired within the confines of a theme, and they always look stupid and cheesy to me when I’m done. I don’t know why that is, but I simply suck at holiday layouts. SUCK.

Being the obsessive-compulsive over-analyst that I am, I’ve been thinking about this. I love my hobby and am normally bubbling over with layout creativity, yet perpetually struggle with holiday theme pages. Why is that? After countless stewings, I’ve come up with an idea.

It is said that art imitates life. And here is a prime example. I love holidays. I really do. They’re a hassle, but I love gathering with loved ones. Precious familial bonds are fortified and memories that will last a lifetime are forged during these celebrations. Best of all the Hub and I are reliving the joys of holiday enchantment through Incrediboy’s fresh eyes, and I wouldn’t want to miss any of them.

But when I look back on my memories of Incrediboy’s second year, what is it that first springs to the forefront as most endearing, for me?

It’s the little stuff. The every day, any day events that pop up and shine like a crystal shard for no particular reason other than that’s when they happened.

See, while I don’t mean to downgrade these wonderful childhood holiday memories in the making, it’s almost as if even the vignettes within are pre-categorized. Even the surprises of the holidays are within suit, and therefore, semi-expected. Shining moments, for me, are those that simply appear from nowhere. Random, unconnected, and unprovoked by the calendar. Discovering a big yellow garden spider in the window well. Noticing how different the warm rough concrete of the basketball court feels in comparison to the soft cool spring grass on little bare tootsies. Studying daisies and ladybugs. Petting the velvety nose of a horse. Playing stick and tag with boisterous but so gentle Most Beautiful Dog. Chasing the moon across a field. Learning how to blow dandelion fluff.

Holidays are nice, but the moments of ordinary contain the real magic for me. And clearly this reflects in my layouts.

My final two layouts are the birthday (intimidating in its holiday-like quality) and the back cover page, which needs to be conclusive in some way. But I'll not stress. In ending wisdom, I’ll keep in mind what my wonderful husband said to me this morning. As I fretted about the sub-par Halloween layout and wanting these scrapbooks for the Grandmas to be perfect in every way, he simply said, Honey, it doesn’t really matter if you don’t think they’re perfect. What matters is they will love them. And they will.

Sometimes you realize, it’s all so simple.

May 1, 1995

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

I have traveled the paths of desire
Gathering flowers and carrying fire
Raising a grave to the reasons behind me
Looking for strength as you live to remind me

I am crossing the bridges of sorrow
Empty with yearning and full of tomorrow
The river is high and the bridges are burning
I know I’ve been hurt but I keep on returning

I’m drawn to you ...
I’m caught in you ...

~ October Project

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Eleven years ago, my life changed forever.
Never will I doubt that Phoenixes do rise from the most desolate of ashes.
To the twelfth year of our journey. I love you, Hub.

Another Example of How Dumb I Am

The past few days my car has had a faint strange odor. It almost smelled like a sewer, but a little more roadkill-like than that. I was wondering if I accidentally ran over a carcass in the road and sprayed juice up under my car. With spring upon us, there are a lot of dead animals on the road now. But the smell wasn’t outside the car at all. It was definitely inside.

Last night, the Hub backed the car into the garage and notified me of the increasing offensiveness of this smell. I went out to sniff for myself, and the odor was indeed even more aggressive than it was during my commute home that day. I began to wonder if a critter of some sort finagled its way into the car and had died there. I went out with a flashlight and did a thorough investigation, hoping it hadn’t managed to get in between the door panels or something.

I pinpointed the strongest concentration of the stench to be in the hatchback. Then it dawned on me. I’d gone to the grocery store on Sunday night. I must have missed a bag with some sort of perishable in it.

There, slipped behind the cargo net, I found it. A lone grocery bag, overlooked and forgotten. Do you want to know what was in there?

I couldn’t have left a $2 package of hot dogs or a $4 package of hamburger behind. I’d left the steaks.

Porterhouses.

Two of them.

How on God’s green earth did I not notice that they were missing when I put everything away?

Footnote: I don’t think I’ll be eating steak for a while. (shudder)

Mommy is a Big Fat Jerk

If you're checking in to see if I'm back to my deep, inspiring, reflective musings posts, I'm sorry to disappoint you. Maybe tomorrow I'll be feeling inspirational, but ...

I feel like a big jacka$$ today.

As I’ve mentioned before, Incrediboy is battling a virus that has a really nasty accompanying cough. Mornings are especially rough for the coughing. Yesterday morning as we were getting ready to leave for our day, he coughed so hard he spit up slimy orange juice all over the carpet and his clothes. So we had to clean that whole mess up and get changed before we could leave. Late. Urgh.

This morning he coughed up a big phlegm puddle again just as we were heading out the door. I’m absolutely exhausted from waking up every time he coughed the last couple nights and the whole thing just set me off today. I wasn’t mad at him, just mad, ya know? I mean our coats were on and everything and now I have to clean up lung puke. AGAIN. I practically screamed a chain of pseudo explicatives (and probably a few real ones too *blush* ), which scared Incrediboy into a crying fit.

After the second consecutive morning mop up, we got loaded in the car and arrived at Grandma’s house. Incrediboy was pretty quiet on the trip there and when I reached into the back seat to unload him, he looked at me and said, “I threw up.” I looked him over and didn’t see anything, and so I deduced, “Oh, you threw up at home?” He said, “Yeah …” He looked up at me with big sad eyes and and added in a very meek voice, “I’m sorry.”

Geez. He was apologizing for something he couldn’t even help, no doubt because of the Tourette’s tantrum I threw. I feel absolutely horrible.

This follows a bedtime offering the most scintillating moment in my life, as Incrediboy looked up at me from his nest of blankies and sleeping companions, and said for the first time, “I love you, Mommy”.

I am SO hating myself today.