We moved to NC three weeks ago. The first two weeks were consumed with boxes. Not that there aren't boxes still, but they aren't floating around the house like icebergs.
Feeling pretty good about our progress, I decided to join a gym. No, we can't afford it, BUT they have FREE CHILDCARE which at this stage in my life with only one friend in the area and no family, free childcare is a huge bonus. So we joined.
Here's the thing with the opportunity to have my kids playing with someone else for two hours at a gym. I tend to over do it. I haven't left them in there for the full two hours yet, but it's been close.
In that time, I've managed to work out my hips and thighs to the point of not being able to put one foot in front of another. Not to mention that 45 minutes of ab work will most certainly keep you from being able to sit up for about a week. And those are muscles that you can't exactly stretch out. So getting out of bed in the morning is pretty much an exercise in will power. (Which it always has been but NOW I have an excuse.) Every single day, I have laid there trying to decide if my hips were well enough to roll over on or if my abs would consider letting me use them just this once to get up. What ensues has been an internal battle with myself.
First, I don't want to get up anyway, so any excuse to lay in bed longer is welcomed. Not to mention that at 5 years of age, one would think that the eldest could surely feed himself and the littliest one without my assistance, right?!
But then again, the thought of bending over to clean up the floor full of cereal and milk is almost more than my abs can bare.
Damn the free child care.
Friday, January 9, 2009
Thursday, January 8, 2009
Like the Tide, It Still Flows
I have always heard circumstances compared to 'the time and the tide' in that, it is inevitable and constant. There is no escape from either. These past few months, I have had to add grief to that list. It is expected as you know it is coming and unavoidable, but somehow it still manages to sneak up on you.
My mother passed on October 9th of this past year. It will be three months tomorrow. For years, I had imagined what it would feel like to loose her. Her health had been dramatically declining for some time now and we knew that she wouldn't last forever. We weren't given a time line such as those suffering from diseases are given. There was never a, "she's only got a few months left" conversation. It was always, "You have to stop trying to save her, Mrs. Davis. She's a product of years of bad decisions." Once I finally accepted it, life was a bit simpler. I knew she was going to be gone and it wouldn't be my fault, but I hadn't prepared myself for the grief.
Much like the time, it is always there. It lingers just below the surface and rears it's heartache at the most inopportune times. On occasion, I use it to measure the days, months and eventually I will measure the years since she's been gone. It will not stop to pay it's respect. No, this grief keeps on going. It ticks away much like Edgar Allen Poe's The Tell-Tale Heart. It tolls at me as I try to sleep, it gnaws at me while I sit in church, it uses it's partner, guilt, to eat away at so many happy moments. It will not quiet when I beg.
This grief has unimaginable depth. There is no bottom in this sea I float in. It will drown me if I let it. But I refuse. I paddle, just at the surface. Fighting with all I have to force it away, to keep it's tentacles from reaching my legs and pulling me under. I fight and will continue to fight for my family now. My children, my husband, my grandmother. They need me. I am their strength in all this. I cannot succumb to the grief.
Just when the times are good and I let my guard down, it rolls in. It is like the tide. I find myself building my castle in the sand, standing on my own independence just as it starts coming closer. I can measure it in each wave. I can see it creeping up. Closer and closer it comes. Each foamy wave creeping closer to my castle, forcing it's walls to weaken. I build my walls back as quickly as it eats away at them. Refusing to give in. Refusing to let this tide of grief take me with it. Eventually, my loss is inevitable. I recognize it in the grains of sand left on me as each wave retreats. I know it has left it's mark and my resistance is futile. Still refusing to give up, I retreat. I run to the dunes. My safety. My assurance that only on rare occasions will this tide reach me here. I am safe.
Until the next day.
My mother passed on October 9th of this past year. It will be three months tomorrow. For years, I had imagined what it would feel like to loose her. Her health had been dramatically declining for some time now and we knew that she wouldn't last forever. We weren't given a time line such as those suffering from diseases are given. There was never a, "she's only got a few months left" conversation. It was always, "You have to stop trying to save her, Mrs. Davis. She's a product of years of bad decisions." Once I finally accepted it, life was a bit simpler. I knew she was going to be gone and it wouldn't be my fault, but I hadn't prepared myself for the grief.
Much like the time, it is always there. It lingers just below the surface and rears it's heartache at the most inopportune times. On occasion, I use it to measure the days, months and eventually I will measure the years since she's been gone. It will not stop to pay it's respect. No, this grief keeps on going. It ticks away much like Edgar Allen Poe's The Tell-Tale Heart. It tolls at me as I try to sleep, it gnaws at me while I sit in church, it uses it's partner, guilt, to eat away at so many happy moments. It will not quiet when I beg.
This grief has unimaginable depth. There is no bottom in this sea I float in. It will drown me if I let it. But I refuse. I paddle, just at the surface. Fighting with all I have to force it away, to keep it's tentacles from reaching my legs and pulling me under. I fight and will continue to fight for my family now. My children, my husband, my grandmother. They need me. I am their strength in all this. I cannot succumb to the grief.
Just when the times are good and I let my guard down, it rolls in. It is like the tide. I find myself building my castle in the sand, standing on my own independence just as it starts coming closer. I can measure it in each wave. I can see it creeping up. Closer and closer it comes. Each foamy wave creeping closer to my castle, forcing it's walls to weaken. I build my walls back as quickly as it eats away at them. Refusing to give in. Refusing to let this tide of grief take me with it. Eventually, my loss is inevitable. I recognize it in the grains of sand left on me as each wave retreats. I know it has left it's mark and my resistance is futile. Still refusing to give up, I retreat. I run to the dunes. My safety. My assurance that only on rare occasions will this tide reach me here. I am safe.
Until the next day.
Tuesday, January 6, 2009
Saturday, December 20, 2008
Momma's Leavin' the House!
Okay, it's official. I'm going to BLISSDOM '09!!! My hubby agreed on the money and my dad is buying my room at the fancy-pants hotel in Nashvegas!
Oh yeah.
In honor of the occasion, I went and got six inches cut off my hair AND got high and low lights (what ever the hell those are)...
Now, if I can just apply lipstick correctly, I might be somebody!!!
(They won't be able to miss me. I'll be the one wearing the "I LoveMrsFussyPants" shirt and clomping in heels like I'm walking through a plowed field..cause that's how moms who are WAY out of practice act in public.)
Fingers crossed!
Oh yeah.
In honor of the occasion, I went and got six inches cut off my hair AND got high and low lights (what ever the hell those are)...
Now, if I can just apply lipstick correctly, I might be somebody!!!
(They won't be able to miss me. I'll be the one wearing the "I LoveMrsFussyPants" shirt and clomping in heels like I'm walking through a plowed field..cause that's how moms who are WAY out of practice act in public.)
Fingers crossed!
Friday, December 19, 2008
Seriously?!
It is finally sunny here and the 4-day fog has lifted! The possibility of getting the two two-leggers and one four-legger out of this house for some outside fun was almost too much to bear.
Out my bedroom window I could see the cute little girls playing at the park and the friendly mommies sitting and talking. Dying to be over there, I contemplated waking the littliest one just to get outside. But I held back, knowing his devil-like attitude when his nap gets cut short. (Oddly enough, I think he might get it from me...)
He finally wakes, we throw on shoes, leash the dog and head to the park! I've got on my adorable "Knoxville Girl" shirt, a gift I cherish, and my funky cowboy boots to complete the ensemble. Seriously, who wouldn't want to talk to me?!
Apparently the moms at the park. That's who.
Like a high school girl trying to make a good impression, I pushed the boys on the swings, chased them around the playground, loved on the dog, EVERYTHING! But got nothin'. Not even an acknowledgment. Nothing. I have been searching for these illusive SAHM's (suffer-at-home-moms) for a week now and just when I think I have them...my pit bulls attack.
They terrorize these little girls with their cops and robbers game until they run, screaming to their mommies complaining of the 'mean little boys' that keep trying to put them in jail. (They'd be lucky to be handcuffed by handsome boys, but whatever. They aren't good enough anyway.)
So I quickly make my leave with a, "Hey, boys! We haven't checked out the lake over there yet!" The cops and I make our getaway.
Determined to not let this day, or my cute outfit, go to waste, I decide a walk around the neighborhood would be a great idea!
Strike Two.
We grab their bikes (or police cars as they prefer) and hit the streets. They are doing their best siren impression and the dog is peeing on every. single. lawn. Yeah, welcome to the neighborhood Davis Family!
We make it one block. Exactly One Block before the eldest, whom I will refer to as "Beaunita" decides we are all going too fast. Right. I'm the one in cowboy boots here, give me a damn break. So we slow down. Two houses later, he decides it's too windy for him. He's not just fussing about the wind, oh no, he's outright screaming and crying about it.
Fine. I'm done.
Kids crying, dog howling, wind-blown hair covering my scowl, I stomp (in my not-so-cute-now) shoes back to the house.
And all I can think is...Where. Are. Their. Parents?!
Out my bedroom window I could see the cute little girls playing at the park and the friendly mommies sitting and talking. Dying to be over there, I contemplated waking the littliest one just to get outside. But I held back, knowing his devil-like attitude when his nap gets cut short. (Oddly enough, I think he might get it from me...)
He finally wakes, we throw on shoes, leash the dog and head to the park! I've got on my adorable "Knoxville Girl" shirt, a gift I cherish, and my funky cowboy boots to complete the ensemble. Seriously, who wouldn't want to talk to me?!
Apparently the moms at the park. That's who.
Like a high school girl trying to make a good impression, I pushed the boys on the swings, chased them around the playground, loved on the dog, EVERYTHING! But got nothin'. Not even an acknowledgment. Nothing. I have been searching for these illusive SAHM's (suffer-at-home-moms) for a week now and just when I think I have them...my pit bulls attack.
They terrorize these little girls with their cops and robbers game until they run, screaming to their mommies complaining of the 'mean little boys' that keep trying to put them in jail. (They'd be lucky to be handcuffed by handsome boys, but whatever. They aren't good enough anyway.)
So I quickly make my leave with a, "Hey, boys! We haven't checked out the lake over there yet!" The cops and I make our getaway.
Determined to not let this day, or my cute outfit, go to waste, I decide a walk around the neighborhood would be a great idea!
Strike Two.
We grab their bikes (or police cars as they prefer) and hit the streets. They are doing their best siren impression and the dog is peeing on every. single. lawn. Yeah, welcome to the neighborhood Davis Family!
We make it one block. Exactly One Block before the eldest, whom I will refer to as "Beaunita" decides we are all going too fast. Right. I'm the one in cowboy boots here, give me a damn break. So we slow down. Two houses later, he decides it's too windy for him. He's not just fussing about the wind, oh no, he's outright screaming and crying about it.
Fine. I'm done.
Kids crying, dog howling, wind-blown hair covering my scowl, I stomp (in my not-so-cute-now) shoes back to the house.
And all I can think is...Where. Are. Their. Parents?!
Thursday, December 18, 2008
Fat and Sassy in the New Pad
I had been working so hard to get back to my fighting weight. I was hitting the gym on a semi-regular basis (just being honest here) and eating better than before. I couldn't see any drastic improvement yet, but it does take time.
Then we moved.
Okay, even without the gym we all know exercises that we can do in our living room floors, if we are so inclined (which I haven't been yet). Certainly the 'eating healthy' bit shouldn't be affected by a move either, (but yet it is). But the proverbial 'straw that broke the camel's back' so to speak was the neighborhood. No, the proximity to Applebee's and Chick-Fil-A were not the burden, it's the neighbors.
One thing we failed to notice when scoping out the joint was that the home we purchased (okay, leased until the damn TN house sells) is on the road where all the retirees and dual-incomers live. I'm not sure exactly where they hide the SAHM's (Suffer-At-Home-Moms...or was it "Stay" at home mom...) Anyway, it's pretty quiet to say the least.
I had fully expected a not-so-warm welcome when I realized this geographic flaw in the move, but have been pleasantly surprised by the warm welcome we have received! Our first week in the house we have already received a home-cooked real Italian baked ziti complete with garlic bread (that didn't come out of the freezer), salad (that was chopped by hand) and homemade German chocolate cake. The next day we received a bag of Christmas cookies and a poinsettia. Today's pleasant surprise was a huge tin of cookies, candies, cakes and toffee! (The best part was that they remembered all our names - even the dog - and put it on the little card.)
However, in typical Davis Family Fashion, Beaux came out to thank the sweet, aging couple wearing only his spongebob underwear. They, more appropriately, were dressed in layers with fur-lined hoods. I'm sure you can see the scene unfolding...
The kid will probably have a hand-knit sweater next week.
Then we moved.
Okay, even without the gym we all know exercises that we can do in our living room floors, if we are so inclined (which I haven't been yet). Certainly the 'eating healthy' bit shouldn't be affected by a move either, (but yet it is). But the proverbial 'straw that broke the camel's back' so to speak was the neighborhood. No, the proximity to Applebee's and Chick-Fil-A were not the burden, it's the neighbors.
One thing we failed to notice when scoping out the joint was that the home we purchased (okay, leased until the damn TN house sells) is on the road where all the retirees and dual-incomers live. I'm not sure exactly where they hide the SAHM's (Suffer-At-Home-Moms...or was it "Stay" at home mom...) Anyway, it's pretty quiet to say the least.
I had fully expected a not-so-warm welcome when I realized this geographic flaw in the move, but have been pleasantly surprised by the warm welcome we have received! Our first week in the house we have already received a home-cooked real Italian baked ziti complete with garlic bread (that didn't come out of the freezer), salad (that was chopped by hand) and homemade German chocolate cake. The next day we received a bag of Christmas cookies and a poinsettia. Today's pleasant surprise was a huge tin of cookies, candies, cakes and toffee! (The best part was that they remembered all our names - even the dog - and put it on the little card.)
However, in typical Davis Family Fashion, Beaux came out to thank the sweet, aging couple wearing only his spongebob underwear. They, more appropriately, were dressed in layers with fur-lined hoods. I'm sure you can see the scene unfolding...
The kid will probably have a hand-knit sweater next week.
Wednesday, December 17, 2008
Someone's Gotta Learn
Beaux has somehow decided that I am going to work when he starts kindergarten. I'm not sure how this idea started, but I'm assuming it has something to do with his response every time someone asks what his mommy does, "She takes care of me." That's it. That's my primary focus in life. Honestly it makes me feel pretty good considering I don't spend as much time focusing on him as I should.
I digress...
Today we are in the car and he says, "Momma, why can't you teach me stuff so I don't have to go to school?"
Holy crap. Soooo not my game.
Me: "Well, honey. Um...mainly because I don't know what to teach you."
Beaux: "Well, I need to know my wetters, numbwers, and...hmmmm. OH, I need help painting cause I'm still getting it all over my fingwers."
Me: (giggling) "So, you can't paint too good huh?"
Beaux: Well, it isn't dat I can't paint good. I'm a good painter. I just get it everywhere. OH, and I need to wearn to cook too."
Me: (tears streaming down my face now and doing my best to hold back a gut-laugh) "Why do you think you need to learn how to cook?"
Beaux: "It would just be nice to know. Dats all."
Yeah, now I KNOW I can't teach him anything.
I digress...
Today we are in the car and he says, "Momma, why can't you teach me stuff so I don't have to go to school?"
Holy crap. Soooo not my game.
Me: "Well, honey. Um...mainly because I don't know what to teach you."
Beaux: "Well, I need to know my wetters, numbwers, and...hmmmm. OH, I need help painting cause I'm still getting it all over my fingwers."
Me: (giggling) "So, you can't paint too good huh?"
Beaux: Well, it isn't dat I can't paint good. I'm a good painter. I just get it everywhere. OH, and I need to wearn to cook too."
Me: (tears streaming down my face now and doing my best to hold back a gut-laugh) "Why do you think you need to learn how to cook?"
Beaux: "It would just be nice to know. Dats all."
Yeah, now I KNOW I can't teach him anything.
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