the universe usually has something to say.

The Universe (or if you like, God, it’s the same thing, honest) - just as I was nearing the end of my rope this evening and feeling as if nothing was going quite right (it wasn’t wrong, it just wasn’t quite right) I found this in my inbox:

If the showerhead breaks and the toaster goes on the fritz, and you end up having to rinse off with the hose and munch on stale untoasted bread, count your blessings. Start with your baby.

See, now, this could mean many things. After all, my toaster is fine, my showerhead is functioning, I’m on a low-carb diet so bread is out of the question anyway. The bigger meaning here is counting my blessings and I get that. The baby part really hit home though. While it could be construed in a romantic sense, I’m applying it to the 19 month old, tantrum throwing, daddy wrangling, blue eyed, blonde, whirling dirvish that seems to run my life these days.

Sunday evening we try to have a family dinner. It’s the one of the couple of days a week that Mike is actually home for dinner. Tonight we decided to go out. It was a continuation of the “Doran Tour of Americana Cuisine” but that is an entirely different post.

I should pause to tell you that I’m very big on my kids thinking for themselves and developing their own opinions, but I do not, will not, and have no intention of bending on my demand for manners and etiquette at the table when we go out to eat. No elbows on the table, don’t chew with your mouth open, put your napkin in your lap, and don’t put your fingers in your plate. There are probably a few others but retribution for breaking them is swift and never without a warning “glare.” Continuing to break the rules can result in anything from a silent pinch to a swift kick under the table.

I am often complimented on how well behaved Ethan and Kate are. They’ve been trained. :o)

The third child is beginning to pose quite a challenge. Tonight she attempted to throw a tantrum at the table and tried to eat from her plate, like her favorite furry friends - the family dogs. I got a little tense, a little frustrated, and even more so with my husband who, instead of reacting to poor behavior appropriately, chose to indulge the baby so that she would quiet down. Which, of course, she did with a most knowing little grin.

Am I hearing a collective understanding sigh from the moms who are reading this now?

Truth is, I’ve been more than a little frustrated with my little “angel” today. From her insistence on dragging the broom around the house, to snatching things she shouldn’t have and running out of the room with them, launching herself face first into the floor when she is annoyed with someone, to just plain getting into anything and everything she possibly can. All perfectly normal for someone nearing the “terrible twos” but, needless to say, it does wear on the nerves.

Dinner was the final straw and when I saw my darling husband condoning ( “she’s ok, I’ve got her, she’s fine.”), defending (”she’s just a baby”) and complying (”here, what do you need? Do you want this? This? Maybe this?”) with our strong-willed, 19 month old… I wanted to bounce both of them across the floor, laugh loudly, and order a drink.

Instead, I finished the meal, got into the car and went to my happy place. You know, that special mommy fantasy of … oh, I don’t know… disappearing to a happy place where there are no kids to tap on you or pull on your clothes, where the laundry is always done, where no one under the age of 18 is allowed, where the drinks are cold and fruity, the men have six packs on their bodies instead of in their fridges, and a hot bubble bath is always waiting.

…………..
………………
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Oops. Sorry, I was fantasizing about a swedish massage at my happy place.

Anyway, the angel had been put to bed and I was relishing the silence and inwardly pouting over what a horrible day/evening it had been. I sat down to check my emails one final time before sliding into bed and drifting off to my special, happy place, when I came across my horoscope. Now, I don’t put a lot of stock into horoscopes, but I do believe that God does try to get messages through to you all the time and you just have to be sharp enough to pick up on them. Tonight, it hit me between the eyeballs:

If the showerhead breaks and the toaster goes on the fritz, and you end up having to rinse off with the hose and munch on stale untoasted bread, count your blessings. Start with your baby.

Oh, the baby that it took us 5 years to conceive? The baby sister my daughter had begged us for? The baby I wanted more than anything? That baby?!?!?!

Yep. That baby.

So, like any good mom, I’m going to go to sleep now and dream about my happy place. I’m going to wake up tomorrow with a renewed sense of motherhood and I’m going to do what I always do, my very best.

Wish me luck.

I call this photo - “Peace of Mind” ;o)

Related Tags: Baby, toddler, terrible twos, restaurants, etiquette, table manners, motherhood, swedish massage, grateful, thankful, husbands

Here we go back to pissy posting… sorry, but it’s bound to happen.

My BlogRoll has disappeared. If anyone has any advice on that one, I’d appreciate it. It’s irritating to say the least.

My email is down again too. If you’ve emailed and I haven’t responded… that’s why. Seems I can send out just fine, but email demons have apparently decided that I shouldn’t receive any… at all.

I’m honestly trying to remember (because I have misplaced my book) the passage in “The Game of Life and How To Play It” by Florence Scovel Shinn, where she talked about waiting for a very important phone call only to find that her phone had been out of service. It all ended well, but the point is that - when something is meant to be, no other sort of interference can prevent it from happening. I honestly try to live my life via the principals in that book as well as things written by Louise Hay.

The point, is that I’m supposed to be receiving a very important email tomorrow regarding the release (sale) of some new houses that are to be built. We fell in love with a certain floor plan… needless to say, if email demons are on the loose… I’m a little apprehensive.

I got involved with this when I read it on Scott-O-Rama.Com - it’s thought provoking and fun. It’s a meme, the “tagger” asks five questions of the “taggee,” and then the “taggee” ends the post with the instructions for how the meme works so that it propagates like any good meme is supposed to.

Since I found this on Scott-O-Rama.com - I asked Scott to interview me and these are the questions he came up with, enjoy!

1) You don’t have to say which one, but do you have a favorite child?

Of course! Unfortunately, which one is my favorite changes. There are times when I am extremely close to my son who is my only son. Then there are times I am very tight with my daughter who is my first daughter. Finally, there is the baby who is my pixie and with blue eyes like that, she’s my very favorite when she is asleep.

2) Were any of your children a surprise or “oops” pregnancy?

All three. Imagine that! I didn’t have trouble until I started trying for #3… it’s much harder to get pregnant on purpose than by accident. Boy, do I sound irresponsible now or what? We’re all done now and much more careful. ;o)

3) Do you think your hubbie participates enough in the child-rearing?

Absolutely. There are times when it feels as if he’s not there as much as I’d like, but 95% of the time, he’s right there in the trenches with me, if not physically - then definitely by cell phone.

4) Have you ever gotten into an argument with your husband even though you knew he was right?

Absolutely not… I’m not always right, but I’m never wrong. ;o)
(The truth? Probably… Do I remember? Nope. I’ve blocked it out.)

5) What would be worse, your kid announcing he/she’s gay, or that he/she is not going to go to college?

Good grief. Announcing that he/she is not going to college, duh! I couldn’t care less about the sexual orientation of any of my children. But not completing their education?!?!? That’s unacceptable.

Instructions:

1. If you want to participate, leave a comment below saying �Interview me.� (�Bite Me� or �Kiss My…� are not acceptable substitutes.) You must leave your blog address so I can think of good questions for you!

2. I will respond by asking you five questions - each person�s will be different. I�ll post the questions in the comments section of this post.

3. You will update your blog with the answers to the questions.

4. You will include this explanation and an offer to interview others in the same post.

5. When others comment asking to be interviewed, you will ask them five questions.

Had a wonderful lunch at my mom’s today. My cousin and her mom were over… my mom and her mother are ex-sister-in-laws (she was married to my mom’s brother). My mother’s brother is a psycho-nut-whack… but that’s a whole other story.

Anyway, there we were… two grandmas, two moms, and 5 kids, three of them mine. You get that much estrogen in a room and one subject will invariably come up, gynecologists. Seriously. You know it’s true. At some point, childbirth or obgyns come up.

So, my mother had a hysterectomy (hope she isn’t going to kill me for writing that, but come on, it’s 2005 we can talk about this stuff, right?) a few years ago. The doctor she went to, I think, is a jackass. He told me that Maggie was a fibroid tumor and not to get my hopes up that I was pregnant. I think someone like that is a jackass.

I also think men should NOT be allowed to be gynecologists… they don’t get what it is like to have female… uh… issues. At all. So, there is my political statement for the day, I am anti-male gynecologists.

My mom’s docter is very active in juvenile diabetes fundraising, etc. His son has juvenile diabetes, so he doesn’t do OB stuff, no deliveries, no prenatal. He just does annuals and hysterectomies. That’s neat and tidy, isn’t it? My mom said, he must have it pretty easy. I said, “Sure, if you have a problem he just takes it out. End of complaint.” My mom laughed and half-heartedly agreed.

My mom was still talking about her doctor with my cousin’s mom and I looked over at my cousin and said, “Look, the guy is a jackass, if you complain to much - he yanks your innerds (say it, it’s funny!) out.”

“Got PMS?” Ziiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiip! Uterus *gone* no problem.

“Hot flashes? We can fix that right up, give me two hours, you can have some morphine and I’ll see you in a couple of weeks.”

I’m thinking that his wife is a royal hag and he just has to make up for it by *fixing* the rest of us.

Boy, have I been pissy lately. I was just rereading my last few posts and none were all that nice. My apologies!

Well, we’re still in triple digit heat however, the weather girl (person, lady, gal?!?!) says that there is a lovely marine layer blowing in that is supposed to take us down to the high 90’s. Beggars can’t be choosers, I suppose, at least that’s what I’ve been told. I’ll take the high 90’s over triple digit heat any day.

Isn’t it strange how big the difference is between, oh say… 98 and 100? It’s 2 degrees but it feels like the difference between a warm glow and a blazing bonfire.

A couple of weeks ago we had the opportunity to get out of the heat for a few hours. We hopped in the truck with my husband to take a drive into the mountains so he could do an appraisal inspection for a house in Tehachapi… that’s pronounced “teh-haa-chuh-pee.”

I took a few pics and thought I would post them here…
This is just a view of the valley where the house Mike was appraising sits.
This is just a neat view of the mountain range. Although, for the record I used to live in Colorado and had the sheer joy of seeing Pike’s Peak every morning from my kitchen window. It was beyond gorgeous and none of the mountains here compare.

The landscape is dotted with loads of oak trees, I love them!

We’ve been shopping for a house for the past few months. It’s a frustrating endeavor to say the least. The original thought was to purchase a home that was already built, however, since property values have been rising steadily for well over a year now, it’s actually a better bargain to have a new house built than to purchase an older home someone is selling.

Unfortunately, it would seem that everyone else has come to the same conclusion as my oh-so-brilliant hubby (aka Mr. Real Estate Appraiser, thank you… I’ve got better names for him, none that are polite enough to list here though). So, there are lists and the competition is fierce, among the buyers that is. This means that instead of the usual polite, customer service you might get at any other time, the lovely agents who keep their tushes planted behind computers in plush, air conditioned offices, in the middle of beautiful model homes, really don’t have to do much other than wave to you as you wander through.

I was at a model home the other day, in fact, I was the ONLY person at the model home, and getting information out of the rep who was there was like pulling teeth on a patient with severe dental phobia. Look, I don’t expect to have my butt kissed, although it’s not that I don’t enjoy it from time to time. I do expect for someone to greet me, ask me if I have any questions, and when it is obvious that I’ve never had a new house built, I expect them to explain the process.

It’s not that I’m not giving anything in return, I do fill out their “prequalifying” application. This application gives them access to all of my personal, financial information. So, I’m certainly someone who is very serious (as a heart attack) about purchasing a new home. I think that answering my questions and “demystifying” the whole process is the least one of these sales reps could do…

Once I had wrangled all the information I possibly could from this rep, she tells me that they are on a lottery system. Truth is, I was absolutely IN LOVE with the floor plan (although, I was playing it cool) and when she said “lottery” my heart sunk. This means that you show up with checkbook in hand, on a Saturday around 9am, and you get a number, if your number is called you get to pick a lot and a floor plan. Hundreds of people could show up and with each number given out - your chances of getting called are getting smaller and smaller, especially since they are only drawing maybe 20 numbers per release. And, they only do a “release” once a month.

I’m fairly frustrated today because I called on a new “community” that is in development right in the part of town we want to move to. I was told that this would be an ideal time for me to get on the list because they are expecting a tidal wave this weekend when the models have their “grand opening.” Laa-tee-dah… I was told to bring all sorts of copies of financial information down to their office (again, another plush little office in a model home in a community that was now sold out). I spent an hour gathering all of the things they wanted, scanning them into my computer, printing them out, obtaining statements online and printing them out, bundling it together neatly and efficiently. I grabbed Maggie and Ethan (Kate is still vacationing at Nana’s) and we run out the door.

We arrived around 3pm, their office didn’t close until 6pm. I asked for the gentleman I had spoken to (who had been so warm and helpful on the phone) only to have him brush me off telling me that he was leaving right then to go out of town on vacation. Oh so professional. And, just how was this supposed to make me feel after he had told me there were only 70 people on the list ahead of us and to secure a position I needed to run right over… with all of my financial crap?!?!?!?!

He brushed me off onto some little size 2, pony-tailed twit, trying to do her best Courtney Cox-Arquette impression, running around the office barefoot. I filled out the application, handed them copies of my most personal, financial info - and then I had to actually ask for a brochure to see the floor plans (because, again, the models weren’t open yet) of the new houses I was trying to get on a @#%$$!!%@# friggin’ list for.

After going through all of this, I get into the car and start going over the floor plans - only to find that the plan we would want (that is within our price range) does NOT have a 4th bedroom option. We need 4 bedrooms. I don’t mean to sound like I am whining here, but I’m in a three bedroom now with two girls stacked up on each other and it is not pleasant. Four bedrooms are very, very common and one would expect to find a 4th bedroom in a 2400 sq. ft. house.

Ridiculous. I feel like I have just wasted an entire day…

The back-to-school ads are out in full-force. School is starting early this year… well, just a week early, but you’d think it was a month early with all the advertising out there. Truth is, these constant Target commercials are sounding the death knell for summer and going back to school in the middle of August is not a happy prospect. Somehow it just makes summer feel all that much shorter when “school this” and “school that” news is smacking you in the face every time you turn around.

We have had over 10 days straight of triple digit temps, I believe it’s been over 105 every day. There have been several deaths that have been attributed to the heat. It’s miserable outside and while we are normally used to a dry heat, this year the humidity is outrageous.

Kate has abandoned the family… she has been at my mom’s house for over a week now. Although she loves my mom, dearly, she also loves being in such close proximity to a pool. She’s a pretty logical kid. Ethan and I have chosen to become hermits, venturing out only for the occasional Starbuck’s fix. Which is logical too, because road rage has risen right along with the temps.

I notice that the hotter it is outside the grumpier people become. You don’t have to do much (not use a turn signal or use it a little too late) to completely piss people off. Horns are honking, fingers are flying… it’s ugly out there. And, to be honest, I’m not immune to road rage myself. So, it’s far better to stay inside… unless you really need a Starbuck’s fix.

But, I really think what makes people super grumpy is the prospect of returning back to the school year routine in this kind of heat. Heck, the thought of it royally pisses me off. While I like consistency, I can’t stand routines, specifically those attached to schedules. I think that’s a contradiction of some sort.

Remember when you were a kid and summer felt like forever? By the time school started it felt like you had lived two or three lifetimes. There were always big changes and huge events. Summer used to be filled with adventure, comedy, tragedy, drama, romances and vacations.

Friendships were made and broken over a summer vacation. Romances started and ended in just a matter of weeks. There were friends that I stayed in touch with over summer and then there were friends I only saw when school was in session. It was as if there were two very different worlds, the school world and the summer world.

My favorite summers were the summer between 7th and 8th grade - 8th grade and my freshman year of high school. I recall how much I loved my bedroom. No bedroom since has felt so wonderful. I had white sheers on my window that veiled the roses in the front yard. During the evening heavier drapes could be pulled across the sheers for privacy.

The bed was centered in the room with an antique quilt on it. On one wall was an antique deacon’s bench with a cute cushion on it. The room didn’t look like something out of a magazine, it was closer to the description of Anne’s room at Green Gables (Anne of Green Gables by L.M. Montgomery).

Sprawled across my bed I wrote poetry, read books, listened to music and chatted with my friends on a pink telephone. I had many a late night conversation on that phone over the summer.

I lived within walking distance to the mall (about a 5 minute walk). My friends would come over and we would walk to the mall for lunch or a coke and cookie at the cookie shop. One summer we went to pick out our bathing suits (a really big deal for any girl with youth and a blossoming figure - LOL). I had narrowed it down to two suits, one in lime green that my mom liked and the pink and black that I liked. A summer drama occurred when my friend made the decision for me, she bought the lime green bathing suit after telling me that she didn’t like it at all.

At that age fashion and shopping became a cut throat, stealth maneuver filled with more manipulations, strategies, and fibs then “The Donald” could ever cook up on “The Apprentice.” By the time I went into high school I was well versed in keeping my fall wardrobe to myself. No one saw it, no one shopped with me (other than my closest advisor - my mom), and I never told anyone where we shopped or IF we had gone shopping or not.

Now that my school days are far behind me and I don’t talk to any of the friends that I went to school with, the summer seems rather tame. In my house now I share a bedroom with a boy (my husband) and most of the mysteries of the opposite sex are no longer a mystery. Not that it’s such a bad thing. I don’t miss the angst, drama and anxiety.

My oldest is thirteen now, the same age I was during my favorite summers. But, he’s a boy and summer just isn’t quite the same for boys. In fact, if I had known then what I know now, I never would have given boys as much thought or credit as I did. Summer for boys is not the high drama that it was for me.

Kate, my daughter, is only ten and dramatic summers are still a couple of years away. Not that I am looking forward to them, because I’m sure she won’t listen to me anymore than I listened to my mom. LOL And, that’s ok. We all have to learn…

It’s funny how as we grow older we trade out one kind of magic for another? The childish mystery of Christmas is behind me now, but it has been replaced with creating that magic for my kids. And, that is wonderful. I’m not sure what kind of magic I have replaced the old summer magic with…

Perhaps I traded it for occasional pedicures, sleeping in, lazy mornings, watching cartoons with the kids, and weekend trips to the beach.

Sometimes it doesn’t seem like a fair trade. ;o)

It’s supposed to be 109 today… a miserable, blistering, unbearable 109. I really wanted to write something wonderful and witty, but my brain is horribly fried.

You know what you do when it’s 109 outside?

Nothing.

Nope, not even swimming. Why?

The water is WARM.

The heatwave is supposed to break this weekend and then the temps will be in the bearable high 90’s - joy of joys.

Until then we sit inside and occasionally peek through the windows where the world looks friendly, normal and sunny. In fact, once in a while the view from the window fools us and we step outside only to take a deep breath of blistering heat.

This is when I begin to hate summer.

The other day Maggie, Ethan and I were playing together. Maggie is 18 months old now and Ethan is thirteen years old. Ethan is so good with the baby that it is easily assumed he will make a wonderful father, some day far, far away.

I couldn’t resist asking Ethan how many children he wanted. He laughed at me and said, “Mom, guys don’t think about that kind of thing.” I said, “Really? Your dad said he always wanted three.”

“Well, I haven’t really thought about how many I want. But, I do know that when I have kids they won’t be allowed to play team sports.”

I was a little surprised, I hadn’t realized that Ethan felt that strongly about it. When I asked him why he said, “Team sports make kids conform. It teaches them to act just like everyone else. I want my kids to be themselves just like you let us be.”

I’m not a sports fan. Our family is not a sports family, I don’t think any of us even knew who was in the last super bowl. I don’t understand the mentality. I think the people who spend their time memorizing stats on players and teams are wasting it. I am actually embarrassed for the people who display huge team logos on the back of their vehicles.

My son is very athletic, but he’s not into football, baseball, or soccer. He spent a season and a half in Little League and decided it just wasn’t for him. He’s more interested in golf and archery. His first love is his guitar which has been a passion for over four years now.

I have been complimented for having children who think for themselves. I’ve also been told that children who think for themselves will cause trouble for you later on. Personally, I don’t agree with that. People who think outside the box bring change, most of the time for the better. I have no intention of raising “sheeple” because I firmly believe that there is nothing more dangerous than ignorance in mass. After all, if you don’t think for yourself someone else will be more than happy to do it for you.

In our short experience with Little League I saw nothing that appealed to me or made me believe that it was a worthwhile way for any of my children to spend their time. The parents were “foaming at the mouth” sports addicts who pushed their kids as if an ivy league scholarship was riding on every game, the kids would bash other kids on their team if they missed a ball, and heaven-forbid if you struck out. The coaches were even worse.

Now, don’t get me wrong, they had lovely rules that said that every kid had to bat at least once every game and things like that. But, let’s face it, there weren’t any women out there coaching which means that every coach out there was after just one thing and one thing only… to win, period. It’s a male thing, the testosterone is pounding, and let’s face it, it’s the ultimate strong obliterating the weak opportunity.

There’s only a sense of “team” if you win, and then it’s only if you were one of the people perceived to have helped the team win. Those feel good movies like, “Mighty Ducks” and “The Bad News Bears” are pipe dreams, plain and simple.

Conformity and competition are two of the most unhealthy lessons we can teach our children. I believe that when you teach a child to compete then you instill in them that for them to excel someone else must lose, that there is only a limited amount of good out there and they must “beat” someone else in order to obtain it.

I’d rather teach my child that there is such a thing as abundance and that we all have the ability to obtain whatever dream or goal we choose without having to make someone else “lose.”

I guess that makes me the “anti-soccer” mom. I’m really ok with that, after all, I’d rather raise three individuals who think for themselves and desire to go further than any “field goal” can take them.

Now, don’t get me wrong, I certainly am not for abolishing team sports. After all, that would put thousands of sports bars out of business, right? And, I obviously believe in supporting the entrepreneurial spirit.