Young Love

This weekend we finished homemade Valentine's Day cards. I am not known for my craftiness, but somehow Gracie got in her head that she wanted to make her own cards. After Jace saw her put together a few he decided he wanted to make his too.

We didn't do anything Martha Stuart would take notice of, but the kids had fun. And that's the key for me. Basically I bought a bunch of stickers and had some card stock that Mary had given me years ago, like before we moved to Georgia-years ago. That means at least three years, but I'm glad I still had it. Saved money on having to buy more. Although we probably would have just used construction paper because we have a ton of that too, that also made the move with us from Washington. A friend there was cleaning out closets and gave me a stack at least a foot high...it's taking the kids a while to go through it! They did use some for their cards. They cut out hearts to go along with their stickers and any coloring or writing they felt inspired to do.

Gracie had me write "Happy Valentine's Day!" on each card. She signed her name and we took turns writing the names of her classmates. Originally I gave Jace a little more freedom, telling him he could just write "Happy Valentine's Day" or he could add a note inside if he wanted to. He had carefully organized himself to be sure he had enough blue and yellow hearts for the boys' cards and pink and purple hearts for the girls' cards, except for one special card. I'll tell you more about that in a minute.

So, after finishing a few cards he realized that he hadn't put a heart on one of the girls' cards. We went back through to find the heartless card. I found it. On the front it declared "You're a lucky African" and inside he'd written "Happy Valentine's Day, Jace." I was stunned. What the heck did that mean!? So I asked him. There are two children in Jace's class, Briana and Nicholas, that he constantly points out are African American. He's convinced that the Nicholas is actually from Africa, which he may be. I haven't met him. But, more likely, I think, he's born and raised here in Georgia. Jace doesn't buy it. He's always telling me that Nicholas will probably eat this or that because, in his mind, it's African food. (Jace has lot of theories about how our heritage defines us. Here you can learn about Indians, Native Americans or Native Indians I'm not certain.)

So I asked him what the card meant.

"She's lucky I'm giving her a card."

"Because she's African?"

"No, because she's mean."

"Does her being mean have anything to do with her being African?"

"No. She just doesn't like me."

"OK, then. First of all, we don't need to constantly point out people's ancestry, especially when it really has nothing to do with your point that she's mean. Secondly, this is a Valentine's Day card, which should be nice, even if Briana isn't nice to you. And if you don't have anything nice to say, simply write 'Happy Valentine's Day!' and sign your name."

"OK."

I don't remember if he shrugged, but I'm sure he did. Glad we talked about that.

Jace made Briana a new card, including her heart, not mentioning how lucky she is to get a card at all. Then he worked on the rest of his class's cards. He even made one very special card for Meredith, who's not in his class, but is his first little crush. Her card was adorned with a red heart, the only one he gave out. And he wrote her message in pink marker, instead of the joyful black he used for everyone else. Rather than sealing the envelope with a smiley face or dinosaur sticker like all the rest, Meredith's is closed with eight sparkling heart stickers.

What a holiday...turmoil over giving cards to those who don't like us and anticipation of giving cards to those we adore.

I can't believe how many more years I'm going to have to deal with this! Er, I mean...uh...isn't young love precious?

My New Trainer

I've always thought that having a personal trainer to kick my butt would really help me get in better shape. Well, I've found myself one...we'll see how it goes.

My new trainer comes to the house, or will go with me wherever I want to work out. I don't have to pay her in the traditional sense, so that's ideal too. (Being that we're still living with "if" it's important to keep pretty tight purse strings.) Even with all that's great about her, she's no slacker. She's tough. We just did our first workout and there was a lot of jumping...that'll get your heart going.

I decided I was going to ask her if she'd help me out a few days ago. I was watching the Colbert Report. This guy (John Durant) was on there talking about returning to our roots, our ancestry, in order to be a healthier people. What he said made sense to me and I'm looking into going all the way with The Primal Blueprint, by Mark Sisson. If I decide to take that leap, I'll be sure to let you know all about it on here. But I decided that making little changes would be a start...and God knows, I've got to start. I'm not getting any healthier sitting here.

So one of the things Mr. Durant had to say was that even if we don't look all the way back to cavemen...just look at kids. Their exercise isn't forced or holding a constant accelerated heart rate. It's chasing each other, wrestling, climbing, jumping, quick sprints, monkey bars...play. That's really when my light bulb went off. I don't really like to exercise. I like to play. And I've been missing playing with my kids. I've been "too tired" to get off my butt and frolic with them. I know...total BS. So, I decided to approach my new trainer.

On the way home from school yesterday I told the kids that I wanted to be healthier so I'd have more energy and be more fun. They thought that sounded good. I told them briefly about this guy I'd seen talking about how kids know how to play and somehow adults forget how.

"So, do you think you guys could help me remember how to play? How to run around and exercise my body just by having fun?"

Jace laughed. A lot.

Gracie eagerly said, "I can help you, Mama. I know all about how to play and I know some good exercises. I don't know why e-dults forget to play."

"I don't know, either, sweetie, but tomorrow we'll play and you can help me remember."

Jace laughed more.

So, Gracie is my new trainer. She played with me and showed me stretches and exercises and my heart was surely beating. And I was having fun...mostly because her smile was huge. What more can a mama ask for?

Tough Love For The Stubborn Monkey

Tyler has speech therapy twice a week. Miss Melanie brings big bags of toys and Tyler loves to play with them all. However, he doesn't necessarily like to sit down and work. In the past few weeks he'd gotten pretty used to getting up from my lap whenever he was being asked to say something he didn't want to and wandering off to play with something else in the living room. Or he'd cuddle against me with his thumb shoved in his mouth so he could say anything. Half the time he had a little smirk on his face letting us know he wasn't really tired or incapable, he just didn't want to participate.

Since last Friday I noticed Tyler talking a lot during his play.

"Go, go, go!"

"Woof, woof"

He's also become much more consistent with me. He always says the hard c when he wants his cup, "Cu...cu...cu." "O" for open. "Up, up," to get picked up or when climbing onto my lap on the couch.

And he was making more attempts to mimic all of us when we'd read with him or when his siblings would say play with him. He's even tried to say their names.

My favorite 'improvement' is his singing. We spend a lot of time in the van driving Jace and Gracie to and from school and listening to the radio. There are certain songs that he loves to sing...and it's adorable and fun for me!

So, on Wednesday Miss Melanie and I decided that Tyler needed to focus himself during speech therapy. She gives him stamps on his hands for doing a good job. In the past he'd gotten them regardless of how I thought he did. Wednesday he didn't get stamps. And today...he did fantastic! He tried to say everything she asked and succeeded at least half the time. The half he wasn't successful it was still obvious he was trying. I was amazed! Miss Melanie was excited too! Even Tyler seemed proud of himself and had so much fun!

We went through most of the toys Miss Melanie brought with her and showed her some of Tyler's favorites from home. He did so well, and obviously responds to tough love. He got his stamps and a hug!

If

We've all seen the Met Life commercials. We know what a big word "if" can be. Well, it's also a little word, one I'd stopped using it without even realizing.

Recently I was talking to someone about the kids and how darn smart they are. I was telling them about how we're trying to figure out what schools will be best for them when we move to Washington.

"When? As in you're definitely moving? Has something changed?"

Hello, reality.

No, nothing has changed. We still don't know for sure where the kids and I will be next year. I guess at some point I'd stopped saying "if we move" and starting saying "when." Maybe it's the power of positive thinking. Maybe it's just wishful thinking. Either way...nothing has changed. So I'm consciously returning to realistic thinking. If.

After I dropped Jace off at school yesterday morning Gracie asked if she'd be going to that school next year. I told her, "If we don't move to Washington, then yes, you'll be at the same school as Jace. If we do move you'll go to Kindergarten in Washington." If.

Scott has less than six weeks left at work. He'll have some down time here before he leaves for Connecticut. But we'd really like to turn "if" into "when" before he's on the road. The kids get out of school in four months. We'd really like to have "if" be "when" by then.

While we wait, though, we'll plan for if. Where's Lucy and her little lemonade stand when you need her? I have a nickel and could use her expertise!

Crazy-Making

I remember from Abnormal Psych that someone (I think Freud) had a theory that schizophrenia is developed because mother's make their kids crazy. By not being consistent in praise and punishment the child doesn't know what to do and just loses his grip on reality. I think I've mentioned before (I'd link to it but I'm not sure where I said it) that my dad, not a famous psychoanalyst, psychotherapist, or psycho-anything, has his own theory. He believes that insanity is inherited from your children.

My take? My kids are making me nuts, especially when it comes to food. On Sunday we had BBQ chicken. It wasn't Jace's favorite BBQ sauce, but it was acceptable and both he and Gracie ate it. Monday we figured out the grocery list for the week, which meant determining what Gracie and Jace would make for their meals on Tuesday and Friday. Gracie chose a pasta recipe, but of course there was no protein and definitely no vegetable. I suggested chicken and she agreed to the same BBQ chicken as Sunday night.

Now, in case you're not following...Tuesday is two days after Sunday. Sunday she ate the chicken and wanted more. Tuesday she didn't eat the chicken. It wasn't leftovers. It was baked the same way with the same BBQ sauce, still not Jace's favorite, but everyone ate it two days earlier. AAAHHHH!!!!

This happens all the time. Someone will eat peas on Monday but not on Thursday. Someone else will eat lasagna the first night but not leftovers a few days later. However, the person who didn't eat it the first night will want seconds of the leftovers. Broccoli used to be a favorite and now is a no-go. And when we do find something that everyone eats all on the same night I am ever-so-hopeful that I can carefully prepare the same meal once a week and it'll get eaten. That's never the case.

Even though they're working hard to make me lose my marbles, they do make me laugh sometimes too. The other night we had quesadillas. All three kids like to dip so we had sour cream, guacamole, and salsa to go with the cheesy delights. Gracie, who obviously watches too much Food Network with me, said, "Well, what a really like about your salsa (FYI-it came from a jar) is the taste. It has good flavor. But I don't like the tomatoes, peppers, or onions." Silly girl! She's not lying, though. She'll dip into the salsa and get the color and flavor all over her food, but she won't eat any of the chunks! (Shrug)

So, while I'm working on remaining calm and composed during meal time and meal planning, and especially when I'm cleaning off plates after dinner, don't be completely surprised if you find me in the loony bin some time in the future. Be sure to blame it on my kids based on Dad's theory, not on my mother!

Wife-Mom-Realtor?

Yesterday I called a friend, Cathy. I needed to hear her voice and get her reassurance. I've needed it for a while, she always makes me feel better and, right now, I'm stressed! But at the same time I know she's got a full plate too. In fact her plate might be overflowing at times. But yesterday the stars were aligned and her kids were taking extra long naps. Now she may have been taking that time to get something done in peace and quiet, but I don't really know because I didn't ask what I was interrupting, I just interrupted.

I didn't realize that I haven't even talked to her since we put the house on the market by owner. It's only been a month, but it feels like it's been so much longer. And when I told her how stressed it was making me she said, "Now, you're going to have to educate me, but I thought by owner meant you put a sign in the yard? Is there more to it?"

For a few seconds my dear friend rendered my speechless. I immediately wondered why I was so exhausted from putting a sign in the yard. There really wasn't much more to it. We'd posted in online too, but that doesn't take any spectacular show of energy.

I sighed, which I do a lot these days, and told her my mother-in-law had asked if there was a chance that I might be pregnant. Don't be too shocked. She's not the first to ask it or to think it. I, myself, wondered until I was sure I wasn't. Scott's gotten a vasectomy, but never gotten tested to see if all his swimmers are, in deed, running into a wall head first. We're not as nervous about that as some people think we should be, maybe because we have other things to worry about. But this is a whole other story. I'm not pregnant.

I told Cathy that I didn't know why I was so tired, but I did feel as tired as if I were pregnant, but I really just felt like it was stress related even though I didn't know why I was stressed, having only put a sign up to sell the house!

But then, as I kept telling her the story of our life lately, I realized there is more to selling by owner. I've been fielding all the calls and emails from interested buyers and renters. Thankfully, we've been getting lots of interest. However, half the calls are from people who flat out can't afford what we're asking them to pay, rent or purchase. (My little sister boldly pointed out that that's the circle of life...the people who can afford our place are off looking at places they can't afford!) The other half of those interested can almost afford it. Those people I've spent a great deal of time with and on.

I've worked out probably a dozen different rent to buy options for people who have decided, in the end, they aren't ready or can't do it right now. I've showed the house to four perspective families. I'm making follow up calls. I'm trying to sound friendly and not pushy, eager but not stalker-esque. My hopes have been raised and dashed time and time again over the past month. I am a strong woman, but this is beating me down. Hopefully one of these days someone will just say, "Yup, I'll take it!"

After figuring out that it was reasonable to feel tired out, even when not pregnant, Cathy did help me feel better. She's good like that. She even pointed out that not only is the house thing there to stress me out, but I'm still a wife and mom and I'm probably trying to make sure those things don't suffer too. She's right, but I don't think I'm doing the best I can in those areas. Cathy laughed at me and said, "What? You think there's something you could do better?"

I have to laugh now. But yesterday I answered confidently. "Yes. For example. I asked the kids what they wanted to have with leftover goulash for dinner tonight, green beans or baked beans. They, of course, said baked beans, but I half hoped they'd say green beans and surprise me with wanting a vegetable that's actually a vegetable. But they didn't. They picked the baked beans, which was actually what I wanted too because I don't like green beans either. But the better way to handle that would have been not to ask and just serve green beans even though only Scott and I would have eaten them."

Cathy laughed. "Really? That's what you could do better?"

After getting off the phone with her, and feeling like I'm not a complete failure, I served peas and baked beans. I know, a lot of starch, but I like peas and they're green. That's good, right?

So, long story short (trust me, I could have made it longer) I called a friend, cried on her shoulder, heaped her plate higher with my life, and feel better because of her. I'm still hoping I'll pick up the phone and someone will say, "Sold!" In the meantime, I'll lean on those around me, with strong shoulders, and keep doing the best I can. Tonight we eat salad!

Not Me! Monday

I'm quite excited! My little sister turned me onto MckMama, whose blog is here, many moons ago. I've enjoyed reading not only MckMama's Not Me! Monday posts but also scanning through other people's denials. I've come close to spitting out beverages reading some Not Me's but mostly I realize I'm nodding in agreement...been there too! Every week I consider the possibility of denying my own life right along with MckMama's other readers. That day has come.

My lunch did not start with the last cookie from the batch I made yesterday. It certainly didn't finish with Frito's in bowl of cheesy eggs with salsa. I know how to eat healthy and know that chips and cookies aren't part of that equation. I know better. I wouldn't do that.

Um, er...I don't give intense consideration to what I should wear when showing the house to interested parties. I didn't try to improve upon that look when today's interested party was interested in buying not renting. I most certainly did not try on three different outfits before settling on something comfortable and conservative to greet this gentleman in. After showing him the house and yard, I'm not trying to find the perfect combination of prayer and pleading for this to work out and so that we can be free and clear of the house here and move with Scott to the other side of the country.

After hearing from Mom about how burying a statue of St. Francis in your yard can bring a buyer quickly, I'm not wondering where I can get a statue of St. Francis here in the deep South. Hmmm....

I'm not absolutely whipped from this one showing and I'm not ready for a nap. I'm an adult and don't need afternoon naps. I'm not going to go set my alarm after I finish this post just in case I can't convince my eyes to stay open.

Whew...that was therapeutic. I'm not sure I'll be a faithful participator in Not Ne! Monday, but I'll definitely be back! There's a lot more I can get off my chest! Don't forget to enjoy the other posts at MckMama's.