My Life as Mom

I was perusing my files again.  I stumbled onto another poem that describes my mood of late.  I’ve been busy with my bill paying job as well as my home job.  But I’ve realized with my crazy life, I would prefer to win the lottery and do my home job.  This poem is the a perfect description of what things were like for me before the bill paying job.  I’d take it in a heart beat if I could.

As a side note, when I wrote this poem, my now 14 year old was first learning to read poetry.  She fell in love with this one.  She still gets a kick out of reading this one.

 

My Life As Mom

July 06, 2008

The alarm goes off

Beep beep beep

I stumble there slow

Still asleep

Coffee hot and strong

Sweet and creamy

Have a smoke outside

Stars still dreamy

Breakfast for three

All dressed for the day

Some off to school

Home others will stay

Now there are the chores

Laundry dishes floors

Forget the cat box

Dogs want out both doors

Mommy Mommy

Comes from the playroom

Timeout for one

Kiss away the gloom

P.B. and J. for lunch

Glass of milk to drink

Only minutes to eat

Dishes pile the sink

Rest time for some

Just not for me

Toys to pick up

Quick sec to pee

Home from school

Time for all a snack

Homework done

Hugs I do not lack

Chops frying in a pan

Taters boiling in a pot

Stirring up some gravy

Dinner done for my lot

Baths for all

Kisses before bed

It’s eight o’clock

Make sure fish are fed

Time to kick up my feet

Watch a few of my shows

Maybe pour me a drink

Let’s see where the night goes

News over; bed time comes

Share the bed with dogs and man

Slumber comes easy

Another day comes again

My New Country Living

I’ve been posting commentary here on this blog as I would pen thoughts in a diary.  Though I know that people will read them, I give really no care to what I write.  That being said, I have to share another tidbit of my overwhelmed life.  It’s about the latest change in my life, COUNTRY LIVING.

When I say country living, I am referring to the location of my home.  It’s in God’s country, as I was told by someone who had visited our house from town.  (Town for me has always been those cities where you can find department stores, fast food places, and other amenities that most people in this country take for granted.) Country for me is measuring distance in miles.  Like the fact that my closest neighbor is 1/4 mile away.  Another indicator of being in the country is that directions to my house may include turning off a paved road, and one of the paved roads that leads to our house is just chip-n-seal.  For folks that may not know, chip-n-seal is gravel that’s had road tar layered on top and pounded down.  It seems like pavement, but it doesn’t hold up like other kinds of pavement.  The closest city with amenities for me is thirty miles away or more; depending on what you might be looking to find.

Some people might find the distances disconcerting.  I don’t because there are so many things I love.  At night, I can see the stars.  I find it fascinating that I can see so many more out here then the many times we lived in town.  The lights of town drown out the night sky.

The sounds of the country may sound loud to others, but loud to me are sirens, thumping bass that rattles windows, and other general car/truck sounds.  Out here in the country, I hear crickets, cicadas, birds, turkeys, and coyotes.  I hear tractors working the earth and growth.  It is pure relaxation to hear the sounds of life in the country.

Something new for me now that I live in the country, I have had to learn to heat with wood.  I have a propane furnace, but it doesn’t do as good of a job.  I haven’t yet learned how to run the chainsaw, but I can run the splitter.  I, along with honey-do, am learning the best methods and woods to burn in our heater.  Wood heat is a warmer heat.  It permeates the whole house.  I just love it!

Back to the new grind of country life.  Gotta keep the wood burning.

An Update to my BOMBSHELLS

Good news!  My oldest offspring is not pregnant.  As much as I will one day welcome being a grandmother, I am so glad it’s not now. 

Mixed news!  My colonoscopy was clear.  In that, I just have IBS or nervous stomach.  I have to take pills to regulate and add more fiber to my diet.  Yippee, freaking skippy!!!

And my mother-in-law is still moving in.  I knew this was going to happen; I’m still not ready for it.  I had hoped I had about a year to get ready.  Hell! I’m still not completely moved in.  Now I have to shift my still packed boxes around to accommodate hers.  This is so not going to be fun.

Bombshells and Moving

Being overwhelmed has been an understatement of late.  I transferred with my job.  We moved AGAIN!  My family hates when we move.  But I feel  that we’ve finally found a place that we can call home.  The accommodations are just what we like.  We finally have the kids in a good school system.  Honey-do even found a part time job to make up the difference.  He finally has something to take a shower for. 

 

The understatement is not just because of my job.  It is because of all the bombshells that have hit since we moved.  The oldest heathen wonders whether she may be pregnant. Like when I found out I was pregnant with her, I am not ready for this but know this will change the dynamic if she is.  My mother-in-law is moving in due to health reasons.  And I am having health issues of my own.  I am going to have a colonoscopy tomorrow because my doctor wants to make sure that my only problem may be irritable bowel syndrome.  So I’m home from work today on a liquid only diet until this evening when I start the CLEAN OUT!  I am SO not ready for this latest adventure.

 

So in the spirit of my move, I dug up another poem I wrote over a decade ago about moving.  It seemed to fit my mood for the day because it’s been two months since the move, and we still have boxes everywhere.  I just don’t have time during the week to get anything done and with this huge house, I have little time on the weekends but to get the cleaning and normal chores done. 

 

Yippy skippy!!!  Enjoy!

 

Coming Home

 

Once again we’ve come to that point.

We’ll be packing up for another trip.

Into boxes our worldly possessions go.

Into the night we’ll travel like a wayward ship.

 

Pictures come off the wall

to be wound in bubble wrap.

Bicycles tossed into the pickup bed

and tied down with a strap.

 

Some cartons are filled with

knick knacks and such.

Others have photos of everyone

we love so much.

 

Plates, bowls, and coffee cups

Pots and pans and silverware

Sheets and towels

Even the clothes we wear.

 

We’ll leave the walls bare;

the windows wide open;

the floors won’t even have

a speck of dust I’m hoping.

 

We’ll leave this place

we’ve known for a year

to return to our home.

We’re just glad to leave here.

 

ã 2003

Documenting Life

In the past two years I have been purging my home of the vast collections of STUFF that has amassed over the years.  I have been accused of being a borderline hoarder.  Having moved around a lot and lived in different styles or types of housing, my only excuse has been “I never know what I’ll need in one place versus another.”  I’ve grown out of this saving of stuff habit, so I’ve been going through boxes or totes on a fairly regular basis.  Sometimes, I get rid of a lot of things; other times, it’s just a few things.  I’ve been so good at this process that honey-do mostly has his two car garage all to himself; meaning, the stuff in there is mostly all his.

My father passed away in 2009.  Since he rented his home, we had to hurry up and box up his stuff and add it to our stuff.  It took over a year for me to even begin looking through the boxes of his stuff.  It was just too hard.  I found myself crying over the simplest things.  For example, honey-do started looking through a box to see if my dad still had something that he had given him.  I burst into tears for no real reason.  But with the purging efforts, I am down to a relative few boxes compared to what we loaded up out of his house. 

With all this purging, the most interesting thing for me to find was pictures.  I found pictures of myself I didn’t know existed.  Or I’ve stumbled onto pictures of people that I had long since let slip my mind.  Or I realized that pictures I had were some that I had taken and my family was unaware of.

I write about this today because we are now in a world of selfies and constant connection with the world around us.  I recently connected with cousins of mine that I only remember from my childhood.  And looking back into photo albums and boxes has made me realize that my life is no where documented as much as my children.  I have also seen the loss of print film.  Looking at my hard drive the other day, I realized that as of 2002 all my photographs were digital in nature and loaded onto my computer.  I also regret not backing up my files regularly because there was a time that I had six month period of time where I had several hard drive crashes and a loss of data.  Data being my pictures and writing that I did not have a hard copy.  It fascinates me how quickly the world evolves when it comes to data. 

What happened to RESPECT?

Today, I want to rant about parents.  I know there are good parents out there.  I know many.  I’m not talking about them.  I’m talking about the OTHER parents. 

A short background, so I’m not misunderstood.  I’m not a room parent.  I don’t spend any time at the school chaperoning classes.  Frankly, I don’t like being around that many kids.  Mine are ENOUGH.  But I do attend programs and concerts that my children are participating in.  I like to show them my support.  If I have the extra cash, I purchase the video.  Because the school audio/visual kids get a much better view than my short ass.

Because of the winter storms that rolled through the Midwest last week, the middle school’s Christmas band concert was postponed.  It was rescheduled to last night; right behind the elementary school’s play.  Since I had a child in both activities, I was present at the school for over three hours. 

This is not a well funded school.  Our seating was metal folding chairs set up in the middle school gym, which has a stage on one side.  These chairs are not comfortable by any stretch of the imagination.  Because of these chairs, honey-do did not attend.  His back would have been in so much pain; I’d have to get a stretcher to get him home.  We don’t have one of those.  I also had my six year old first grader in the audience with me.  This is the child we affectionately call “crack baby”.  She has so much energy and spunk; she just can’t sit still or stop touching things.  I charged my phone prior to the play/concert so she would have something to do when she was bored five minutes after arrival.

During the elementary school’s play, the audience was packed.  Their program consisted of fourth and second graders.  It was fun enough that my crack baby sat still most of the time.  She was happy that she could see her fourth grade sister singing with the choir. 

Between the elementary school’s program and the start of the middle school’s program, there was an intermission for those people only attending the elementary school’s program to fetch their children and leave.  It allowed for the clean up of the play props; and the set up of the middle school band’s chairs, music stands, and large instruments.  As the middle school program started, the audience had dwindled to half.  This could be expected.

The middle school program began with the various choirs doing a series of Christmas tunes.  Then the two separate bands began their selections.  During this time, many people were slinking out of the gym.  By the end, the audience was only a quarter of what it was when the night started.

But the thing that really set me off, was the parents throughout this adventure.  During the elementary program, there were parents that let their younger children wander around, play games on phones without muting them, or just talk loudly.  These parents did nothing to discipline their children.  I believe this is bad behavior.  I know children act up.  But if they aren’t even scolded, they will never learn that disrupting someone else’s experience is not right. 

Yet that was not all.  During the middle school’s program, it was the parents that weren’t behaving.  Right behind me a lady answered a ringing phone and was having a conversation.  In front of me, a lady was talking to another woman two rows away.  I believe this is all in bad form.

I sat through everyone else’s kids’ programs.  I listened to them sing, act, and play instruments.  My children weren’t in every aspect of the evening, but I gave those parents my respect.  I just wish they would have returned the favor.  It’s times like this that I miss my growing up years; even though I hated it when it was happening.

Tears of Respect

Today was one of those busy days.  It began productive with a little disappointment.  It continued with an emotional lunch adventure.  It was a little more productive up to dinner time.  Now I’m just hanging out with my feet up and baking cinnamon rolls.  The family is going to enjoy them before bed.  Honey-do and I will have ours with a little wine.

I started this because of my emotional lunch.  Our sassy thirteen year old is in middle school.  She’s a trumpet player in the school band.  Our local middle school provides an appreciation lunch for veterans.  Since honey-do and I are veterans, our presence was forced  requested.  I say this was emotional because my late father was Vietnam veteran, and this is one of those times of year that I miss him terribly.  One thing I always say and truly believe is, I was cheated out of time with him.  I found myself crying through much of the program.

It got me thinking about what I feel patriotism means to me.  It is not just serving in the armed forces.  It’s a belief in ones country.  A belief that the freedoms that were fought for over two hundred years ago are worth cherishing.  It about giving and receiving respect.

We have many symbols that represent our country and its freedoms.  We have the flag.  This is a world wide known symbol for the United States of America.  It something that many just wave on national holidays at parades.  For me, it is the blanket that wraps us and keeps us safe and warm.

We have the bald eagle; a majestic bird that rules the skies.  Its domineering prowess is a perfect symbol of our military’s presence globally and domestically.

We have our national anthem, The Star-Spangled Banner. On the surface, it’s a song about a battle fought long ago.  But in that battle when the smoke finally cleared, our flag still was flying high.  It demonstrates that the United States may get knocked down, but we get right back up.

Patriotism, to me, should be part of our DNA chain.  I’m saddened when some people don’t get it.  I love that I was born in this country.  I love to call the United States of America my home.  I teach my children the importance.  I wish more did.